#''cats suck dogs are so much better and love you so much more'' that kinda shit

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Talked to my friend Eric for the first time in over a year

He

Got

A

Cat

His name is Theodore and he's fuckin adorable

Look at this little floof

Hes gonna be a fluffy bastard like harley

[starstruckkittensweets]

puppy love

Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

fandom: bungo stray dogs

My latest fixation, Chuuya with puppies! My precious boy deserves to be happy with a doggy of his own, so I decided to play into this little fantasy of mine (and his, probably). I'm planning on writing more parts to this lil series, I think it's helping me get out of my writing slump. Also parts of this fic are inspired by Shiloh, one of my all-time favorite books (so much nostalgia...) and a bit of a reference to that one puppy episode from Wan. And the panel I used for the banner is from the BSD manga (I think it's ch. 24) I hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of stray animals, Reader cries but it's in relief, mostly fluff, pet names (mostly "doll" but used only once in this part), the start of a slow burn perhaps? || words: 2k

Part I | Part II | Part III

He’s halfway through his usual trek home, muscles burning and head pounding from another successful night’s mission, when he realizes he has a shadow.

Chuuya doesn’t let up his pace; stay calm, don’t give anything away—but he has to wonder, who could be this stupid to try to follow a mafia executive? And they’re not being subtle about it either. Making no effort to conceal their breaths or their footsteps—

Wait a minute…that sounds too light to be footsteps…

He sucks in a breath and turns around to face the culprit. Hands clenched into fists at his sides, preparing for a fight—

“Woof!”

Staring up at him is perhaps one of the cutest fucking dogs he’s ever laid eyes on. (Not that he’s seen many dogs, but the point still stands.) Pointy ears, fuzzy orange fur, white paws and a belly that definitely looks too plump for a street dog.

He stares at it. The dog stares back, pink tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

“…Woof!”

It takes every ounce of strength he can muster not to melt right then and there on the sidewalk. A thousand squeals on the tip of his tongue, gloved hands itching to scratch under that fuzzy little chin of his.

Never mind any dog hair, fuck that. Who’s gonna try to turn their nose up at this little cutie?

Chuuya briefly scans the area—not a soul in sight, just him and his companion beneath the lamplights—before dropping to his knees. The dog paws at the ground, his curly tail swishing madly in the air.

“C’mere boy,” he keeps his voice soft, holding out a hand. But the dog doesn’t budge. He just stares at him with that big dumb smile of his.

That really adorable dumb smile.

He tries again. The dog tilts his head and refuses to move. So Chuuya tries another tactic: “C’mere, girl?”

Still doesn’t move a muscle. Although now the dog looks amused as he paces from side to side, just out of Chuuya’s reach.

Yeah, gotta be a boy with that kind of attitude.

Chuuya sighs before pushing himself off the ground. Ah well, guess he’s too nervous to approach humans. Can’t really blame him for that; this city’s got its fair share of unpleasant people. He deals with them all the time, so he can kinda relate.

He shoves his hands back into his pockets (try not to think about how soft the dog’s fur must be) and turns on his heel to head home. It’s getting late anyway, and he’s got to get an early start tomorrow morning. He can’t be spending all night moping around some stray puppy following him around.

Even if he is the cutest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

But he only gets a few steps in before hearing the unmistakable click-click of the dog’s nails against the pavement. He stops, the dog stops too. He glances over his shoulder, biting back a smile at the dog’s happy face.

“What do you want, huh? I don’t have any food, so if that’s what you’re looking for…”

Not that he looks like he needs any treats to begin with. He’s seen a few of the dogs roaming around Yokohama, all skin and bones as they pick through tipped-over trash cans. And the stray cats are no better, ears flat against their skulls as they hiss and claw at everything in sight.

So why does this dog look so fucking proud of himself?

Chuuya sighs and whistles to himself—and suddenly the dog comes running.

Two dirty paws plant themselves on his dress pants, that’ll surely be hard to get out, but how can he get angry when the dog’s trying so hard to reach his face? He chuckles under his breath as he kneels down to his level, as the dog plants kiss after kiss on his face with his slobbery tongue.

“Who knew all it took was a whistle?” he says more to himself than to the pup. The dog’s tail is wagging so hard he thinks it’ll fall off, the tiny little thing that it is.

He slides one of his gloves off, letting the dog sniff his hand before scratching him behind the ears. He was right, his fur is so soft… And his smile only gets bigger when the dog licks him again, not even minding all the drool.

But then he stiffens, slipping his fingers through the dog’s fur, noticing a red band of leather fastened around his neck. A collar? No way he’s someone’s pet. Then again, he does look a little too spoiled to be wandering the streets for food.

He curls his finger around the golden tag dangling from the buckle. No name, only an address he thinks he recognizes. Right on the edge of Yokohama, where the scent of sea salt is the strongest. Is it someone’s house? Apartment? Maybe a  shelter of some kind?

Chuuya steals another look at the dog, at those sweet brown eyes and twitching wet nose, trying his best to ignore the icy clench of his stomach. Maybe it’s for the best, just to bring him back. What’s he gonna do with a dog, anyway? Not like his job allows for much time raising a puppy, anyway.

Even one so cute as this little guy.

“Alright,” he sighs, scooping the pup in his arms, “let’s get you home.” He tries not to dwell on how warm the puppy is, or how softly he nestles his face in the crook of his shoulder.

And definitely not the way he can feel the pup drifting off to sleep as he starts down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Gentle puffs against his skin, his curly tail twitching against his wrist.

“Kotaro! There you are!”

The engraving on the pup’s collar has led him to a tiny little shop a few minutes from the port. A bit shabby with a torn sign on the top and windows that have definitely seen better days, and he’s about to turn tail (no pun intended) until he sees someone nearly fly out through the set of double doors.

“Kotaro!” Your voice is strained, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sweep the puppy into your arms. Clutching him as tight as you can, smoothing down the fur on his head as he stirs awake from his little nap. “I was worried sick… How did you escape again?! I could’ve sworn I locked the doors… You’re just lucky I came back downstairs when I did—or else you would’ve been out there all night long!”

The puppy only wags his tail, staring up at you with those silly eyes and sweet little “smile.” He knows it’s your weakness, how could you be angry at a face like that?

Oh, well. As long as he’s safe, you can’t really hold a grudge against him. Not when he’s back in your arms, safe and sound, and it’s just the two of you, just as it always should be.

It’s only when you hear someone clear their throat that you realize you’re actually not alone. You hastily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand—it’s a little difficult with a nearly-twenty-pound dog in your arms—and stare up at the man before you. Kotaro’s savior, your savior. And suddenly you feel a fresh wave of tears surge forth.

“Thank you for bringing him back! I’m so sorry if he’s caused you any trouble, I know he has a habit of bothering people when he sneaks out—I thought I’d kept him inside this time! He just has a thing for running away like the little troublemaker he is. He’s still young, hopefully he’ll grow out of it when he’s older, maybe he’ll mellow out and settle down, and then…”

You bite your tongue and avert your eyes. No need to scare off the stranger with your incessant rambling, especially after he was so nice to bring Kotaro back to you. But he only shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips as he tips his hat over his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, he didn’t cause too much trouble.” He lifts a hand, allowing Kotaro to sniff him before scratching the fur beneath his chin. “Keep an eye on him, though. You don’t want him getting lost out there, especially this time of night.”

“I know… I swear, he’s gonna give me gray hairs before the end of the year. The other dogs aren’t even this mischievous, I don’t know where he got it from!”

Wait, other dogs?

He glances over your shoulder, towards the dingy windows of the shop. Pet supplies and part-time shelter, the sign plastered on the glass says. And sure enough, the closer he looks at your outfit, he can see little bits of dog fur clinging to the fabric—some gray, some brown, some white, and then a hint of orange thanks to Kotaro.

Just how many dogs do you have in there?

“Anyway, I just wanna say I really appreciate you bringing him back here. You didn’t have to, I know you’re probably busy. Let me just run inside and get my wallet, I think I have some left over if you want—”

But he’s quick to shut you down with a shake of his head, even a wave of his hands for emphasis. No money, he’s already got plenty of that to spare. And besides, it doesn’t sit right with him, paying him for something that should come naturally to any decent person.

And he doesn’t want to sound mean, but judging from the shape of that little shop of yours, you look like you can use every last cent you have.

“Oh, if you say so… But still, why don’t I make it up to you sometime?”

An uneasy silence settles in the air between you; Chuuya blinks as he watches you shift your weight, partially hiding your face in Kotaro’s fur.

“…I mean, you don’t have to—I just wanna pay you back some way! Maybe I can treat you to lunch one of these days? I don’t have many days off, but I can make it work! Or maybe…do you have a dog of your own? I can give you a discount on anything in the shop!” You throw an arm out to the double doors behind you, still holding Kotaro to your chest. “Name it and it’s yours! I really don’t mind, it’s just me here anyway. Well, me and the dogs, all nine of us.”

Wait, nine, including yourself…

“You have eight of them?!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat at the look on Chuuya’s face. He reminds you of a child on Christmas morning, staring at the presents strewn around the glowing tree. He doesn’t seem one to enjoy the company of dogs, given his fancy attire and confident aura.

And yet, he still brought Kotaro back home, when he could’ve easily turned and walked the other way. You’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover, after all.

“Eight dogs, and hopefully more by the end of the year.” Your cheeks grow warm beneath his startling blue gaze. (His eyes are really pretty up close, aren’t they?) “…I can tell you all about them on our lunch date, if you’re interested.”

He blinks, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the dog in your arms. You’ve got guts, he’ll give you that; he can see it in the way you talk to him, the way you hold the puppy in your arms. Gentle as ever, but a fire brimming in your eyes. You love this dog, no doubt about it.

And you’ve got seven more inside? Do you love them all the same amount?

What breeds are they? How did you come to adopt so many dogs at once? Or did you adopt them at once, or sporadically over the years?

So many questions, and yet the night is crawling by. He shakes his head again, giving Kotaro one last scratch behind the ears, before meeting your gaze once more.

“Lunch sounds perfect, doll.”

Your lips pull up in a smile, and he can’t help but notice how it nearly matches the one on Kotaro’s face. Bright and eager, melting under the attention of the ones around you.

And yet your smile is infinitely prettier, and he finds himself thinking about it as he starts the familiar journey back home, as the night hours slowly tick by.

[reevesdriver]

Downward Dog (NSFW)

Request: from @trish-stratus "Hi! I love your John Dutton fics! Was wondering can you please write a fic of the reader teaching John yoga, and teases him that he'll live to 150 if he does it. And he shows her what he's got. A little smutty please 🙏"

Word count: 812 (Kinda short I know but I hope you like it)

Character: John Dutton

Reader: Female reader

Warning(s): NSFW / 🔥🔥🔥 / Smut

Support me: Kofi

(AN: I love calling John old man in my fics, he's a dilf.)

John cleared out a spare room in the house so you could set up your own little gym and everyday, without fail, he'd come and watch you working out. Right now you had your yoga mat spread out across the floor and he sat on the couch where he liked to watch you stretching.

"Come on John I think you'll enjoy it more if you participate." You say

"I'm happy sittin' here and watching you darlin."

"You could join in, I've heard that doing yoga can increase your life span especially if you're older, you'll live to 150 if that's the case."

"You saying I'm old?"

"Mhmm." You smirk. John may have been a little older than any of our other lovers but he rarely showed his age. He could still mount his horse like a younger man and he helped out around the ranch if he needed to though Rip was normally by his side commanding someone else to do it.

You hear John suck his teeth behind you as you lowered your palms to the mat and walked your feet back until you were in downward dog. It was easily, hands down, your favourite position as it stretched in all the right places and unbeknownst to you it was also Johns favourite position to see you in. "You know this is a really good position John, it works out your arms, legs and your belly too."

"Yeah I can see that."

"Are you going to listen as I teach you some positions or are you just gonna stare at my ass all morning."

"I can do both, I'm a visual learner."

"Oh really?" You sink down to your knees and start with cow to cat pose. Johns eyes are fixed on your ass every time it raises and dips between positions. "Come and join me on the mat, it'll make you feel miles better if you finish a routine with me."

John grumbled behind you his heavy boot hitting the floor as he uncrossed his legs. You take a peak and see him pulling his boots off and removing his watch before he comes and stands next to you.

"This is stupid." He says when you stand and move into a new position, one that's a little easier for him since it's his first time joining you.

"It's not stupid, it's good for you. Now stop talking and do what I'm doing." You stretch your arms out and slowly lunge forwards. John follows your direction but doesn't stretch as far as you.

"Come on babe you can do better than that."

"This is as far as I can go with my jeans on."

"Maybe if you took them off it would help more." You say with a smirk and a wink.

John laughs and slowly stands up straight. Without hesitation his hands go to the buckle of his belt and quickly he undoes it with minimal effort then works the buttons and zipper of his jeans open and drops them down his thighs. One his pants have gone his shirt follows soon after. "Well now I feel a little over-dressed." He says playing with the hem of your t-shirt.

He tugs the bottom of your t-shirt up and you raise your arms so he can pull it over your head. You take a step back and push your pants down your thighs and to the floor before kicking them out of the way with your foot. "That make you feel any better?" You say closing the gap between the pair of you again.

"Mhm, much better darlin'." He says before his lips roughly meet yours. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you flush against him, the growing bulge in his boxers presses against your belly as his tongue grazes yours.

Rough hands move from your waist and up your spine where John expertly undoes the clasp of your bra and pulls it from your body throwing it haphazardly to the floor. You let out a soft sigh when he cups your breasts and pinches your nipples. Moving a hand you grope John through his boxers before sliding your palm against his belly and beneath the waistband, cupping his thick cock.

John wastes no time in getting you both to the floor and pulling your underwear down before shoving his boxers down just enough to pull his cock out and slide it into you. The yoga mat underneath provides subtle comfort under your back as his pelvis meets yours with every rough and rhythmic thrust.

"Fuck John." You whine before your walls clamp around his shaft. After a few more thrusts John pulls out and laces your belly with his cum. "Same time again tomorrow?" You ask with a blissful smile.

"If your workouts end like this all the time then I might just have to keep joining you."

[herbologyprofessor]

my collected thoughts on the magic system of harry potter and what I would change to make it better.

i think that the harry potter magic system sucks!!

i mean, im sure this isnt a hot take but like...how is it that students at hogwarts school of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY graduate knowing how to use maybe a handfull of spells in combat? and they're the same spells that all the aurors and all the older members of the order and all the death eaters and even voldemort use?

and im especially talking about how weak it makes people who are supposed to be really powerful and dangerous seem. including the titular character Harry Potter himself. Harry uses spells in a unique way, dont get me wrong, but to me its all just so boring.

and im not saying it doesnt have to work like other fantasy stories, but if the main mechanism behind magic in harry potter is that you are either born with it or not, you dont need a wand but its exponentially more challenging without one (unless you have a unique skillset or education), intention matters, and there are spells that can grant magical abilities to objects. there is so much more possibility than just expelliarmus and expecto patronum. There has to be, or else why tf would hogwarts take 7 years of schooling to graduate from?

so here are some of my headcanons:

families have bloodline abilities

so, in the case of wizarding britan, there are families that want to stay pure such as the sacred 28 (or is it 27 i cant remember), and pure as in their blood and bloodline must stay pure (going so far as to marry your cousins, e.g. Orion and Walburga Black). If this is the case, and they wan't to preserve their magical bloodline so bad, they'd have to have something more than just "magic" to preserve.

I feel like its almost there in canon but falls short of being fully realized. I think of it kinda like how it works in naruto. Theres those who have a bloodline ability and then those that dont. You dont have to have one to be powerful, if you have one it dosent mean you will be powerful automatically.

The black family seems to carry the gene for metamorphmagus, but i wouldnt consder this a bloodline ability and think of it more like a random mutation passed on to teddy, which could occur in any magical person, (theres also the possibility that this was a more common ability in the black family but because of the lack of genetic diversity and inbreeding it was lost until Andromeda had Remadora with Ted, who was not pureblood. I think abilities have to do with the energy of magic that is either created or inherited, not so much genetics. Therefore, families dont pass on the same exact ability but something that is novel or slightly different from person to person.

The Lupins, for example, could be Beast Speakers. Maybe, a long time ago in the Lupin familiy, they kept wolves or something (explaining the surname which would have had something to do with occupation) and they learned from them how to speak with animals?Lyall, who canonically worked in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Dark Creatures, can speak to dark creatures, even werewolves who are transformed. Remus can speak to domesticated animals like cats and dogs, fancy mice, toads, etc. Remus is like Hogwarts' unofficial vet tech, and if you like atyd Remus, this fits in nicely as he specialized in Care of Magical Creatures.

The Potters, canonically, are linked to the Peverell family. The invisibility cloak has been passed down through generations and is still being passed down to Harry's children. I think a common headcanon, and one that i truly love, is that they use Death Magic. But, thats assuming the potters are the exact same family as the Peverells, which they are not. I think, in going along with the Peverell brothers creating the deathly hallows (using advanced death magic), the potters have a Sorcerer's Craft ability. What was the Potter family's source of new money? Fleamont's invention, Sleekeazey's. I know its a "potion", but what if its just like...coconut oil imbued with magical enchantments that make your hair perfect. James could have played a major hand in the creation of the Marauder's Map, an Extremely powerful magical object made to do the impossible task of mapping Hogwarts. And he did this in school. at like 14-15. Harry doesn't do anything that has to do with magic item creation, that I can remember (i haven't read the books in years), however he also had no connection to his family and likely wouldn't be able to learn without another Potter teaching him. BUT! Harry Potter is the master of death, meaning he can use all 3 of the deathly hallows without being corrupted, maybe this could be a side effect of how his Sorcerer's Craft manifests itself.

side tangent, but the reason I think this is an ability even though others have been known to make magical objects, is because the potters are able to do it very creatively, and early on in their lives. They are involved in every aspect of item creation, and they can enchant things in a way no other wizard could replicate, meaning their objects could not be mass produced without their explicit involvement. Maybe Sleekeasy's stops working so well once Fleamont dies, hence why Hermione says its too much hassle to use every day.

The Blacks, you might think, would be something to do with offensive, powerful, and deadly magic. While, yes, this is something that some members of the black family are gifted in, it is not their bloodline ability. I think that the Blacks are Seers. It's no coincidence their families long standing tradition of astrological names are prophetical for their lives. Walburga Black, for example, has the power of Augery. She asks the universe questions and receives omens as answers. She saw a black dog when asking the universe to tell her about her newborn son, hence the name Sirius. For Regulus, well, she saw water. Not knowing what to make of it, she refused to let Regulus near it for his entire childhood. Regulus, as an empath, has the ability of psychometry. The ability to gain information from an object by touching it, including humans ( he cant read minds, but can tell what someone has experienced in their life). This comes in great handiness when he goes to destroy the locket. Sirius, I believe, would have a mastery over tarot cards or oracle cards. He can glean deadly accurate readings, and has a keen ability to interpret meanings unknown to even the most practiced tarot readers. He has a special deck, one that his uncle Alphard gave to him when he found out Sirius could read tarot from Walburga (who, at the time, was very pleased with her Heir's ability). This comes with an emotional expense to Sirius, though, and at times, gives him answers he doesnt want to hear. The girls loved it though, and asked him to teach them. He tried but couldn't explain how he did it, since it's innate to his bloodline. Of course, you could obviously imagine this adding to the piles of angst surrounding the war, as Sirius had to have seen signs that his loved ones would die, making him think he could outsmart fate by changing the secret keeper...

I think this is getting too long, but I'm already thinking about part 2 because I have alot of thoughts about this...especially things that anyone could learn not just inheritied abilities.

[rabbittf2x]

i loved your headcanons of the mercs interacting with a reader who had a dog companion!! though i was wondering if you could do another one but with a cat?? preferably with a very needy but kinda mean cat who likes to randomly scratch and bite ((totally unrelated to my cat irl lolol))

Thank u! :)

Mercs with a Reader who has a cat

Includes: Scout, Heavy and Sniper

Dog version:

Scout💖

Scout and your cat… had their differences. They didn’t really like each other. Scout was definitely more of a dog person

He glared daggers at your feline friend from across the rec room. You cradled the cat in your arms, stroking its fur while it purred like an engine. Scout hated how it got all your affection. Though he wasn’t a fan, he still tried to like it for you

“Hey there, kitty.” Scout laughed nervously

He held out a bandaged hand, hesitantly going in for a pet. The cat in your arms hissed, swiping its claws across his flesh. Scout screamed like a girl, and you couldn’t help but laugh. He jumped back and looked over his hand, sucking at the blood

You scolded your cat, and dumped it to the floor dismissively. You raced over to Scout, gently taking his hand in your own

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” You cooed

Scout melted into your warm touch. A blush began to creep up his neck as you rubbed his sore hand

“Yeah… I’m fine.” He smiled like an idiot

You placed a soft kiss against his bandaged knuckle. “Better now?” You grinned

Scout became the happiest man alive as you soon attacked his red face in kisses. His arms soon found their way around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer

He glared at your cat that sat in the corner, grinning triumphantly. Take that, you stupid cat. Your hot owner likes me better than you

Heavy💖

Heavy thought your cat was so cute and tiny. When he found the two of you cuddling while asleep, his heart nearly exploded. No, really! Medic gave him this new heart that was—wait, no. Off topic. Anyway…

Heavy enjoyed the presence of your cat very much. That was until it scratched him. He rarely ever pet it or anything. He just liked to look. But when you were holding it one day, its evil little eyes locked on Heavy. He placed a huge hand on your shoulder, leaning in to kiss you when BAM! This kitty got claws

You gasped dramatically, holding up your cat to meet your wide eyes. “How could you?” You whispered

You were apparently more hurt by your cat’s actions than Heavy, who was cradling his scratched hand. You dumped your cat on the floor, snapping your full attention to your big boyfriend

“Are you okay?” You asked. You gently took his hand in your own, examining the bloody cut. “Oh, Heavy. Honey, I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?” You frowned

Heavy offered you a kind smile, shaking his head. “It is fine, little one. Just a scratch.” He reassured

You lifted his hand with both of yours, giving it a small kiss. He melted at the action, finding you absolutely adorable

Sniper💖

Sniper never really cared for cats. Dogs were much better. Your cat was no exception. God, he really hated that thing sometimes. It was rarely allowed inside his van. It shed too much. Plus, it was an asshole

You sat on Sniper’s lap, snaking your arms around his neck with a flirty smile. He grinned right back, running his fingers down your sides. Just as you were about to kiss, your cat came running across the table towards Sniper’s chair. It let out a little angry meow, swatting at his arm

“Ow! You little ankle biter!” Sniper scolded

You got off his lap, standing in front of the cat. You waved your finger at it in a scold

“No, bad! You do not hurt daddy.” You lectured. Sniper got up and stood behind you, glaring at your cat from behind his sunglasses. “Oh, are you okay? Did it get you bad?” You asked

“Yeah, I’m fine, love. Barely got me.” Sniper replied

You examined his sleeve where your cat scratched him, stroking the fabric. You felt him slip his arm back around your waist, tugging you close. You looked at him to see he was grinning, keen to pick up where you left off. You grabbed Sniper by his vest, pulling him in for a—

“Meow!”

[highlifeboat]

Hey, Dad, since we on topic of Mascot Horror media, what's your opinions on some of those?

In general? I think mascot horror is great, and as much as I think people are kinda getting over it, I still find it enjoyable. In terms of specific ones... (I'm gonna list a lot so be ready to read a ramble.

Shipwrecked 64 is amazing from what I've seen. It's pretty... dark a gruesome, but the story is very compelling and I've been watching GTLive play through it and it's been really fun. First mascot horror to scare me in a hot minute.

Güby is a more recent one. Not a game, but like one of those mock-kids shows that features a cartoony/puppet protagonist. Gets to the spooks pretty quick but I love Güby's design and I'd say it's pretty unique. It's on YouTube if you wanna check it out.

BeeVeeKee's "Not Your Normal Kids Show" is also a good non-game mascot horror. They're mainly on TikTok but the series is on YouTube in a playlist and I recommend it.

Poppy Playtime is getting more interesting as time goes. The Cat Nap short was really cool and I'm still excited for the new chapter.

Garten of Banban is... something. I'll be real I have no clue what's happening in these games, I mainly use gameplay of them for background noise, but apparently they have been getting better so cudos to the developers of that game.

Hello Neighbour fucking sucks. It started out good and then it was like watching a train crash.

Speaking of trains, Choo Choo Charles is hilarious and amazing and I love him and I love Pickles. Like. SO much. She's best girl.

Amanda the Adventurer is amazing and I need to consume so much more content of that game. Also Wooly might be evil, but he's just a Little Guy so its okay. Him and Amanda are great I love them.

Slender is a classic Mascot Horror before FNAF. Maybe not scary by today's standards, but goddamn that scared the shit out of me at 7 years old.

Mr. TomatoS and Mrs. LemonS are interesting ones, weirdly full of lore complete with extra files and talking to each other and such.

UuuUUUhhh

DUCK SEAONS! Duck Season was a FANTASTIC game! A games based of Duck Hunt where the Dog tries to kill you and also might be your dad? FUCKING. BEAUTIFUL!

AND TATTLETAIL! DOESN ANYBODY REMEMBER TATTLETAIL BECAUSE THAT GAME WAS ACTUALLY REALLY FUCKING GOOD AND THEN IT JUST LIKE VANISHED FROM THE PLANET AAAAHHHHH

Anyway that's my opinions on some mascot horror games.

[pwnyta]

MORE TWISTED WONDERLAND TWINK JUDGMENT.

That hair is DIABOLICAL. Especially in blond... i know the Huntsman has that hair but it wasnt that bad in black. Hes still my favorite of the three Snow White crew TBH. The Huntsman?

More like CUNTSMAN AMIRITE?!

Best/worst outfit- This shitty fake Aussie outfit.. IDKY but I can only imagine him with an Australian accent now. Its terrible. I do take back the Cuntsman title why are all his outfit kinda lame? Theyre really doing Snow Whites baddies dirty.

Overall- 5.5/10...

...Not Hades... Why he look like an edgy version of Yaoi Jesus!? Not like this Hades... Not like this. I hate it here.

Best outfit- The Knight outfit. Its pretty sick...

Overall- 3/10 looks pretty cool but the fact hes so miserable even tho Hades is iconic... smdh

...Not Robot Shota Hades.... Do they know theres Medusa, Centaur, Hydra, Pain and Panic... WHY TWO HADES AND THEYRE BOTH THE WORST!?

Best outfit- This butterfly drip is actually pretty sick. I still hate it.

Overall- 4/10 for the Butterfly outfit he gets an extra point over Idia...

...Maleficent.... Alright big dog. You better not fuck this up. They fucked up Hades and The Evil Queen... you gotta really pop off bud. So far so fine.

Best outfit- Alright Mal... you saved yourself. I also like the Long outfit. WELL DONE BUD.

Overall- 7.5/10!

...WHO? Silver... is he... the fuckin sewing wheel? ???

Best outfit- I get to reward the Long outfit! Well done. But since its a shared outfit... not as good.

Overall- 5/10?? I guess.

...Maybe the green fire? I guess theres slimpicking as far as baddies in Sleeping Beauty... but why just add so many and then like NONE of the baddies in Hercules accent Hades? I dont get it Fifi... But this guy is pretty good. Rare not-twink? Real?

Best outfit- He looks nice in this half cape. I think he should have a proper belt but w/e.

Overall- 6.5/10

WHO!?!?!? I dont like this guy at all.... but also it makes me laugh at the person complaining about people sexualizing characters when theres so much shotabait LMAO.... Girl.

Best outfit- Full armor baby. Thats the way to go.

Overall- 2.5/10

Crowley... lookin sharp. Cool mask. Cool wing cape...

Best outfit- His standard. He doesnt have much to work with unfortunately.

Overall- 8/10

LIPSMACK OF DISAPPOINTMENT. You can do better than that for Cruella... Come on now.

Best outfit- His standard I guess cuz his other one sucks worse.

Overall- 4/10

Not Cinderellas step mom being better designed than Cruella... Also he reminds me of that comic with the old man with the fat ugly cat. So...

Best outfit- He doesnt get any more but its still good.

Overall- 7/10. Simple but I dig it.

...Tibbies.

Best outfit- I mean... its simple but a little cunty. HES GOT ANTLERS ON ALL OF HIS ...outfits.

Overall- 7/10

NOT TWINK FACILIER!!! WITH THE KILLMONGER CUT! LMFAO.

Best outfit- GIVE HIM MORE CLOTHES. WHY IS HE FACULTY!? WHY ISNT HE A STUDENT!? That a hamsa in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

Overall- 10/10 I cant rate my mans Facilier any lower Im sorry. LMAO Hes very cute.

NOT CUNTY TWINK FROLLO!!! NOOOOO

Best outfit- His only outfit

Overall- ....8/10 Hes dripped out what can I say?

HONEST JOHN!? LMAO... Yo whyd they drop the ball so hard on Sleeping Beauty and then just started pulling out these NPC baddies...

Best outfit- Only outfit. Hes serving thoooo

Overall- 9/10

...How you gonna make the Cheshire Cat boring? I like his mome rath pants tho... I love Mome Raths...

Best Outfit- n/a

Overall- 2/10 THATS THE CHESHIRE CAT GUY!? ... boring as fuck...

What a weak ending... after all that goodness.

[e-dubbc11]

Birthday Boy

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: A couple of swear words and fluff

Word Count: 1.8k-ish

Summary: It’s Billy’s birthday, after a day of paintball, you have a couple of surprises at home for him and you’re hoping he’ll snap out of the bad mood he’s in

A/N: Part of the Gingerverse. Frank and Ginger are in this but only a little bit, I hope you’re not too disappointed, I know some of you guys really love those two(I do too.) But I wrote this in honor of my love Ben Barnes’s birthday coming up on the 20th. I wrote it kinda fast so I’m sorry if it sucks or if there are any mistakes. I hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Just like laser tag, it was Ginger’s idea to have a day of paintball. You had been trying to think of something to do for Billy’s birthday anyway and thought he’d probably have fun with paintball and he did have fun until he didn’t.

And again, just like laser tag, you thought it would be better if Billy and Frank were on opposite teams. At Frank’s request, more like demand, he had to be on the opposite team as Ginger too.

Watching them try and work together during laser tag was painful because they fought like cats and dogs but all in good fun, and it was very amusing to watch. Still, Frank couldn’t have Ginger on his team this time, he said it may cause him to “pop a blood vessel.”

Frank got Billy and he got him good, right in the side of his neck. He’ll definitely have a bruise there in a couple days.

The silence was deafening in the car on the ride home while the ride up was so lively and upbeat. There was no music, no stopping for a coffee, and no talking. You could tell he was furious. You’ve been with Billy long enough now to know it was best to just leave him alone for a bit BEFORE telling him he was being a big baby.

The taunting Frank did after he shot him was what probably pissed Billy off the most, although he would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed. Frank’s team captured your flag first, game over, your team lost, and you were left to listen to the others gloat about their victory.

Billy always played to win, only this time he didn’t, and he felt like he let the whole team down even though it was just a game.

Even the elevator ride back up to the penthouse was silent, the only noises were the hisses and whirs from the friction of the guide rails. The modest squeaking of the cables and pulleys that you don’t normally hear because you’re usually talking or laughing with him, were quite loud when everything inside the elevator car was hushed.

Once inside, he dropped his bag and headed right for the shower but didn’t ask you to join him like he usually does. If you didn’t know before, you knew now that he’s REALLY mad about it.

It was supposed to be a friendly game of paintball for your husband’s birthday but there was nothing friendly about any of this. You were all competitive in your own way, Ginger took the loss pretty hard too and she was already planning a rematch. She really was the most competitive person you’ve ever met but Billy was a close second.

He had been so excited earlier when you told him that’s what you were all doing for his birthday, a scout sniper’s dream game, but the lot of you were sullen and quiet when the game was over even though you tried to be upbeat, saying it was all about having fun.

“UH, and WINNING y/n!!!” Ginger bellowed. “It’s about WINNING!!”

You weren’t sure you ever heard him yell “FUCK!!” as loud as he did when that green ball of paint exploded against his jugular. Billy called Frank every name in the book as Frank’s laughter and taunts echoed from behind the rustling trees.

“That’s gonna leave a mark, huh Bill?!!” Frank shouted in between hearty bouts of laughter.

Ginger groaned. “Dammit Frank!! Billy was our best shooter!!!”

“Not anymore!!!!” Frank yelled. “Bill the Beaut, you’re DONE!!!”

Billy was in the shower for a long time which gave you time to sneak down to your neighbor’s apartment one floor down to get the birthday cake you made for him.

Billy had a nose like a bloodhound when it came to sugar so you had to hide it somewhere where he wouldn’t find it and you burned probably every scented candle you owned to try and mask the scent of cake when he came home from work that day.

Meticulously, you cleaned every square inch of the kitchen to make sure all of the evidence of your cake baking and decorating adventure was gone so he would remain clueless because it really was difficult to surprise him. You hid his gifts under the kitchen sink behind all of the cleaning products, knowing full well he wouldn’t look back there.

Billy still wasn’t really used to receiving presents, he had never really had anything when he was a kid living at the group home so to watch him open presents with pure excitement in his eyes and a childlike smile on his face was better than any gift you could ever receive.

Gently, you closed the door behind you and listened carefully to see if the water was still running. Thankfully it was, so you could prepare his gifts and the cake.

You were very satisfied with the cake you made for him, it was round and it looked like a button down dress shirt, complete with a collar, and a black tie cascading off of the top. It took a long time and a lot of hard work to get it exactly how you wanted it but in the end it all came together and you really hoped Billy was going to like it.

In addition to the cake, you bought him a couple of gifts. The first one was a bottle of the bourbon you know he really loves and just ran out of not too long ago and the other was a new watch, the band was made from a whiskey barrel.

You heard the water turn off. He would be out soon and if you were to guess, he would ALMOST be ready to apologize for being salty and a sore loser. Dimming the lights, you lit the single birthday candle in the middle of the cake. It glowed bright yellow with flickering blue at its edges.

“Baby? You out there?” He called out from the bedroom, his voice becoming louder as he got closer to the edge of where the bedroom ended and the living room began. He was wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants. “Sweet girl, listen I’m really sor—“ He started to say but stopped when you began to sing very softly.

Happy Birthday…to you

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday, Mr. Russo

Happy Birthday…tooooo…youuuuuu.

The smile on his face stretched from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat as he lovingly watched you walk out of the kitchen holding the cake in the soft glowing light from overhead, the one bright spot being the lone candle in the middle of the cake, illuminating the smile on your face.

“Sit down on the couch, handsome. This is all yours…and so is this cake.” You giggled.

He couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You’re such a goofball, baby.”

“Ah, but I’m YOUR goofball.” You said with a warm smile behind the candle.

He smiled and licked his bottom lip. “Yes you are, my love. Yes, you are.”

“Make a wish, baby.” You said.

Billy gazed at you from behind the candle as he blew out the flame. He had an apologetic look to his beautiful brown eyes and in return, you showed him the forgiving look to yours. You had been waiting for him to reveal the silent apology that he would eventually vocalize later when he felt ready enough.

“Happy Birthday, Billy.” You said, as you gently pressed your lips to his. “I got you these too!”

Excitedly, you handed him the gift bag.

“What did you do, y/n?” He genuinely sounded surprised that you handed him a gift to open.

Discarding the tissue paper on the floor, he pulled out the bottle of bourbon first. The tension in his shoulders eased and he looked more relaxed as he gazed fondly at you and then looked closely at the bottle.

“Sweet girl, this is…you didn’t have to do this.” He shook his head in astonishment.

Billy had a hard time finding the words to say but before he could say any more, you said “Oh there’s something else in there too!”

He reached in, pulled out the small wooden box, and opened it.

“Do you like it? The band is made from a whiskey barrel.” You stated.

Billy looked at the watch and the bourbon, then looked at you with a warm smile. He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb and kissed you, while he moved his hand from your chin to your throat, wrapping his long slender fingers around your neck like a necklace.

His lips pressed harder against your mouth causing you to let out a faint moan and you tangled your hands in his tousled hair which was still a little damp from the shower. His tongue twisted with yours as his lips traced down the side of your neck before landing on that special spot you love so much.

“I take it, that’s a yes?” You asked sarcastically.

Billy flicked his gaze back up to meet yours. “Of course, it’s a yes. But I really don’t deserve it after the way I acted earlier, I’m sorry baby.”

“You did act like a big baby, ya know. You would have gloated the exact same way if you were the one to shoot Frank.” You said sternly.

“I know.” He said, scratching gently at his beard.

“I don’t wanna have to put you guys in time out…Ginger too!”

The two of you started laughing, he pulled you into his chest and leaned back against the couch, kissing the top of your head.

“Ok, ok we’ll do better next time, I promise.” He said. “So you made that cake just for me? It’s impressive!”

“Well, I’ll say it wasn’t easy and I wanted it to be a surprise so Jane let me keep it in her apartment for a day.” You said.

You could tell he had narrowed his eyes and when you looked up at him, he was pointing his finger in the air.

“Wait. Is that why you had every candle known to man burning in here the other day when I got home?” He asked.

With a sly smile on your face, you replied “Maybe…”

“This is amazing baby, I almost don’t wanna cut into it.” He said.

Brushing your knuckles against his beard, you lifted your head off of his chest and said. “It’s double chocolate on the insiiiiiiiiide.”

Bolting up off of the couch, he said “I’ll get the knife…and some ice for my neck.” He turned back around to face you and said with a warm smile. “Thank you sweet girl…for everything. I love you.”

“Happy birthday, Mr. Russo and I love you too.”

Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @idek-what-to-put @anastasianeedstoread @ratsys @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @simple-lovebot @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[your-neighbor-in-the-northblue]

Being Roommates With Bartolomeo and Cavendish

➼ Word Count » 0.5k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Modern AU, Platonic

First of all, Bartolomeo kinda sucks to live with. He doesn't clean, hardly showers, has no problem walking around without any clothes, and none of your neighbors actually like him.

Cavendish balances that out with how polite and proper he is. The neighbors like him a lot more, and he's WAY more hygienic than Barto. He's slightly obsessive about it, actually, and refuses to leave anything out of place.

You'll have to keep your door locked, not because either of them want to cause you harm, it just makes them both feel better to know that you'd be safe if Cavendish's other personality ever came out.

That's another thing that's good about living with them, cause even though they don't particularly like each other, they both adore you and would drop everything if you ever needed help. (they also argue over who you like better)

Both of them would gladly lend you any of their clothes if you ever asked, but Cavendish in particular would beg you to let him fix your hair or give you an outfit. Please.. you can't leave the house like that...

Barto aspires to be a tattoo artist at some point and would love it if you let him give you one, or even simply let him give you a piercing.

Cavendish no doubt has the master bedroom. He might like you, but he doesn't like you enough to give up his dignity. Barto thinks it's stupid and takes the smallest room so that you can at least have a decent-sized space. (it's a nice gesture, but he ends up treating the living room as his second bedroom, so it doesn't really matter)

Barto's room is covered in Strawhat merch, and any time the three of you hang out together, he begs you both to put on their 7-hour documentary. (You've sat through that whole thing at least twice)

Cavendish isn't too much better, though, his room looks like it came straight from the Renaissance, and always wants to watch The Princess Bride, even if he has seen it hundreds of times already.

One of the best parts about living with Cavendish is that he always has expensive cologne and perfume that he'd gladly let you borrow. He's like an older sister in that sense. He also gossips to you about Bartolomeo and his "sketchy friends" all the time.

Most nights with them are usually just the two of them arguing over whether wine or bourbon is the better form of liquor, and you just have to be the strawman in the quarrel because you genuinely don't care that much about it.

If you can't cook, don't worry, Barto can't either, but Cavendish LOVES cooking and will make something for you both every night. Bart likes to complain that it tastes bad but he also doesn't leave either of you any of the leftovers so...

Cavendish often begs the both of you to get a cat, but Barto wants a dog and neither of them can agree on one so you end up getting a goldfish with two different names because neither of them could agree on one. (Bart calls it Laboon, and Cav calls it Ariel)

They're not perfect, but you'll end up getting a lot of stories living with them, so as long as you feel you can handle everything that goes down, you should be fine.

[cerenemuxse]

So i finally watched the movie from the trailers that repeatedly played in Disney DVDs, Lady and the Tramp

Including its 2001 sequel, Lady and the Tramp II: Scamp's Adventure, and its 2019 remake of the original 1955 film.

My very useless review of all three Lady and the Tramp movies because I said so

This one isn't going to be thorough because I suck at that. If you've read my BWBA Season 24 review, then expect that here-

Please make your own opinions. Don't be like me (way before this) and base yours off of everyone's else. That's why I put useless, because it is if you hadn't made your own.

I don't use streaming services. Never have, never will. Physical media is better anyways so hopefully I can get my hands on these someday.

Disclaimer: I love dogs. A lot. Probably some bias but that's how it goes lmao

Also sorry to anyone who's here for TTTE. There's steam engines in all three movies, being more prominent in the 2019 remake so I hope that helps. /j

I initially thought that the movie was about Lady being abandoned, with the Lady and Tramp plot line, based on the trailers I saw growing up as a kid. Well, I wasn't too far off.

Lady and the Tramp (1955)

Jim-dear and Darling spoiling Lady at the start is so sweet. The introduction is just *mwa* chef's kiss! But it also provides context as to why Lady was in such a poor mood.

There's two layers of how the story is being handled when it comes to scene where Tramp and Lady get into an argument after Lady is brought home from the dog pound. And this has to do with how one is able to understand it and the time the story takes place.

Lady and the Tramp takes place in the near end of the Victorian era, in the 1900s (1900 - 1909). An unwed woman being with a man who is not of the same class and is involved in an inappropiate manner was looked down upon. People were not easy on these women, especially if they fall pregnant.

It's implied that Lady could've fallen pregnant with the way the scene Jock and Trusty offer marriage is written. They could very well have wanted to protect her reputation, something rare at the time, because of her circumstances, and her because of her possible condition. (A dog's gestation period is 3 months, which is enough time for the pups to be where they're at by the end of the movie.)

There's a mature view and a "safer" view to this scene, which I adore. Children understand differently than adults do. It's "family friendly."

Also, there's room for what happened between Lady and Tramp from rescuing Tramp to Christmas (of that same year, presumably), which I kinda wanna explore- oops. <3

Again, I really love this movie. Lady is so sweet and feisty. Tramp is lovely. GOD, i love dogs. <333

But GOD, did I hate that scene with the Siamese cats. Music was extremely out of place, and the way the cats are portrayed is insulting. It was stereotypical, and it doesn't help that the movie was produced AFTER WWII, when the US had camps where they locked away any Japanese person after taking everything away from them.

Also, Disney, i don't think that's how genetics work with pups- Where each one is a carbon copy of one of the parents.

Overall: I absolutely adore this movie.

Lady and the Tramp II: Scamp's Adventure (2001)

Mediocre- It was part of the "direct-to-video" era of Disney.

Scamp and Angel's love-story plot was not that interesting. It was just a gender reverse of Lady and Tramp's relationship in the first movie, but the wants are the opposite. Scamp wants to be a street dog and Angel wants to be a house dog. Would've been more interesting if Lady and Tramp had been more involved and noticed the similarities of his son's relationship with Angel to their own. Maybe. I don't have much to add.

Speaking of Lady, I really wish she had as big of a role as Tramp did, being that she's Scamp's mother and knows what its like to be a house dog. By this point, we can assume Tramp has been a house dog for a year (probably moved in during the summer). Her presence is so small that when Jim-dear addresses Tramp directly, he doesn't address her when she's right there.

The musical aspect didn't go as hard as the first movie did. Also, The Man with the Yellow Hat, is that you?

"It's not a phase, dad!" - Scamp

Speaking of the VAs, I have to give this movie credit where its due for hitting the bullseye with them. On point with the original VAs for Tramp and Lady. Just know that "Ted, The Man with the Yellow Hat" Tramp will live rent free in my head for days. Oh, and Patrick Star is there, too, i guess.

Buster being mad that Tramp ditched him for Lady has me howling. Like damn, ok.

Overall: It's not bad, but its not good either.

Lady and the Tramp (2019)

I love this one. And I usually don't take interest in live-action content (the live-action aspect makes it boring-) but hey, I adore this movie.

The structure is the same but the changes do affect the storyline. Its a what-if version of the 1955 original and its so well done.

mostly-

If you've seen the trailers or the movie AND know when the story takes place, you might've noticed this issue.

The interracial couples.

1900s was not a great time for them. At all. This is the Jim Crow era this happened in. I get that Disney wants (for the money and reputation) to show more diversity in gender, race, and ethnicity, but you got to do it properly with the period being worked with.

The classism between Lady and Tramp is portrayed differently. The scene that implies what they did that evening is different since the dogcatcher finds them. And its the dogcatcher who is the gossip train about their relationship and point of the classism. When he meets with Jim-dear and Darling, he calls out Lady for being involved with Tramp. Again, this can be taken in both ways. Getting romantically involved or being involved with Tramp, a troublemaker, at all.

Scandalous! they would've said if Disney wasn't try-harding their PG movies and not getting canceled.

The gender swapping? I originally didn't like Jock being a girl because of the voice but I warmed up to it as I watched the movie. I don't care much for it lol. It's not being shoved into your face (T&F: BWBA), which is a good thing.

They added more to Lady and Tramp's personalities. They're the same characters but they offer a little more. Know-it-all but actually naive Lady? Yes, please. <3 Tramp being more cautious about the pound but still his cocky self all around? Yes please!

I actually like the change in Lady's owners once the baby arrives. This is the what-if I was talking about. They start to push her away, a natural reaction when a baby arrives. All the attention is put on a small, helpless being, and Lady feels abandoned.

When she's rescued from the pound by her owners in this version, they rekindle with her. They become aware of her behavior and involve her. They would reasonably have been worried that Lady might hurt the baby, intentionally or not, hence why they didn't involve her from the start. Having a baby messes with your thoughts and perceptions about things and people. It happens, and I'm glad we got to see how it played out with Lady.

Also, this movie has one thing the 1955 film didn't achieve. There's more going on between Lady and Tramp. More time to access things. Between Lady being rescued from the pound to Tramp finally visiting her, its been days. Lady is busy rekindling her relationship with her owners and the baby but misses Tramp. Tramp is guilt tripped for not rescuing or even trying to go after Lady once the dogcatcher caught her.

He could've gone after her but keep in mind that this Tramp is aware that if her gets caught, Lady could possible not be free. In this version, Lady's collar was removed at the pet store when they tried fitting on muzzle so there was no guarantee of what would happen to her. He was there when they picked her up. He realized that yes, things turned out okay, so maybe he shouldn't feel guilty.

So if he shouldn't, why does he?

And the conversation? It KILLED me. Tramp states his worth. He's exposing himself and Lady immediately protests, saying that's not true and that he has value to her. She ends the conversation with the line "you deserve love. Im just sorry that it can't be with me." You know, the same energy as "But who's going to watch the baby?" from the original 1955 film. It killed me.

o7 to the nickname Pidge/Pigeon and Tramp's "iconic" scratch. Pidge is such a cute nickname. Why did they leave it out?

Note that Lady almost got Tramp killed by accident when she tried to rescue him and succeeded. They made it more tragic between these two. My cup of tea /hj

Disney live-action remakes have a reputation of automatically being shitty and staying shitty. But Lady and the Tramp did not disappoint. Yes, there was a major historical inaccuracy that is disrespectful to the people who had to suffer during the time period, yet I love the movie the same. If that hadn't happened, I would love the movie more than I do.

Overall: I love it. Would love it more without the historical inaccuracy.

And that's my review! Very illegible, I bet.

I should've seen me being obsessed with a movie about dogs from a mile away. and here we are.

Also, i just rewatched the sequel for the third as I wrote this. Girl, help-

[crimsun-n-clover]

i get kin assigned characters constantly

“you remind me of crowley goodomens”

“you’re sooo like eddie strangerthings”

“has anyone ever told you that you remind them of jon magnusarchives?”

“you look like dream sandmancomics haha”

“southpark goth kid”

fuckin etc etc with anyone who’s a gay edgelord loser.

you wanna know who i REALLY relate to??

—zuul / vince clortho ghostbusters - evil demon dog muppet thing that’s really horny for sigourney weaver. breathes like it also has POTS and lives in a fridge sometimes. fucks around and finds out. inconvenienced? turns to stone.

—lego batman - loser but funny and deadpan enough for it to be passable. miserable and likes objectively bad music. fuckin bats. lives in the dark and is nocturnal. will adopt some random sad kid that crosses my path as my own and take them to sketchy places because hey, we’re here for a good fucking time kid.

—luke skywalker - gay hillbilly who befriends insane old people. too much like his father. just wants to drive around in his shitty little car and move out. pretty girl says something and he just goes okay that’s my purpose now. will steal shit if necessary. gets bored and overthrows the empire. will make deals at a bar with some rando criminal and suddenly whoops ride or die bestie

—samwise gamgee - so meow meow. so dyke. so hopelessly devoted. loves plants and some light drinking. holds serious fucking grudges. thinks the weird pretty little brunette is hot, snoops on him a little, suddenly is taking the ring to mordor because he knows too much. yeah sounds about right. not to get into his actual character or anything but DAMN that shit gets too real sometimes.

—daria mtvdaria - bitch with one friend. music nerd and total asshole, but in an autistic way. everyone around her either thinks she’s weird or almost admires her ability to just be so indifferent to social norms. parents push her in the wrong direction in an attempt to better her.

list to be continued.

now let me give some counter arguments.

—crowley goodomens - i may be a sunglasses indoors, all black wearing queer, who presents as any and all genders whenever, is kinda evil but in a campy disney villain way, raises bitchy kids, is very attached to their car, drives too fast, is a queen / velvet underground superfan, fucking WHATEVER. my polar opposite oldest best friend i was in love with hates my fucking guts. so SUCK IT. i WIN. and also i’m temporarily banned (self imposed, no one controls me but ME) from the velvet underground and queen because that shit gets too real when you’re gay and heartbroken. don’t fucking look at me right now man i can’t do this shit

—eddie strangerthings - really?? the cult of vecna??? temple of elemental evil is where it’s AT. he may have kiddos like me but he doesn’t LOVE THEM LIKE ME. i simply cannot see him taking sweet sweet lucas sinclair (who has done nothing wrong ever. in his entire life.) to waffle house. i do also have a rivalry with the basketball captain and therefore the whole team, but they only tried to hunt me down once and i intimidated them by chugging condiments. i play bass like a REAL sexy metalhead. and megadeth is better than metallica i don’t fucking CARE what you think. my battle jacket is way more kickass and i would love the smack the shit out of him for making dungeons and dragons “ohh!! that’s the stranger things game!!! the eddie game!!!!” and also people assume i’m talking about him when i bring up EVH. no. NO.

—jon magnusarchives - yeah okay maybe. skeptical asshole who’s that way to cope. you can’t explain it? i sure can. there’s something wrong with you. i’d at least like to think that i’m less of a dick and more sympathetic than him. also georgie is SO my type i would NOT be able to live with her as a fugitive like it’s nothing. rough exterior, cat loving and book nerd interior. but at least i’d be a hunt avatar. put fear into people the way i’ve felt it. the eye is kinda lame unless you’re an avatar and can just know shit. and when i find an author i like i immediately eat up everything they’ve ever written i don’t fucking care i love seeing common themes. also i would never talk shit about poetry it’s so fun

—dream sandmancomics - this one is mostly based on appearance and i haven’t finished the comics so like idk man but i feel like i’m better than him. just because.

[deutoplasmic]

LMAOOOO they really are just a bunch of silly yokai vying for your attention,,, like “your laundromat is neutral ground BUT YOU LIKE US BETTER THAN THEM RIGHT. RIGHT”

UHH it depends on if you consider mandarin and hokkien separate languages bc if you then that makes 4 languages yea DJDNDJ i wanna learn more languages in the future too but i wanna fix up my mandarin first lmao

REAL THOUGH LIKE theres 3 japanese people in into1 AND THATS NOT COUNTING THE OTHER 2 THAT GOT RIGGED OUT,,, cfans dont seem to hold the ww2 atrocities against individual japanese people, more of the government and certain places (ie that shrine in japan that commemorates their ww2 soldiers. a chinese actor took a selfie there once and instantly got blacklisted)

I MEAN 😭 everything is cheap here because our economy is in shambles so 😭😭 but i do agree that our food cant be beat just *chefs kiss*

LMAOKDJDKD groveling rihi is just so entertaining to me like yea big tough guy!! but also absolutely folds if you dont give him attention every 5 minutes

but yea xikers is fun!! theyre all younger than me so i baby them a lot. and they recently released this absolutely TERRIFYING horror content and i felt terrible bc one of them got so scared he started CRYING i must protect

plsss companies suck ;; trcng is already kinda free from TS but ghost9 is still in maroo’s basement,, ALSO YES HES IN MONOTREE

AND YOURE SO RIGHT y/n CAN DO THAT SO TRUE,,, princess peach yudai,,, now thats an art prompt

LMAODKDJDKDJDN OMG OK SO LOWKEY,,, A PROFESSOR OF MINE HAS RAGGED ON DJS TOO MUCH LMAO,,, im from an art school and so we tend to have very. unique people. and my professor was like “i can excuse furries but i draw the line at djs” AND NOW EVERY TIME I SEE NISHI DJ I REMEMBER THAT LINEJDNDJD but im sure y/n is very happy LMAOKDJD

YES you keep giving them cop out answers like "yeah idk" or even worse the "you guys both suck" but they're going to get an answer out of you some day!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and also i just realised what this au entails when you put 97-99s as kitsunes bc kitsune ren is so right in my head it's just so. it makes so much sense. it's so real. oh my god. it's so factual. every time he walks in he deviously pilfers something from under your nose and when he leaves he WILL put it in the tip jar size be damned

if you try telling me anything in hokkien i won't understand anything so i'll quantify it as a separate language :rofl: languages are so cool though!!!!!!!!!! my friend's viet and she keeps teaching me random phrases like "hey girl", "i love you", and "oh my god" LOL. you can do it!!!!!!! mandarin i think is the easiest to learn from the chinese branches like. for what reason does cantonese have like 6 tones my days

you know what fair. my japanese teacher once said that the history books in japan, fully regulated by the government, are pretty heavily tilted on a bias towards themselves so kids don't get taught things like the nanjing massacre or unit 731. also THERE WAS RIGGING ofc there was rigging act shocked! and yeah my dad was telling me about the shrine when the actor got banned lmfao.... he was not impressed

SACRIFICES MUST BE MADE i'm pretty sure all of the currencies are weaker than the main western powers like the british pound and american dollar so sea keeps getting a bunch of weird tourists who think they can exploit the people there. but i think theyre fighting back by putting a tourist tax of double price LOL. kind of unrelated but i keep getting malay singapore beef on my insta fyp. it's so funny and i'm not even a citizen of either country. sometimes you just need to bring up the ringgit to inflict ultimate damage

damn it you have to feed your big clingy cat guy!!!!!!!!!!! he desires attention!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also i think you get unintentional scary dog (cat) privilege like no way am i going to do smth devious with him hanging off your shoulder

WHAT he started crying............. was he ok................... free my bro.................... also i swear having idols debut younger than you is such a reality check to how old you're getting LMAO there was this 14 (!!!!) year old aussie olympian who won gold in skateboarding........ like i was NOT winning the olympics at 14.

ts ent was so horrendous i can't believe they did all of their groups that badly.... bap copped it so bad. thank god theyre a thing of the past...... hopefully ghost9 can escape the dungeon omfg. AND AHHHH MONOTREE hwang hyun is doing so much justice for onf its crazy!!!!!! and it's always a bit of a relief when you see them on the track list of some mini album lmao

love yn theyre so cool to me. and also IT IS. hes so pretty he would pull it off so well. truly smth to consider

YOURE FROM AN ART SCHOOL damn ok i see who im talking to. dont mind me and my piddly attempts at drawing please /j but FR thats HILARIOUS literally just people who dress up as anthropomorphic animals are ok i GUESS but god i cant STAND the bluster and swagger of those noisy musical "artists"

[b0mblover]

Bubble Bath? WHERE??

By: J

Oh god lopt what have you dONE-

[disclaimer; do NOT put bubble bath in the toilet, it can clog pipes!]

(no tws)

i uh, haven’t actually wrote like this in a while huh? sorry this actually kinda sucks ass but it was haunting my brain.

(this is ur reminder that im not a writer btw)

uh lopt adopts a stray cat (no animal abuse i cant write that shit /srs) and puts bubble bath in the toilet bc he wants attention idk im not good at summeries

im sorry to all who reads this

—————

lopt could be, for lack of a better term, needy. 

mason, since he had met lopt, had always referred to lopt as a cat, considerring how he could want all the attention in the world one moment, then want to be alone for 100 years the next.

today was the former.

mason had been working on more pages for “conspiracy theory” for hours now, this dissatisfied lopt.

he didnt know everything about humans, but he knew that he often got tired of paperwork, so he knew (or at least assumed) that mason was overworking himself.

logically, according to lopt at least, he walked into the ‘office’ mason was working in, and started to bother him with random questions.

“hmmm would you say that being a journalist is comic or tragic?” he spoke 

“a pain in the ass is what it is” mason said before erasing another line

“no but really, what do you think it isssss”

mason stayed quiet for several minutes, sighing several times as he kept trying to rework his sentences.

lopt sighed, “fine, fine, i get your busy and all, but couldnt you at least take a liiiiittle break?” lopt said with a semi pleading voice

mason erased the same line again, staring at the page, before turning his head up to lopt, he sighed aswell,

“no, i cant. im sorry. you know i love you and all, but this is important. you *know* this.”

lopt looked at his eyes, seeing the exhaustion

“cmon not even 10 minutes? please???” lopt pleaded with his lover

“i will once i get to a place i can stop, and if youre going to stay and here, please try to be a little quieter”

mason hated scolding lopt, but sometimes he had to be treated as a child to make him understand.

and sometimes it backfired.

lopt sighed and walked out of the door behind mason, giving one glance at him before shutting the door behind him.

he went back up to his room to think of anything to do since his partner was busy, he knew that his work was important to him sure, but he couldnt understand just why he pushed himself to do it so much.

after an hour of laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he decided to bring mason some fruit, it was partly an attempt to bring his boyfriend out of the room, but also just because it had been hours and he knew for a fact mason wasnt eating in there.

(UNRELATED BUT MY CAT IS SCREAMING RN AS I WRITE THIS AND HE FUCKINF WAS SCRATCHING ST THE DOOR NOB IM SOBBING HIW IS HE THAT LONG, HE JUST STRETCHED UP THERE ANYWAYS BRB TO GIVE HIM ATTENTION)

(alr back)

lopt cut up strawberries and peeled an orange for his partner, knocking in the door before opening it.

he sat the plate down on masons desk in front of him, hoping to draw his attention.

mason looked up 

“oh god what did you do.” 

“wha- i? nothing??? i didnt do anything? is it wrong to want to give you something to eat?” lopt fake pouted 

mason sighed “well thank you, but seriously. what did you do.”

“i didnt do anything! promise! not yet at least…” lopts voice trailed off

“uh huh…if you say so..” mason sounded like he didn’t believe him

lopt being and idiot that thought on the spot started to speak again;

“im gonna go onna walk okay? wanna come with?”

mason stared at lopts face, 

“its pissing cats and dogs outside, lopt. youre gonna get a cold”

(HELLO GAY PERSON SHO REFRENCE HOW ARE YO-) (srry not srry 🥰)

lopt sighed “ill be fine i swear! its not like..ill get hit by some truck..or.something….?” 

(i feel deja vu writing this line wtf)

lopt cut mason off “so im assuming that means you dont wanna come with?”

mason rubbed the bridge of his nose

“i love you, but no. i already will have to deal with one sick dumbass, better

not make it two”

lopt pouted before kissing mason on the cheek saying he’d be back soon enough.

he walked up the stairs to his room, he didnt really know why he said he was going to take a walk, it was raining like hell, and (catlike) lopt didnt prefer to get wet.

he sighed grabbing his house keys and phone just in case, before he walked out of his door he grabbed his wallet aswell, just out if habit.

lopt grabbed ‘his’ (more like masons community jacket) jacket, pulling the hood up and walking out the door, quietly shutting it behind him.

he walked down the side walk at a normal pace and past the park, 1/4 of a km down, he seen a cat, it looked to be 1-2 years old, missing half its right (front) leg and its left eye, it looked like a grey tabby, it seemed…familiar, to lopt.

it was stuck between two very narrow buildings, why would anyone even leave such a narrow gap? lopt helped free the cat, petting it (and just looking at it) he could see that the poor thing was soaked, gods know how long it was stuck there.

the cat purred and rubbed around lopts now wet pant legs, it was quite friendly, but he also knew that this cat was indeedly a ‘stray’, he had seen the cat one day, he looked around for its owner before a nice old lady informed him that she was a stray cat since her owner had died.

he picked up the cat, now deciding to go over to the pet store 3 blocks down (idk blocks i dont live in a place that has them sorry!)

now holding her, the cat snuggled into lopts semi wet t shirt that was now exposed from the zipper of his jacket accidentally being pulled down.

now walking, he tried to remember what the lady said, “something something her owner died of an overdose” he couldnt recall if it was said if it was on accident or not.

he also remembered the lady saying how no one would take the cat in, even after begging, it was mostly apartment complexes that didnt allow animals sure, but did no one really try?

he walked into the pet store, cat in hand/arms, he picked out a small bag of food, and some small toys, he would have to come back to get litter and such after he leaves the cat at home.

he payed for the items and started walking back, in another store window, something caught his eye.

(dont ask this is illogical but fuck it why not! for some context lopt is carrying the bags with one hand and cat in the other, chill ass cat)

it was bubble bath, typically meat for kids sure, but what was lopt if not a kid turned into a god (what)

(just assume they allow animals in there idk at this point 😭😭)

with on hand/arm lopt picked up around 5 bottles of bubble bath, he didnt have a plan in mind sure but he’d figure out some use for it.

lopt payed (again somehow only doing this with one hand) and left to go back home.

struggling to open the door, he set the bags down, twisting the knob, picking up the bags, and walked in.

he sat down the bags on the dining table, and decided to go show mason the cat.

.

.

“lopt you do know i’m allergic right?”

lopt was shocked, 6 months of dating and he never knew that?!

“i- what- n-no. i” lopt fumbled over his words, he knew the cat had lived im the streets for a while now, he couldnt just put it back out there!

“calm down-“ mason said before sneezing “its pretty mild anyways, its not like ill die or something”

lopt had some tears in his eyes, scared of having to pick between his boyfriend or a cat, he was never a great decision maker

“s-so we /wont/ have to let the cat go…?” he asked with some hope in his voice

“no we wont have to let the cat go” mason said slightly laughing “im shocked youre so attached to it anyways honestly” he seemed to find some amusement in lopt, a god, who had been alive for hundreds of thousands of years, was worried about having to let a cat go.

“i- well!” lopt said playfully frustrated, 

sighing “how about you help me go set up some food and water

for it okay?”

“sure sure, you gotta litter

pan?”

“no im gonna go back out to get that”

mason stood up “alright alright” mason said putting his hand out for the cat to sniff, before petting her.

they used normal bowls for the cats food and water since it wasnt like they had food bowls yet, lopt pet the cat and went back out to get some litter for her.

on the walk there, he contemplated just what to do with all the bubble bath he bough, and a plan came to his mind, he knew mason still only came out of his room to watch the cat and help set up the food and water, he went back to working on his book thingy right after.

if mason wasnt going to give him attention, then he’ll have his own fun.

he bought litter, a litter pan, and a few extra things such as a few more toys, extra food, a harness and leash, etc.

he knew exactly what he was going to do.

he walked back, he decided to put the litter pan in the half bath down stairs so the cat wouldnt have to go up and down stairs to eat and shit all the time (kill me now 😭😭)

the cat seemed nowehere to be found, he walked into masons now open room, finding the cat sleeping on the left side of masons desk.

this was the best chance to put his plan into action, he tried on more time to get mason out of his room, failing again.

sighing, he grabbed the bag on the table and walked up to the full bathroom upstairs.

he went over to the toilet, and squeezed 2 1/2 bottles of bubble bath into it. 

nothing seemed to happen.

(idk how bubble bath works sorry if this is wrong 😭😭)

he sighed, flushing the toilet, since nothing seemed to happen, he just had to wait until mason came back out, as he was going to leave he turned around, looking into the toilet, he seen an asston of bubbles starting to form.

he waited as it grew and grew, he decided to go get mason “to help” by time they both got back into the bathroom it had completely over flowed with bubbles.

mason and lopt both started to panic, lopt didnt mean for it to go this far, but the bubbles just kept going.

mason thinking fast, went down stairs and grabbed a mop.

he essentially attacked the bubbles (mopping them like normal.)

but they just kept coming.

and his arm was getting very tired.

he decided to set a timer for 10 minutes to wait until it got bad again then to mop them up.

mason repeated this several times, around 2 hours worth (12 times) before it looked mostly gone.

lopt decided to try and flush the remaining bubbles.

and it worked! no more bubbles in the toilet!

why hadnt they just thought of flushing it a second time.

mason high fived lopt and sighed.

“welp, back to work”

mason walked back to his office, lopt groaned, knowing that it would take mason even longer to finish his work now.

at least now they both have a cute cat to keep them company.

[shrekshugebadussy]

i don’t know how to put into words how i’m feeling other than depressed and grieving…

my mom wanted to go to the animal shelter today to look at a dog her and my brother were interested in. for some backstory: we had to put our dog down at the end of march of last year, so it’s been almost a year. we’ve had our dog, Racer, for 10years. my mom has been having a hard time with the recent holidays & so has my brother… but i’m not ready for another dog.

so yeah even tho we’ve talked as a family about it and i’ve expressed how much i am not ready for another dog, but if they are then i want them to be happy, but that i don’t want to be expected to be taking care of the dog, then by all means they get a dog. i’ll still love on it, but it won’t be my dog like how Squash is my cat.

anyhow, i woke up this morning and i probably should have just stayed home bcuz i was afraid i was going to break down while they were trying to look at this dog, but i wanted to be there with them and support them, and even see the dog myself bcuz ya know? maybe seeing in person might change my mind for the better? yeah no you can guess what happened.

i was able to hold off on falling tears at least until we got to see all the dogs they had at the shelter. i just started tearing up i couldn’t help it, and then ofc that’s when my mom started asking what our thoughts were and i couldn’t look at her bcuz i knew i’d be bawling if i did. but i couldn’t just ignore her either, so when she kept calling me i finally had to turn around and i couldn’t stop it. i broke down… i felt so bad i didn’t want my emotions to hold them back from being happy with a dog just bcuz i’m not ready, but i couldn’t control it. she asked what was wrong but even still i couldn’t just tell her that i didn’t want to be there anymore.

i had to step outside, and i hated that i had to walk in front of so many people there just to get outside while i was practically bawling. i felt so bad for them tho i was trying so hard to keep it together. we ended up going back inside and getting to interact with the puppy & yeah he was cute but i definitely did not connect with this dog, but my mom kinda did and my brother was more in the middle but saying yes, and the shelter doesn’t put holds on the pets so it was either we take him now or play with fate that he might still be there when we come back, so they kinda started going with taking him today.

ngl i was doing everything from breaking down again. i just really don’t want this but i don’t wanna be the one holding them back from this. but as my mom was going to start the paperwork, we started talking again, and they really started talking about how the house isn’t ready, how we need to set up the plan for introducing squash and the new dog, how much time we can spend at home thanks to our jobs and schedules, & that a puppy is much harder work…

turns out my brother thought he was ready for another dog but realized he kinda isn’t. and both my mom and bro also didn’t really connect with the dog either, so we didn’t get a dog today. and i’m a little selfishly (a lot actually) relieved. idk i just… this sucks

i just really miss racer

[simp47koreancrackheads]

OK I finally grew balls and catched up with my fav fic ever (let’s just admit it ok?) and I missed ranting about these two a lot so let’s gooo🫶🏼

I mean how down bad you have to be to have a wet dream with your coworker 😭😭😭 (I mean YES, it’s yoongi we get it) but girllll he’s in her head 24/7 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 I would never survive to be that hot and bothered after waking up. NOPE my respects to reader🙌🏼👏🏼

Oh my god. The racism. Like, I know this is fanfiction but thiss made me furiouuusssss!! I was so mad as if it was happening to me lmao. I applause you for portraying the situation this perfectly 👏🏼 but fuck I want an apology and idek who from😂😂😂😂(not you M baby💜). But yoongi saying it’s fine… bc he knows how to pick his battles and also to share a room right??? 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

And you just pulled glasses yoongi on us. With his light blue shirt on. IM CALLING THE POLICE, I NEEDED A WARNING FOR THAT M (and I apologize if it was in the warnings but I skipped the whole thing. I was too needy to check👀) and holy shit I just love the fact that he can read her like a book and call her out 🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Omg my baby star candy🥺💜

My god I know I don’t know you in real life (and I mean this as a huge compliment btw!) but why does Tiffany seems exactly like you😭 I picture you this funny and easygoing and just someone who I’d love to be drinking and realizing stuff about life with😂💜 and then the zodiac sign stuff? Yeah that’s so you😂 (I’m sorry if that offends you tho😭 but I had to mention it) 💜💜

Again, the giant chokehold yoongi has on her! She can’t even ask normally to join him in the bed. She has to go and call him stupid to cope with the situation. I love how childish she becomes with him sometimes😂😂😂💜💜💜

And ofc they woke up cuddled🤭

SHE SAID STAY OMG😭😭😭😭😭😭

Oh ok so he dreamed about her too🔥🔥🔥🔥

The light choking and talking in her ear😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

This has been marked as my favorite smut scene of all times MY GODDDDDDDDD🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🥵🥵🥵🥵🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.” I’m on the floor, passed out, dead. 🥵

“I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.” Yes king you are🔥😮‍💨

Aaaahh ffs let him ply the fucking piano😡 your loss bitch!! But anger issues asides, I’m dying for that little moment between them🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹💜💜💜😭😭🦋🦋

HE SQUEEZED HER HAND. FUCK😭💜

I somehow knew he wasn’t going to win (for the plot’s sake) jajajajajaa and kinda hoping it for some…. consolation…..🤭

Fuuuuucking helllllllll I love psy sunbaenim but istg if I got a dollar for every time people pulled that line to me for mentioning I like bts😡😡😡 I know violence is not ok but I really wanted him to go all daechwita on them old asses 🤺🤺🤺

Not the “you should date jungkook “ thing😡 yoongi sr you want HER stop offering her to jk😡

DRUNK YOONGI SINGING CAT AND DOG OMG JAJAJAJAJAJAJAAJA

Not them drunk kissing while yoongi wearing cat ears WHAT IS THIS lmaoooooo

Oh

my

god

HE !!!FUCKING!!! SAID !!!!IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯 i knew he liked her but LOVEEEEEEEE HERRRRRR???😭😭😭😭😭💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 I felt like I WON jajajajajaja😭😭😭💜💜💜

Jiminie to the rescue but he said no bitch deal with it till tomorrow 😂 he should know better than to trust her with this situation😂 love him so much

Poor baby reader got overwhelmed 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 omg I feel bad for her it’s just too much to handle 😭 I want to hug her so bad😭

FUCK HE NOTICED HER CRYING 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Ok final thoughts: IM SCARED for them😭 I really really don’t want this character development to be “just a one trip thing” but we’ll see!! And omg just two more chapters my heart is💔 I want it to never end😂💜

I loved this chapter and I love you thank you for this🥹💜🫶🏼

(what the fuck I didn’t realize I went this hard on ranting IM SORRY IT JUST POURED OUT😭😭😭😭😭😭) ily🥺💜

look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 16k 🙈

contains: explicit sexual content 👀 literally jumps immediately into it (well.... you'll see 🤭) so buckle up!!! serious warning that this chapter does contain a few instances of racism directed at reader/yoongi (being denied customer service, implying they need a translator, and comments insinuating yoongi is psy/bong joon-ho. pls proceed with caution and take care of yourselves 💜) also features: hotel drama, reader being v dumb in classic reader fashion but she gets there, a whole lotta tension and angst and misplaced anger, some new friends!!! and yes they're 3 idols see if you can figure out who 🤪, erotic bed sharing and handholding lmfao, probably the most drinking that has happened in a chapter yet (which is saying a lot honestly), of course the GRAMMY RESULTS.... oh yeah and yoongi in glasses, yoongi in a suit, yoongi playing piano, yoongi almost getting in a fight, yoongi rapping, yoongi WEARING CAT EARS (yes these are all warnings!!!!!! 😩) - ok and here are ur smut specific warnings: semi-public sex (mile high club anyone ✈️), cunnilingus, fingering, sex dreams, nipple play, dirty talk, reader has a voice kink 🥴, clit stim, unprotected sex AGAIN 💀, she squirts again don't @ me lmao, aaaaand some lovely mouth/throat fuckin 🫡

A/N: i feel like i have nothing to say that isn't just overwhelming gratitude to you all for being here 🥺 so i'll keep it short!!! sit back and get comfy bc this one's a lot, here we go y'all..... you ready?? 💜

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for their help betaing!!!

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist

~*~

You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.

You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.

The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”

You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?

“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.

“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.

You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.

“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”

Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.

“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.

You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.

“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.

Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.

Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?

Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.

But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.

Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.

“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.

~*~

Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.

Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.

She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”

“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”

The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”

Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.

“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.

She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”

You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.

“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”

There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I apologize, but due to the volume of bookings, our prioritization for room distribution is based on attending to the needs of our highest priority clients.”

Your jetlag-addled brain can’t keep up with the corporate talk. “And who are your highest priority clients?”

The smile on her face doesn’t falter. “As I'm sure you can imagine, we have quite a wealth of…” she pauses, as if choosing her next words carefully. “Local talent booking with us for the weekend.”

Your eyebrows nearly shoot off your forehead. “I'm sorry, you’re saying you can’t fix the mistake you made because we’re not from here?!”

A muscle in her jaw twitches as she blinks back at you. “I would certainly never say anything of the sort. If something was unclear, I'm happy to get a translator on the phone. It might make things easier for you to understand?”

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.” 

A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.

“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.

You’re so hot with rage that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you angrily follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.

Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.

“I can't believe you let her get away with that shit. She was being fucking racist, Yoongi.”

“Yeah,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I know she was. I've traveled overseas a lot more than you have.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!”

“It means,” Yoongi grunts as the doors slide open with a soft chime, “I've learned to pick my battles.”

You storm after him down the hall to your room, and he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.

He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.

“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”

Of fucking course.

The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.

And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.

“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”

The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.

~*~

You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.

When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.

Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.

“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.

He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.

The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.

“You wear glasses?”

The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”

“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”

You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”

The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”

You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”

He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”

“Guess so.”

The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.

His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.

You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.

The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.

At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.

“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”

“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”

He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”

The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.

“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”

They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.

“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”

As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.

“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.

The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.

You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.

“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”

Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”

Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.

“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”

“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”

Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”

You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”

“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.

“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”

All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”

“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.

“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was fucking racist—”

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”

“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.

“Is it?”

“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.

“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”

A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.

“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.

Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.

You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.

And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.

A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.

You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”

He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”

“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”

You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”

“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”

“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.

“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”

The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”

Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”

You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”

“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.

“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”

“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.

After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.

“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”

“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.

“So, can I be honest?”

“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.

“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”

You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”

The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”

Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”

A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”

Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.

“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”

“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”

Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”

While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.

A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.

Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.

The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.

So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.

Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.

“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“I am?”

“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him. 

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue. 

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt. 

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older white men you can only assume to be American industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Don’t tell me— oppa gangnam style, right?” The man talking does his best approximation of Psy’s dance, and you consider crawling under the nearest table.

“Nah, come on, he’s obviously the one who did Parasite,” another guy laughs.

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you can’t seem to find your manners. “Oh good job, Yoongi, I see you found the fucking racists.” You don’t miss the smirk he tries to conceal.

There’s a loud reaction from all of the white men, who clearly seem more entertained than hurt by your dig. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.” 

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.

chapter eight | masterlist

A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜

[kosmic-songbird]

Ik I don't really have a lot of followers but I wanted to make this announcement anyways. So, here goes, know that if you see any sad or venty posts I'm just going through it rn.

I'm going to try to tag these posts as #bad brain so you can block that tag if you need to because I know how it is when someone is constantly in doom and gloom mode without reprieve and I don't wanna force that on anyone. Not even unintentionally.

That being said, this blog is kinda my echo chamber so I will be using it here and there for some sad girl hours posting. Normally I wouldn't, but I just... I need somewhere to ramble without feeling like I'm going to overwhelm my loved ones.

So let's sum up why I feel The Worst™ right now, shall we? I recently lost a job I really liked because my Bipolar 2 disorder spiralled after I moved and I now have no money and feel like a constant burden. Searching for another job has been disastrous because my anxiety and aforementioned BP is acting up so bad I can't keep a sleep schedule, take my meds regularly, do basic things, or even regularly do things I love so I've been very selective about applying for jobs because I don't want to lose another one if I can't handle it. One of those things I'm floundering at is worshipping my Goddess (Hekate) my ancestral spirits (Cara and Great Grandpa Spurgeon) and my ancestral/land spirit (The Deer Woman--I'm a registered Lower Muskogee Native American but I look white AF and am more white than native so I normally keep my tribal practices and beliefs close to my chest. It's very personal to me alone so I don't feel it super appropriate to share much of that on here). My orchids are also hurting since I'm struggling and that hurts because I literally have 9 of them and they're all named. My dogs miss their momma being present and more affectionate. I think even my cat knows something is wrong. My physical health is abysmal too rn. My best friend decided that me setting some boundaries was too much for her and after a nasty falling out I'm starting to believe she used some sort of hex on me. I'm going home to my absurdly haunted house tomorrow to visit my family and I'm terrified because I tried banishing whatever the thing that hates me there was and it kept coming back within hours. I literally couldn't be in a room alone without being scared, emotionally distraught, or experiencing paranormal activity at that house by the end of it. Yet, even with that, I'm happy to go home to my somewhat problematic conservative, Christian family because hey, at least I'll be out of the house and talking to someone other than my boyfriend. (He's wonderful but I think we all need friends outside our significant others, no?) They're really, really excited to see me and it just feels like a tiny ray of light to be wanted. God, I even tried to sell my feet pics out of desperation 2 and my account on the site I was using got suspended??? I only uploaded once and didn't use the messaging system at all?? Like geez, I can't catch a break and it sucks. I really, really just want something to go right for me soon. My boyfriend can't keep working as hard as he is to take care of us both without my help and I owe it to myself to get better. I really want to feel better.

Okay, that's enough moping for now. I'm going to try to get on with it. Wish me luck 💙