#(that's more or less on their side at least)

[classyrbf]

thinking about jerking off nerd!gojo with your tits in his dorm room. You couldn’t care less for the loser, forced to have him as a tutor because you were failing your chem classes and needed an easy way out of your parents bitching at you. Quite literally you’ve gotten tired of hearing him talk and talk about stupid elements, formulas and equations because you’d rather much see the look on his face when he’s about to cum and hear how he sounds when he’s begging.

So that’s how you ended up on your knees in front of him, shirt unbuttoned and your tits covered in his pre cum, his thick and veiny cock pulsing between the two mounds of flesh as you move it up and down his sensitive shaft. His breath hitches, cheeks flushed a bright red, hands shaking as he struggling to push his glasses back up only for them to slide back down. “F-fuck,” he so sweetly whimpers, licking his dry lips. He loves the way you’re looking up at him, like you’re staring into his soul while simultaneously taking it. His heart pounds against his chest, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin hugging his aching cock, your warm tits only giving him an idea of what your pussy might feel like.

“Nngh, oh f-fuck…we’re…supposed to be…studying,” he managers to croak out through his pathetic moans and whimpers. His sucks in a breath, eyes rolling back when you go even faster, the sound of wet flesh smacking against each other makes the perverted part of his brain go into overdrive. He’s so fucking close.

“Awe, but don’t you wanna cum, Toru?” You teasingly ask, watching the way his throbbing red tip leaks another bead of precum only adding to the lubrication. The nickname alone drives Gojo crazy. He fists the sheets below him, jaw slack, a dazed look in his eyes. “We’ll make a deal, yeah? I’ll let you cum and do this as many times as you want as long as you do my chem work for me.” You smile, holding your tits tighter. “Deal?”

“Ok, ok, ok.” He ferociously nodded, biting down on his bottom lip. “I wanna cum so badly, please.” He let out a ragged breath, falling back on the bed as his body began twitching, hips jolting upward to create more friction. Just in mere seconds, ropes of sticky, hot cum shot up, landing on your tits. “Shit, shit! Ah, ah, nngh!” Gojo’s eyes rolled back. This feels like the most he’s ever came in his life. His legs began to shake the longer his orgasm lasts, groans and whimpers escaping his throat, filling the small room. His raspy breaths fall short, finally coming down from his high. He can barely even think straight now.

“God, you made such a mess!” You huff, looking down at your coated tits.

“Oh, uh—I’m sorry!” Gojo quickly sits up, panicking as he searches around for something to help you clean up. He swiftly hands you one of his shirts, handing it to you. You snatch it from his hands, wiping up every last drop of cum before tossing his shirt to the side. “Are you…um—”

“I gotta go.” You stand up, buttoning your shirt. “Thanks for agreeing to the deal.” You lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Gojo watches as you leave his dorm room without a care in the world, acting like you didn’t just milk him dry with your tits. At least he has something to look forward to every few days now.

[hahashifts]

Heroes POV:

I was in some deep shit.

Or, well, I would be if I didn't find some way off this damn street before they found me and dragged me back into that horrible house...

My lip was split and I could taste blood, and although I was running I had a serious limp and could feel the bruises blooming on my skin beneath my ripped clothes. My feet were bleeding - I hadn't been able to grab my shoes as I fled to the street.

I knew only one person who lived on this side of town, and it was the last person I should trust.

But, the alternative was -

No. Anything was better than where I'd just been.

I felt a trickle down my temple and jaw as I resisted the urge of leaning on a wall for support. No need to leave a blood trail right to their door.

Or, maybe that's just what they deserved. Assuming they didn't kill me first. At least then it would be a clean death. What more could a hero ask for?

Before I could second guess myself I threw myself into the doorway. I had figured out where they lived when we had our first run in two years ago. Since then I'd thwarted more of their plans than I think they had even expected, as well as cleared up the majority of the crime up north near the river. I had been trying to start bringing peace to this part of the city too, but those men had grabbed me & before I knew it I was half unconscious and being dragged into one of the townhouses. When I'd come to my clothes were ripped and they had beaten me and were clearly about to move on to using other parts of me. I'd managed to run out while they were all taking shots, thinking I was still knocked out.

I wasn't, thank the gods if they even still listened up there on their throne. But I was beaten and drained and my magic was shot - they'd done something to nullify it when I'd walked onto that damned street.

And I could hear them coming.

I tried to beat on the door, but I was bleeding, shivering - it was so cold out tonight - and they would be here in less than a minute and I'd be just another girl who disappeared from the street.

Maybe coming here was crazy.

There's no guarantee he'd even be here -

The door opened and warm light flooded from the doorway. I was swaying in my feet, honestly amazed that he even answered. I could feel the darkness creeping in and I knew it was either going to be my last moment or I'd be putting myself right in the hands of my enemy, but I had no choice. I "didn't know where else to go..." I hadn't meant to say that out loud, but it was the last thing I heard as I saw the ground swimming up to meet me.

But he caught me and held me in his arms, he heard the shouts from up the way following the blood dripping from me, I'm sure.

What a mess...

The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Do you have any plans for what happens with Urahara's shop once Aizen is dealt with? I mostly ask cus the other day I binged the AIEWAM tag, then had a dream about the Shinigami using it as a base of operations in Karakura. I don't know if that is likely, or plausible, but it was fun to picture random shinigami doing customer service.

No that's more or less what happens to it!

After Aizen is dealt with, Urahara is facing some pretty significant personal problems: his rejection by the 12th division, being pregnant with his first child (and Yoruichi's nervous breakdown of impending parenthood) and Nihofornia's National Tax Agency finally catching up to him. As a shinigami, Urahara is aware of the many ways to shimmy around death, but there is no certainty like Taxes.

It's Don Kanonji, the most reasonable and level-headed adult in the whole damn fic, who proposes the solution: between his careers of swimsuit model, UN Translator, exorcist and fashion designer, Don is also a Certified Accountant. After going over she shoebox full of miscellaneous receipts and assorted Papers That Might Be Important, Don negotiates a deal with the tax agency around Kisuke's dubious status as a citizen and even more dubious bookkeeping: kisuke will sell the business to someone with a real social security number and pay up a large percentage of the staggering amount of money he owes in exchange for being allowed to rent the building from the new owners and continue his path to legitimate citizenship and no further financial chicanery.

"Okay, but who's going to pony up the cash? I don't have that kind of money!" Kisuke wails, fully in the grip of second-trimester hormone swings.

"Urahara-san. Kisuke. Sandalhat. Buddy. Pal." Ichigo's classmate Keigo sighs, fondly patting the man on the shoulders as he sat down on the couch beside Urahara. "We're friends, right?"

"We're people who know each other's home addresses." Kisuke sniffles.

"Close enough!" Mizuiro waves, sitting down on Urahara's other side. "-and you're former second division, real cloak-and-dagger stuff. So you know that sometimes it's best to not ask so many questions, right?"

Kisuke frowned with growing suspicion. "I might have been..."

"Great! All you need to do is make Tessai clean out the garage, turn the paperwork over to me and Mizuiro, keep an ear on the line to soul society, and focus on getting this place ready for your little bundle of joy-" Keigo smiled, gesturing around the decidedly bachelor padded living room.

"-and don't worry about where this came from!" Mizuiro chirped happily, hefting a large briefcase onto the table with a loud thud that popped open the lid, revealing a frankly alarming amount of cash inside.

"I'm worrying." Kisuke grimaced.

"We very specifically requested the opposite of that." Keigo pouted.

"That's at least thirty grand in there." Don remarked with a casual glance at the carefully packed but decidedly used bills inside.

"There is Thirty-one thousand, two hundred seventy-eight point oh-six Troyen, which is exactly two and a half times this shop's discretionary income last year, and a very generous price for the business!" Mizuiro beamed.

"Why can't you guys use a normal currency like Kan?" Kisuke pouted, trying to do conversion rates in his head.

"Well for one thing, fiat currency is a hell of a lot better than anything based on the value of rice." Keigo nodded. "Though it is kinda stupid that we didn't update the name after we went off the gold standard during world war three."

"There was a third world war?" Kisuke yelped.

"A cold one, back in the eighties. You didn't notice were busy making sure Isshin and Masaki Kurosaki didn't implode." Tessai called from the kitchen.

"Oh." Urahra mumbled.

"Look, it's really quite simple- you'll go on basically as you have been with the candy shop-" Mizuiro smiled with the soothing demeanor of an unexpected adder. "-only I'll be your landlord and Keigo will be your manager!"

Urahra stared blankly at the boys, then looked up at Don Kanonji, who was reading over the contents of the file folder Mizuiro had handed him when the boys came in. "...That can't possibly be legal, right?"

"Hm?" Don hummed, looking up over his glasses. "Oh, yes. The government would really prefer a check but cash is perfectly legal tender to settle all debts with."

"But they're kids!" Kisuke gestured hysterically between them.

"Okay, Mizuiro might be babyfaced but he turned eighteen last spring and I'll be an adult by the time we turn in all this paperwork in April." Keigo groaned.

"And- and this is clearly Mob Money!" Urahara continued, waving at the briefcase of cash.

"Mister Urahara! I would NEVER-!" Mizuiro gasped with great offense. "I'll have you know all this money came from Perfectly Legitimate Enterprises!" He sniffed, arms crossed and lip pouting.

"That's the name of the Mobile Tech Support business Mizu and I have been running since freshman year!" Keigo beamed. "Makes a good packet, you wouldn't believe the kind of tips the old biddies will give a Nice Young Man in a Smart Uniform who scrapes malware off her online mahjong machine!"

Urahara stared at them blankly, gaze slowly tipping down to the briefcase full of money. "I should learn how to use living world computers."

"NO." Every single person in the building, including the shop kids and Ichigo, who had been passed out under the table after training, but was stirred to consciousness by an impending sense of danger before passing out again.

"Killjoys." Urahra muttered, sulking under his hat.

"Regardless, its a perfectly legal and honestly very generous offer for this heap, and as your financial advisor, I urge you to take it." Don Kanonji glared over his glasses at Urahara.

"So what, you boys get a cut of the candy money and rent? Cause that ain't much of a savvy deal on your end. This place runs at a debt."

"Oh no, you can keep the candy revenue and I'll only ask for enough rent to cover utilities." Mizuiro smiled. "What we want is a cut of your commission as a licensed Gotei-13 outlet contractor!"

"...But I'm not a contractor?" Urahara blinked.

"...Do you just. Not read things before you sign them?" Keigo glared.

"Yeah, you're not just in hock to the NTA, the Soul Revenue Service is after you too for running a fake Gotei-13 service center, and bailing on a century's worth of filings by faking your death." Mizuiro frowned at him with concern. "So e of those papers you signed when you resumed your identity and job as captain- however briefly were the result of Captain Kyoraku cutting you one HELL of a parole deal with the SRS, but the agreement was that Urahara Shoten would be the base of operations for ALL the shinigami operating in Karakura, under the direct supervision and control of the Gotei-13 and he sure wasn't stingy with the budget he gave you! Well. The budget he gave me and Keigo to spend since I'd be the property owner and Keigo would be the business owner."

"Aaaand since you also signed the soul society official secrets agreement, it's not like you can ask someone else to buy you out from the NTA, so not only are we your best offer, we're your ONLY offer!" Keigo grinned.

Urahra stared at them blankly. "You've set me up." He mumbled.

"You sent yourself up for this when you failed to do your due diligence when signing contracts." Don Kanonji corrected him, pulling some documents out of the folder and signing them, before pushing them across the table. "Please actually read these before you si- you've already signed them." Don Kanonji groaned as Urahara slapped the pen back down on the table with spite.

"Fine, fine- I guess I'm back to following orders instead of giving them. What do you want, Boss?" He glared at Keigo.

"Put your feet up and finish putting together that gift list for the baby shower." Keigo nodded. "We weren't kidding that your first priority is getting this place ready for baby... Does it have a name yet?"

"...No." Kisuke wilted despondently. "Yoruichi still isn't answering my texts!"

"Hm." Keigo nodded. "Okay, put your feet up, finish that baby shower list and think of a name for the little rugrat. Just leave the rest to us for now!"

"You guys are good kids." Kisuke smiled weakly.

"Would you be willing to make a sworn statement to that effect, so we can have it on file for any future HR disputes?" Mizuiro smiled.

"Absolutely goddamn not." Kisuke glared.

[nmakii]

i blinked and suddenly, i had a valentine!

— valentines with nagi and sae

folow @itoshiluvbot …. number one sae lover she on the floor rn while i type this…

nagi never liked valentines days. florists would be more pushy than usual, insisting that he should buy a rose for that someone special, and wouldn’t let him cross to school. so troublesome, honestly. not to mention how a bunch of girls would be slipping treats and love letters into reo’s locker. they’d always try to vy for his attention, specially on valentines, so now he doesn’t have anyone to hang out with!

well, no one else but you. on days such as valentines, you’d complain all day about how you had no one who loved you, it was a bit bothersome hearing the same thing every year. so this year, he decided to fix that.

he went out of his way to buy you a tiny box of chocolate— one of those expensive brands with different flavors that all really just taste the same. nagi knew that it was more or less a scam for boyfriends who want to buy their girlfriend something special, but nagi had a feeling you’d pout if it was one of those cheap brands chocolates from the convenience store.

right. you’d be the one who would be sad. it definitely just wasn’t nagi unable to show you that he does care for you, and him doing it by buying you the more luxurious options.

…anyway, he also bought you those bottled milk teas you love so much. the ones that he also likes to take sips out since it’s so tasty. one taste of it, and he’s always back to your favorite convenience store where the two of you would hang out. he’d play his video games while resting his head on your shoulder, and you’d write your essay while eating your cup noodles. it was all so simple, yet so perfect.

“nagi, pleaseeeee… be my valenhuzz…” you whined, sitting beside him on the staircase as he played his video games. “what does that even mean? the slang lately is so weird.” he sighed. “hmmm… you’re right, i miss skibidi toilet.” you shrugged, all before groaning to yourself. god, valentines was seriously hell on earth for single people.

nagi nodded, knowing the cause of your grief, and— …put his game down?! he lightly dropped his console to the side, letting his character get pummeled with bullets. he dug his hands into the holes of his absurdly large hoodie pocket, and pulled out a box of luxury chocolate and a bottle of milk tea.

“…for you” he mumbled, handing the gifts over to you. your heart swelled like the strings of a quartet at a genuine act of kindness from nagi seishiro, and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him.

“oof!” he grunted, caught more than off-guard by your side hug. “nagi! you’re so freakin’ sweet!” you squealed, your cuteness aggression kicking in. all you want to do is just take a bite out of nagi! “…it wasn’t too bothersome. i didn’t want you to be sad this valentines.” he muttered.

“ahah! so, you are my valenhuzz!” you snickered proudly, pumping your fist. “i— umm, sure... as long as we just spend today in my dorm.” he shrugged, exasperatedly shaking his head. you were awfully pushy when it came to the things you wanted, and it seems that today, that thing was him. it was too bothersome to fight you when you were like this, so it was easier to just agree with you.

“really—?!” you asked, you didn’t really expect him to agree! “…yeah, i’m not busy today, so i’ll be your valentine.” he hummed tiredly.

ah… you never thought this would’ve happened, but at least you aren’t forever alone anymore.

“come over.” was the only thing sae said in his text. as you went up to his apartment door, you felt nervous. this could’ve been a number of things. a booty call? a date? all of this on valentines no less. this was the first year he hadn’t asked you to be his valentine. even after 5– almost 6— years together, you could never read his mind, he just texts too ominously.

you knock on the door. and without a beat skipped, sae opens the door. he’s in an apron, looking like a househusband. hahah, how cute of him!

sae quickly moves to the side, making way for you to enter. “come in.” he hums, leading you in. inside, a display is before you. an actual candlelight dinner. a fried chicken cutlet served on the side of a cheesy pesto pasta. god, just looking at it made your mouth water.

“happy valentines, amorcita.” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear as he rests his jaw on your shoulder. he observes the shocked look on your face and scrunches his eyebrows. “why do you look so surprised? i do something like this every year, don’t i?” his head tilts.

you couldn’t really refute him— maybe your reason for thinking otherwise was a bit silly now. “i mean… yeah..! but, you didn’t ask me to be your valentines this year…” you pout, frowning like a child. sae scoffed, “you’re my valentines every year. why would it change this year?”

he raised an eyebrow, small creases forming at the edge of his lips as he tries to hide the smile on his lips. he uses his thumb to slide along the sharp edge of your jaw, admiring how the flames shone in the reflection of your eyes. “you’re being silly, amorcita. but if it makes you feel better…” he sighs, “will you be my valentine?” he asked.

you laughed at the seriousness of his tone. no matter the situation, he had a voice that made you want to listen attentively as if it’d be the last thing he says to you. you nodded softly,

“yes, i’ll be your valentine, sae.” you breathlessly sighed, humming your words as it reverberates back onto his lips in a soft, meaningful kiss.

[nonenosome2]

You are the densest person alive. Fucking hell. Elon Musk (apartheid prince of South Africa) is currently more powerful than Trump in the US. You want to see who's in charge, you follow the money. That leads you to Musk.

Yeah... I'm super dense because you first state that something is happening, then call it a hypothetical, then pretend you didn't do that.

Also, you mean Elon "the h1b visa program is a great thing" Musk? Or were you talking about someone else who thinks importing workers from other countries is a great thing?

I'm not arguing with just you. You have chosen to shack up the worlds stupidest and most intolerant cult. You can forgive me for arguing against the majority of you idiots instead of the your Enlightened Centrist Majesty.

Oh. So the reason you can't keep your facts straight, or make an argument that makes sense, is because you are trying to argue with a strawman you have invented.

Now it all makes sense.

They are fascist and following Hitler's footsteps to a tee. They're just doing it faster.

Please tell me what those footsteps are. Because so far the most hilarious one I saw was "He promised to fix the economy". Which covers every President since probably John Adams.

I'd love to see the other ways in which he is "following Hitler's footsteps."

If you defend a nazi, that makes you a nazi.

Really? Does defending a Democrat also make me a Democrat?

So read my arguments from the perspective of someone on your side and maybe you just might see what I mean.

What argument? You started the whole exchange by trying to beat up a strawman, then ignoring what I said.

Then again, if you were capable of empathizing you probably wouldn't be such a piece of shit.

OK.

I'm not gonna tell you that there are going to be death squads, but I'll tell you that ICE currently has the power to detain anyone and, at this point, send them to literal Gitmo with basically no oversight, so I'm not gonna dismiss the possibility. ICE are... Let's just say a little overzealous.

And? You think ICE is going to start snatching up LEGAL immigrants and shipping them to Gitmo?

And you say legal immigration is the answer, but Trump is trying to prevent basically all immigration into this country.

Is he? Or is he just forcing immigrants to enter legally and treating them as criminals if they don't?

If you were stuck between a gang war and the US border with your kids, I know for a FACT most people are going to cross the border. I'd come up with a scenario for you to imagine but I recall you are incabable of empathy.

You... You literally came up with a scenario in the previous sentence. Do you read what you write? Like, at all?

And onto your scenario. Yes. I would cross the border. That doesn't make what I did any less illegal. I don't know what this is supposed to prove.

This is all shit Trump has done in his first month in office.

What is? You literally haven't said what Trump has done in his first month, just stuff you think he might do.

There's 3 years and 11 months more (at least) of his term in office. If you think he's gonna stop with what he's done and NOT make things a million times worse, you weren't paying attention the first term.

WHAT HAS HE DONE?!? YOU NEVER SAID!?!

Good luck out there buddy. I'm done with you.

OK. Good bye.

Hope you got a workout punching and kicking that strawman.

Do you realize that all these ICE raids and deportation flights cost money?

Probably more than it would cost to just give every immigrant everything they need unconditionally so they can be the freeloaders that you accuse them of being?

[sweetfcwn]

stay - george clarke.

the fight had been stupid. at least, it felt stupid now, in the silence that followed.

you sat curled up on your side of the bed, your arms wrapped around your knees, staring out the window at the dim glow of london’s streetlights. george was on the other side of the room, pacing in that restless way he did when he was upset but didn’t know what to do with it.

“are you even going to say anything?” he finally asked, voice quieter than before, but still edged with frustration.

you swallowed, your throat tight. “i don’t know what you want me to say.”

george ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “i don’t want you to say anything, i just—” he stopped himself, shaking his head. “i just wish you’d let me in.”

your fingers tightened around the fabric of your jumper. he didn’t get it. he didn’t understand that letting people in meant giving them the power to leave. and you had lost too many people to take that risk.

“i’m trying,” you said, barely above a whisper.

george looked at you then, his expression softer now. less frustrated, more… sad.

“i know,” he admitted. “but it’s hard watching you shut down every time something gets too real. i don’t need you to be perfect, baby. i just need you to be here with me.”

the words settled in your chest, heavy and aching. you hated how much sense they made.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the only sound was the faint hum of the city outside, the space between you stretching wider, more fragile.

then george sighed, raking a hand through his hair again before turning toward the door.

“i’m gonna go—”

“don’t.” the word left you before you could stop it.

george froze, glancing back at her. you bit her lip, willing yourself to meet his eyes. “don’t go,” you said, quieter this time.

his shoulders relaxed, just slightly. “i wasn’t leaving,” he murmured. “just giving you space.”

you let out a breath, your pulse unsteady. you shifted, hesitating only a moment before reaching out a hand. “i don’t want space.”

george didn’t hesitate. he crossed the room in two steps, taking your hand in his, warm and steady. you let him pull you close, letting yourself melt into the safety of his arms.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

his lips pressed against the top of your head. “you don’t have to be.”

you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until the city outside faded into nothing.

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—love didn’t always have to end in loss.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for RaineyDay behind the cut; "Smallville does not approve of Clark Kent’s parenting style". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Unfortunately, this particular drive he’s apparently going to be spending trying to figure out what the hell Conner did to set off Cathy Mueller bad enough to take it out on him, because sure as hell the kid isn’t going to just tell him, and also because he doesn’t want that coming back on Ma and Pa. If Cathy’s this mad at him when he hasn’t even been in town for a good two months or so, he can’t even imagine how she would’ve reacted to them showing up at the store, given they’re the ones Conner actually lives with. 

It’s–difficult to figure out, unfortunately. Especially because he swears Conner talks to him less and less these days even though if anything Clark actually sees him more. The kid’s still upset over being “stuck” in Smallville or the Titans situation, he supposes, which . . . well, he’s a teenager. Clark hadn’t wanted to interfere in his life like that, but . . . well, it’d been necessary at the time. But if Conner’s acting up about it or taking his frustrations out at school . . . 

Clark doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to do about that, actually. Talk to him about it, he supposes, but that always feels so damn awkward. Conner never really seems to respond well to it or really understand the point he’s making anyway. Especially lately, because every time Clark’s tried to talk to Conner about problem behavior since he moved out here, the kid either sits there like a sullen brick wall or gets his back up and starts snapping at him. It’s just not . . . productive, really. 

Clark doesn’t remember being like that as a kid, when a teacher or coach or just any adult in his life had told him that he was doing something wrong. He’d gotten upset at adults who’d had unreasonable or unfair expectations or just hadn’t known what they were talking about, yes, or ones who’d refused to listen to his side of things, but not ones who’d just been offering basic life advice or correcting a misstep. He’d definitely never made trouble for Ma and Pa because he’d decided to act out around town, cheerleaders or not. And definitely hadn’t done any deliberate property destruction, since obviously that’s still on the table too. 

He just doesn’t understand the kid, sometimes. Or–most of the time, really. He genuinely cannot think of a single kid who’s ever been in his life that was so hard to just talk to, across literally every single age range. Jimmy was only a couple of years older than Conner when he first met him; Dick was half his age. Jason–well, he didn’t know Jason as well, but he was younger than Conner too and the poor kid got himself killed while acting out less than Conner tends to. Tim’s polite to a fault, and Damian . . . well, Damian’s a bit difficult, but you just have to be sure to approach things from his perspective. There’s never been a sidekick or a Titan or any teenage hero in the community that was any worse than a civilian teenager just trying to figure themselves out, but talking to Conner is just . . . 

He just doesn’t understand why Conner always makes it so damn hard to just talk to him. The kid’s more stubborn and less willing to listen and more unpredictable than some supervillains Clark’s known, or at least it feels that way. Even after a good two or three years of knowing each other, Clark never really knows what’s going to set him off, it’s–actually, it’s closer to four years now, isn’t it. 

Well . . . Conner was about fifteen or sixteen when he’d met him in Metropolis; he’d spent a while in Hawaii and the Wild Lands, and then a while with Cadmus, and then a few months back in Metropolis where he’d managed to get the entire apartment building he was living in destroyed, so . . . closer to four, yes. And at least a year of that he wasn’t actually aging for, and essentially none of it he’d spent in school, so when Clark had been getting papers set up for the kid he’d just written him down as “seventeen” and made up some excuse about his previous guardians home-schooling him. The school had given him a few assessment tests and placed him as a junior–which honestly had been better than Clark would’ve expected considering Conner’s patchwork education–and Clark had left all the necessary forged paperwork with Ma and Pa and assumed Conner would know better than to make trouble for them.

Given the amount of times the kid’s played hooky already, probably he should’ve expected a situation like whatever’s got Cathy Mueller in a twist to come up by now, Clark has to admit. 

The drive, in the end, is not particularly good for clearing his head. 

[troglobite]

If you are taking Spironolactone now, and wish to quit, please be warned — quitting Spiro suddenly without preparation is difficult and hazardous, and your doctor is very unlikely to understand some of the problems you will encounter.  You should be able to find some peer coaching on the practical aspects of quitting in the Facebook HRT group for more information. Also, experience suggests that most trans women on megadoses of Spiro (200mg or higher) can successfully suddenly drop to 100mg a day without rebound effects (speak to your doctor), but following that, a slower reduction schedule may be required. But the best solution regarding Spiro is to never start. ... The prescribers are saving their patients from a small risk by exposing them to a larger risk. It is bad risk-benefit judgement. I have written more on this elsewhere. (7) It is notable that the 2009 version of The Endocrine Society guidelines even include a mention of estradiol injection (19) but still refer to Spironolactone. One final thought, this time a speculation: it seems possible based on observations that high levels of testosterone provide some protection against the cortisol-raising properties of Spironolactone, such that testing of the drug on male volunteers might not have shown such a large side effect when the drug was originally tested, leading to a situation where heavy dosing of trans women led to these oversized effects. Would the original manufacturer’s dosing advice have been different if the drug had been more thoroughly tested with female patients? Something worth looking into, perhaps. ...Our observation is that these effects [visceral fat] do not begin until the patient is taking doses of 100-400 mg a day, and takes these doses for at least 12 months.  Transgender women are being exposed to doses which far exceed the studied levels being used to claim safety.  Our own observations seem to indicate that taking less than 100mg daily, or taking Spiro for 12 months or shorter time usually does NOT lead to visceral fat accumulation.  We are raising the red flag on a patient population exposed to a MUCH greater dose.  Finally, there is the inevitable labeling of our observations as “anecdotal evidence” (or even drug-blaming from patients unhappy about unrelated issues). Let me just point out that much important medical knowledge starts out as anecdotal. Collect a large group together, and those anecdotes become “group knowledge”, which can progress to shared beliefs and practices, and then to clinical experience, and from there it may become accepted into the bulk of accepted medical science. New knowledge always starts somewhere.

quotes from the end of the piece^^ for context, so that everyone knows where to look and how to safely stop taking spiro.

also be warned that there is some discussion of BMI, "ob*sity", and fat gain. it's shitty "medical" language and wanted to give a heads up for it.

ALSO there are ppl in the notes of this post sharing alternative antiandrogens, as well, which may be helpful to bring up at drs appts.

Hey, if you're currently on Spiro, drop it! Give this a read and then stop taking it!

[urno1luv]

love ur works!! could u write abt ceo g!p nayeon being possessive with secretary reader and gets jealous whenever she sees someone “flirting with her” and proceeds to claim and corrupt reader :) 😵‍💫😵‍💫

summary: nayeon helps you understand how jealous you make her by (kinda) confessing to you then eating you out in her office 🍒 for valentines today 💝

Working as CEO Im Nayeon’s secretary was a privilege—at least, that’s what everyone in the company told you. She was powerful, brilliant, and effortlessly charming, a woman who had the entire business world wrapped around her finger. You admired her work ethic, the way she carried herself with unwavering confidence, how her mere presence could command an entire boardroom. But what you didn’t notice—what you had been blind to this entire time—was how possessive she was when it came to you.

At first, it was subtle. Nayeon had always been particular about who you interacted with, but you chalked it up to her wanting to keep her inner circle small. Whenever a colleague lingered too long by your desk, she would find an excuse to summon you to her office. Whenever a client complimented your work a little too enthusiastically, she would dismiss them with a tight-lipped smile, her nails tapping impatiently against her desk. You never questioned it. To you, she was just being her usual, exacting self. It never crossed your mind that her behavior only ever surfaced when you were involved.

Then, the possessiveness became more obvious. One afternoon, as you sat at your desk typing up reports, a junior executive approached you with an easy smile. He leaned against your desk, far too close, and offered, "Hey, you’ve been working hard. How about a coffee break? My treat." His voice was warm, friendly, but before you could even register the offer, a chilling presence cast a shadow over the interaction.

Nayeon stood there, her expression unreadable, though the sharpness in her eyes told an entirely different story. "Y/n is busy," she stated in a tone that left no room for argument.

The executive, sensing the shift in atmosphere, chuckled nervously. "Oh, I was just—"

"Did I ask?" she interrupted smoothly, her voice deceptively sweet.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Oh, but I don’t have any meetings—"

"You do now," she cut in without missing a beat. "In my office. Immediately."

Your mouth opened to protest, but the steely glint in her gaze made you swallow your words. You quickly grabbed your notepad and scurried after her, still not understanding what had just happened. As soon as the office door shut behind you, she sighed, rubbing her temples as if exhausted by the ordeal.

"Why do you always let people talk to you like that?" she muttered, leaning against her desk.

You blinked at her, tilting your head in confusion. "Like what? He just asked me for coffee—"

"And that’s exactly the problem," she snapped, standing abruptly and walking around her desk until she was in front of you. "You don’t even notice when people are trying to steal you away from me."

Your heart stuttered at her words. "Steal me? Nayeon, that’s ridiculous. No one’s—"

Before you could finish, she placed her hands on either side of your chair, effectively trapping you in. The proximity made your breath hitch. Her eyes bore into yours, dark and unreadable, and for the first time, something about her intensity made your stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.

"I don’t like it when other people get too close to you," she murmured, her voice softer now, but no less firm. "You belong to me, Y/n. You know that, don’t you?"

The weight of her words settled over you, but you still didn’t quite grasp the depth of what she was saying. Your throat went dry. "I—I understand…?" you answered hesitantly, unsure of what she wanted to hear.

A small smirk tugged at her lips, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a barely-there caress. "Good," she murmured, as if pleased by your response. She lingered there, her touch light yet possessive, before tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "From now on, if anyone asks you out, tell them you’re already taken."

You frowned, blinking up at her. "But I’m not dating anyone—"

She leaned in even closer, her lips nearly brushing against your ear as she whispered, "You are now."

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could process what she meant, she finally pulled back, a satisfied glint in her eyes. At that moment, something clicked—something you had been too naïve to notice before. This wasn’t just about work. This wasn’t just about professionalism. Nayeon had already claimed you long before you had even realized it.

The air in CEO Im Nayeon’s office was tense, though you couldn’t quite understand why. You sat at your usual spot, organizing reports while she skimmed through documents at her desk. The silence between you wasn’t unusual, but something about today felt… off. Ever since the incident with the junior executive the day before, Nayeon had been watching you even more closely. Every time you so much as greeted someone in the hallway, her gaze would darken, her lips pressing into a thin line.

But you thought nothing of it. You had no reason to.

Until now.

A knock at the door interrupted the quiet atmosphere, and before you could even rise from your chair, the door opened, revealing none other than the same junior executive from before, Seungmin. He looked hesitant, as if he already knew he was walking into dangerous territory but had chosen to step forward anyway.

"Good morning, CEO Im," he greeted politely before turning his attention to you. "Y/n, I just wanted to apologize if I made you uncomfortable yesterday. That wasn’t my intention."

You blinked in surprise. "Oh! No, you didn’t. I—"

"You did," Nayeon interrupted, setting her pen down with a sharp click against the glass table. Her expression was unreadable, but her tone was laced with clear warning. "And now, you’re interrupting her work."

Seungmin hesitated but forced a polite smile. "I just wanted to clear the air. I didn’t mean to overstep."

"You did," she repeated, this time pushing back her chair and rising gracefully to her feet. Slowly, she made her way around her desk, her presence exuding dominance as she approached where you sat. "But it seems you still don’t get it."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Nayeon, he was just—"

Before you could finish, Nayeon turned toward you and, in one swift, deliberate motion, cupped your face between her hands and pressed her lips against yours.

Your mind blanked.

Her lips were soft yet firm, a silent declaration rather than a fleeting touch. The warmth of her hands against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and the sheer confidence in the way she kissed you left no room for doubt—this wasn’t just an impulse. This was intentional.

Your breath hitched as she pulled away, her fingers lingering on your jaw as she tilted your face up to meet her gaze. The smug smirk tugging at her lips sent your heart into overdrive. "Do you understand now?" she murmured, her voice so quiet yet deafening in the intimate space between you.

It wasn’t until Seungmin let out an awkward cough that reality crashed down on you. You quickly turned your head, face burning, only to find him standing there frozen, mouth slightly agape. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable—partially because he had just witnessed the CEO kiss you in broad daylight, but mostly because the message was crystal clear.

"I—I should get going," he stammered, stepping back toward the door. "Again, my apologies."

Nayeon barely spared him a glance. "There won’t be a next time," she said dismissively, watching as he practically bolted out of the room. Only when the door clicked shut did she finally return her attention to you.

You were still in a daze, staring at her with wide eyes. "You… you kissed me."

Her smirk widened. "Of course, I did." She brushed her thumb over your lips, her touch lingering. "How else was I supposed to make sure everyone knows you're mine?"

Your heartbeat was erratic, your mind struggling to keep up. "But—"

"No buts." Her expression softened slightly, though the possessiveness in her eyes never wavered. "I told you, Y/n. You belong to me."

You weren’t sure what was more overwhelming—the fact that she had just kissed you in front of a colleague, or the way she said it with such certainty, as if it had always been a fact rather than a new revelation.

And as she leaned in once more, lips ghosting over yours in silent promise, you realized one thing: whether you fully understood it or not, Nayeon had no intentions of letting you go. Not now. Not ever.

The kiss deepened, her tongue slipping into your mouth, as your cheeks reddened. You knew she had a soft spot for you, but you didn't know that she held so much... passion.

She pushed you onto her desk, standing between your legs, as her kisses trailed further and further down. You reciprocated her touches, your arms wrapped around her neck, pulling her closer to you. Nayeon hummed in satisfaction, and her hands sneakily groped your ass, sighing at the moan you let out.

She pushed her paperwork out of the way and laid you down, her lips immediately reconnecting with your body, unbuttoning your blouse while kissing the exposed skin, before she pulled your pencil skirt up, and what graced her eyes was a beautiful sight of your red lace panties. "It's almost like you knew i was going to fuck you, huh. You dirty girl."

She ripped off your panties and shoved her nose into your cunt, the fragrant, musky aroma welcoming her. You whimpered, feeling embarrassed as you could feel yourself leaking onto her face. Nayeon lazily lapped up your wetness, before delving deeper into you, suckling at your bundle of nerves. The sensations removed any sense of nervousness from you, as you pushed her head into you, biting your tongue in a fevour. Nayeon took that as an invitation to completely let go, her tongue working in a quick and effective way, as you could feel yourself reaching your orgasm already.

One more flick is all it takes for you to come undone. The coil in your stomach suddenly snaps, white flooding your vision, the entire room going silent for a moment, and then you came all over on your CEO's face. Nayeon didn’t let up straight away, instead she encouraged a few more spurts from your pussy until you blacked out on her desk. This will be an experience that you would both remember for a long while 🍒

[sailorsoons]

Still Watching? (l. c)

Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader 

Summary: Blood and Popcorn with your newly minted boyfriend is your favorite. Except now you watch a lot less Buffy and a lot more of Chan. 

Word Count: 2,153

Genre: Established Relationship, PWP

Type: Smut

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Shameless pwp, explicit language, explicit sexual content including nipple play, vaginal fingering, a little bit of teasing/edging, cheesy banter. 

A/N: Happy Valentine's day pt II the remix! As always, thank you to @daechwitatamic for beta reading this :)

A/N 2: This is the same couple from Blood & Popcorn but you do not need to read the first story to read this one :) This was originally posted on my old blog.

Main Masterlist | Permanent Tag List | Ask

“Honestly, it is so obvious this show was written by a man,” You mutter, watching as Buffy yells at Xander. “He wants to be a hero for her soooo bad.”

“Xander is the worst,” Chan sighs. You rise and fall with his chest, your back pressed against his front where you lay against him. His knees cage you in on either side of your hips, your ass planted firmly between his legs with his arms around your middle, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “He really thinks he should win the girl just because he’s a nice guy.” 

“Truly, he has like… very few other qualities than being a nice guy.” 

He hums. “At least Spike knows he’s an asshole. It’s guys like Xander who think just because they’re not blatantly awful that it makes them dateable.” 

“A lot of guys think that.” 

“Mhmm. I’m a rare breed.” 

You crane your neck to look up at him. You can hear and feel the steady thud of his heart, smell the hint of aftershave and menthol from his shower earlier, feel the heat of his skin. It makes you a little dizzy and you unfocus on the screen, studying the gentle curve of Chan’s mouth. 

“You’re surely something,” you mutter in response, grinning a little as you look away toward the screen. His fingers slip under your shirt, skimming your waist. You suppress a shiver, suddenly hyper aware of the way his fingers scrape against you. 

“I’m a nice guy and I know that it takes more than being a decent human being to get the girl.”

“Oh yeah? Remember the time it took four years to confess your feelings to me? What do you know, Lee Chan?”

“Hmm. Data is insufficient. Need more evidence regarding that specific example.” 

For a moment, you’re unable to respond, lids fluttering as Chan continues to caress your lower stomach and hips. His touch is completely innocent, no suggestion that he intends anything. That he means anything. It’s a motion that is instinctual for him, so naturally to have his hands on you that it almost makes it worse. 

Just knowing how easy it is for him to love you never fails to surprise you. You don’t know how you never saw it before. 

Now it seems silly to have ever thought that Chan was anything less than in love with you. It’s in the way he naturally gravitates toward you in every room. It’s in the way he can be totally focused on something else, but his hand reaches out for you, not even really noticing that he’s seeking you out. It’s  in the way that you mold so perfectly into his chest, made to be there. 

“You don’t know your own data?” you shoot back eventually, snuggling a little closer to him. If you could crawl into his hoodie, you would. For now, this is fine. “Seems like you don’t know much.” 

“Hmm?” His fingers stop moving. You feel the question hum against you. “I don’t know much?” 

“Nope.”

Your heart starts to pick up. Chan’s fingers start stroking your skin again but you feel the difference. His blunt nails scrape across your skin, raising goosebumps on your arms. He skims his hands higher and back down, touch light over your ribs. Every time his fingers dance up your side, his reach goes a little higher. 

A tightness forms in your throat. You try to keep your breathing even and will yourself not to squeeze your thighs. You are pressed too close to him for him not to tell if you squirm. Chewing your lip, you stare at the screen totally unseeing. 

“Hm.” Chan’s deep hum hints at trouble. You feel your hands get clammy. “I think I know some things. Like for example…” He trails off for a moment, hand brushing under your left breast. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, fighting a twitch. “I know that your favorite color on me is green.” 

“Green is a good color on anyone.”

“I know that you like the feeling…” His hand skates low this time, fingers dancing dangerously against the waistband of your shorts. “Of high thread count sheets.”

You snort. “Everyone likes good sheets, Chan.” 

“Good sheets are important,” he agrees. You feel him trace his pointer finger back up with deadly accuracy, following the swell of your breast upward, skating so close to your nipple that you stop breathing. “Everything alright? You stopped breathing.”

“What?” you squeak. “Oh, yep. I am great.” 

“I don’t know, baby. Are you feeling well? You seem… warm.”

Chan presses his palm flat to your chest, fingers splayed wide. His palm is warm and rough, his touch igniting a fire inside of you. The heat spreads outward, licking at every one of your nerves and setting them ablaze. 

In an effort to ignore him, you lick your lips and say, “Never felt better. I like her boots.” 

His chuckle is low. Throaty. You’re barely holding it together, feeling the ache between your thighs at the firmness of his touch. “See, I don’t know a lot about women’s fashion. But I do know those are not boots. Just like I know you’re not paying attention to the show, Bambi.”

You blink and stare at the TV. Chan’s right. Buffy is in sneakers, though in your unfocused haze they had been blurry and looked like boots from a distance. You swallow down the dryness in your throat, Chan’s hand still pressed flat and warm against your chest. 

“I know that your heart is pounding,” Chan murmurs, voice barely audible as he presses his mouth by your ear. Your eyes flutter shut. “I know that you’re trying really hard not to squeeze those thighs.” 

“You can’t possibly know that.” 

To prove his statement true, Chan’s thumb brushes upward, skating gently over a nipple. On command, your thighs squeeze and you feel the shake of his laughter behind you. 

“I know everything about you, Bambi.” His voice brushes against you like his soft touch. You melt, feeling your weight sink into him further. “I know that you don’t share your food with anyone but me. I know that your favorite episode of Buffy is Hush. I know that you think Buffy should end up with Spike. I know that you are probably soaked right now because being caressed drives you crazy.” 

“Insufficient data,” you breathe. “I recommend research.” 

“You know what? Agreed.” 

Chan moves fast. His hand moves from your chest to between your legs, hands slipping under the waistband of your shorts and panties before you can blink. Your lips part, a breathy noise escaping you as Chan drags a slow finger up your sticky folds. 

“What do you know,” he observes. His fingers idly trail up and down your slit, making you twitch against him. “I was right. Do I win anything?” 

“I thought you said nice guys shouldn’t just win the girl.” 

Chan presses his fingers firmly to your clit, a ripple of pleasure ebbing through you. Your hips lift off the couch slightly but he pushes you back down into his lap, other hand looping around your waist to lock you to him. “Maybe I’m not that nice.”

Slowly, he starts to retract his hand. You whimper, both of your hands shooting to grab the wrist belonging to the hand between your legs. He pauses, fingers pressed between your folds. “You are nice!” 

“Oh?”

“Very nice. You’re my very nice, very sweet boyfriend.” 

“I see.” 

He doesn’t move his hand at all. The space is filled with the low hum of Buffy fighting vampires, the blue flash of the screen falling against your silhouettes, body to body as he holds you tight. You try to get control of your racing heart, but that’s never been easy around Chan.

He knows it.  

“Maybe you know some things,” you admit slowly. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Chan’s resounding chuckle is dangerous, but he slides his hand back down. You loosen your grip on his wrist but keep your hands resting on his forearm, feeling the muscle flex under your fingertips as his fingers resume their debauched exploration. 

“See, that’s another thing I know. I know you hate being wrong, so if you’re wrong… it was because you were doing so intentionally.”

His words fall on unlistening ears. You’re too worked up by the simple way he plays you, too focused on the way his fingers gently circle your clit, the perfect stimulation. Too distracted by the way he dips his head down to sweep his mouth across your throat in open-mouthed kisses. 

“I know you’re… not listening.” He stops and you let out a strangled sound, nails digging into his arms. He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point. “Didn’t think so.”

“Chan.” 

“Hmm?”

“Please don’t tease me.”

“Why not? You were teasing me.” 

You pout. He can’t see it, but you know he knows it’s there. “I like to tease you. I have to keep you humble.” 

A long moan slips from your lips and you tilt your head back to Chan’s shoulder when he presses a finger into your aching cunt. You feel yourself twitch around him, hips swiveling for more friction. 

“Humble? How are you ever going to keep me humble when this pussy gets this wet after I’ve barely touched you?”

Well that’s true. You don’t care, though, turning boneless as Chan strokes you with his fingers properly. It feels so good. Only he knows how to touch you like this, familiar with every button to press and every contour to mold to. 

Heat flushes your neck. Chan presses his lips against your cheek, working your cunt with his fingers as he holds you steadfast. It feels like you might suffocate, totally trapped against him. His skin and breath are hot against you, the air thick. He breathes out a groan when your hips buck upward, Chan dropping all pretext of teasing you.

“Like that,” he breathes, heavy. “Do it exactly how you like it.”

Another finger drives you wild. You fumble over his name, squeezing your eyes shut and meeting the quick strokes of his hand. His palm presses firmly against your clit, letting you grind yourself against him for the extra stimulation. 

You burn up. Briefly you wonder if this flash of euphoric heat is what Icarus felt before the fall. The thought is chased away from the intense pressure in your stomach as Chan presses up against that spot inside you, making stars burst behind your eyes.

“Wait - I’m gonna come in my shorts,” you whine, realizing you still have them on. “Chaaaan.”

“So come in them,” he says simply. “Research has revealed that you have a washer and dryer down the hall, baby. Go ahead.” 

“Fuuuuck.” 

“Come for me. I know you want to.” 

You do want to. A moment of static builds up, your thighs squeezing around his hand so hard he can’t move and then you’re coming around his fingers, your nails biting into the skin of his wrist. His grip across your waist is like iron, holding you to him as you come undone. 

Chan’s mouth presses gentle kisses on your jaw, muttering soft I love yous and fuck yeahs against your burning skin. The burning doesn’t stop, your body flushed with heat as you sink away from your orgasm, turning to molten metal and melting into his hold. 

He leaves you like that for a few minutes, thighs shaking around the hand still shoved between your legs, fingers pressed deep inside of you. It feels intimate, and you crane your neck, driven by the desire to kiss him. Chan’s lips are already there because he knew you would want his lips against yours. 

Just like he knows everything about you. 

Chan’s lips are soft and gentle. His tongue brushes against yours in a slow dance and you lean up into him more, desperate for him. He laughs into the kiss, letting you have your way until you’re panting, sweaty and out of breath again. 

You sag, head on his shoulder as you pant. “Your fingers are still in me.”

“Mhm.” He presses them in harshly, making you jolt. It earns a deep laugh from him. “Maybe we should call this Popcorn & Pussy instead. We’ve barely gotten through a full night of episodes since we started dating.”

“Are you aware you make the worst jokes?” You open your eyes and glance at the screen, only to find that the show has paused between episodes, asking if you’re still watching and if you want to continue. “Are you still watching? No, Buffy. I’m not.”

“No problem.” Chan pulls his hand from between your legs, the wet squelch making you whimper. “I have something else you can watch.” 

“Oh?” 

Chan kisses your temple sweetly before getting up, letting you fall back against the couch while he kneels on the couch and pulls your legs toward his face. You inhale deeply, watching as he looks up through long lashes, a smirk on his face. “Still watching, Bambi?” 

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cookiearmy21-blog @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched@eoieopda @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy@gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @bultaereume @yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries@archivistworld @asyre @kaepjjangiya @fancypeacepersona@beckyloveshannie @imujings @do-you-remember-summer-127 @jbluen@mingumi @kimsaerom @imlonelydontsendhelp @ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cookiearmy21-blog @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched@eoieopda @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy@gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @bultaereume @yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries @archivistworld @asyre @kaepjjangiya @fancypeacepersona @beckyloveshannie @imujings @do-you-remember-summer-127 @jbluen @mingumi @kimsaerom @imlonelydontsendhelp

[videokilled]

As unbothered as Vox was intentioned on being by the others absence.. it was easier said than done. He exhibited very similar possessive and clingy behavior when it was just him and Valentino. But he had Valentino under at least a semi restrictive contract that gave him so semblance of control.

Alastor and him had no such thing- even this contract was thin and frail at best. He had the favorable end- but it was hasty and verbal. A far cry from the level of exhaustive and documented his usual contracts were.

Even if it had been. It wouldn’t last- it was nuanced. Situational.

It only took a few minutes beyond Alastor’s absence for the sensation in his throat to make eating feel wholly uncomfortable.

He let out a very loud groan and put the mostly empty rice and teriyaki dish to the side and stood. Still naked other than the towel around his waist now, he started pacing to give himself a secret paranoid pep talk. He had a few minutes,

“relaaaxrelaxrelaxrelax.” Vox muttered to himself and walked over to pick up the cigarettes Alastor had brought with him. God he really was a high maintenance bitch now. He didn’t regret it. He deserved all the nice shit he worked for. But he didn’t often leave his secure tower. And he hadn’t left for more than a day in…. since a certain party disappeared.

Vox was left blinking through that accidental realization but shook it off- putting a smoking cigarette in his mouth as he started pacing again.

“It’s ten minutes. Don’t f’ckin wet yourself over ten goddamn minutes.” He chastised himself as he exhaled a large dense cloud and pushed his hair back with his one hand. It ruined Alastor’s careful laying of his hair- but it did fall much more classically how his colic usually held it. The red swoop proudly in a bright arch.

“Pull it together. You’re lagging. At least we’re staying in the city from here on. So less.. nature… inclined.. issues.” He added to himself. Then took another heavy nicotine drag as he paced. Fuck he was sick of not having clothes.

Muttering further he moved over to the phone and rudely got some en route to this room pronto with a laundromat service. By the time they got here Alastor would be back from his super secret desk trip and they could clean all their clothes.

It only took another five or so minutes for them to get here- but Alastor still wasn’t back yet. They were not that far away from the front desk. It was right outside the elevator. Well a few paces from it but that was splitting hairs. They weren’t literally ten minutes to the desk. He had assumed he was just rounding- being generous. Where the fuck had he gone??

Vox shoved his clothes onto the more than polite staff and nearly ripped his head off for not leaving immediately. A perfectly pleasant client for sure.

Vox was alone again and pacing a bit more fervently. He allowed his head to conjure up a what if scenario in which Alastor didn’t come back. He would be unaffected he decided.

Then he paused again and rolled his eyes at himself and dropped the whole thought train.

He was coming back. It hadn’t even BEEN ten minutes yet.

“Relax.” Vox said with more finality and reached the bed, just to flop down onto it. Staring up at the ceiling, and exhaling another cloud. He would have killed for a phone. For service. It had been two nights now. Was Voxtek okay??

He heard footsteps and sat up like a shot. Then quickly pulled another dish closer so it looked like he had been largely unbothered- instead of pacing like a stuck rat.

The interest didn’t last though when his eyes landed on the bag that he hastily picked up.

“You were buying weed?? Why didn’t you tell me! I could have gotten other things!” He dragged his hand down his face but did pull his cigarette out of his mouth, and started deconstructing it to get the paper. His chance to get other things- wasted. Maybe he could ‘run down to the desk’ himself when Alastor was asleep.

Vox gave a subtle side eye like Alastor broke some kind of bro code by voicing the withdrawal symptoms. It wasn’t that obvious…

“Laundromat is cleaning my clothes.” He said while he got busy rolling the fine powder into the paper.

“Mm.” Vox said with a smarmy growing smirk. Like he was nearly bragging about not mentioning the bayou incident again.

The smirk was short lived however because him biting his tongue seemed to not be as effective in regards to his abrupt and residual clinginess.

His mouth dropped back down to a shape that funny enough translated perfectly from tv screen to human face. A scrunched up sulking line pushed into his left cheek.

“What the fuck are you picking up right now that can’t just be fucking brought up here.”

He glanced away from his own food finally when Alastor took his bait,

“You told me to eat. With you gone I won’t be interrupted.~ I’ll just eat the rest and yours too.” He teased further putting another bite in his mouth.

Vox’s expression pulled right back into smirking as he watched the other start to eat much faster. He puffed a small snort of amusement through his nose— and then it went right back to a funny type of distress as Alastor did in fact finish his food faster than expected and was already up and fucking speed walking to his clothes and got dressed.

He chose not to say anything anyway. Having spouted enough sappy clingy bullshit for the next several years in his opinion.

When the other approached him again, he put on his best unaffected face and glanced up at him while chewing. Only to be taken by the face and smooched on the cheek.

His pale skin did him no favors- even after scalding it with boiling water- and immediately flushed a deep pink,

Vox scoffed loudly and planted his hand on Alastor’s chest and shoved at him.

“Alright alriGHT—“ he complained through his mouthful.

“Go get your f’kn secret drugs or some shit.” He wiped at his mouth with the back of his wrist- not quite ‘wiping the kiss off’, but needing to regain some decorum.

The bright cyan eyes glancing back up to Alastor surrounded in the patchy pink flush, then looking away, and ultimately back to his food. One could only imagine the little twitchy sparkle show his antenna would be having if they were present.

“Take the scenic route.” He added under his breath, with no real amount of vitriol or real conviction… because no one would be calling him clingy.

[sunwonkism]

He keeps asking me who is he?!

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Synopsis: You're stuck with a sulking Jungwon after finding out he wasn't your first love. He was hellbent on finding out who had your heart first, not knowing he's currently in the same room as him.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Pairings: fem!reader x Jungwon

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Genre: non idol au, collage au bit it's not mentioned, established relationship

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Wc: 1,586

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Warnings: tiny angst, very fluffy, implied age gap (nothing too big js like 1-2 yrs), cursing, you have a(n older) brother

a/n: My valentine's special ig?? AHAHAHAH it's inspired by a kdrama scene, guess which one it is! >u< lmk if I missed anything!! Enjoy!

"Jungwon”

Silence.

“Baby pleas-”

“No” he responded. “You told me I was the first man you fell in love with. Who's the ‘bus guy’ F/n said you loved before me??”

more under cut! ⬇️

Jungwon was on the couch sitting with his legs and arms crossed. His eyes were slightly furrowed and his lips formed into a slight pout.

It was such an adorable scene. You would've giggled at the sight if you weren't determined to get your boyfriend to forgive you by tonight. He's been depriving you of affection since your hangout with F/n and her boyfriend yesterday, and you just can't stand it anymore.

You were on the armchair diagonal to him. Trying to reason out with him before your patience runs out.

“I wouldn't say love-”

“F/n said that you applied to the same tutor house he went to, even when you didn't need help studying. She also said that you found out his favorite cafe and stayed there just to catch a glimpse of him even when they made shitty drinks.” He stated.

You were honestly surprised at how much he remembered. You recall talking about your ex crush for a solid 5 minutes before moving on to another topic.

“Well-”

“Not only that!” Oh he wasn't finished. “F/n also mentioned how you’d ask your brother to take the long way home so that you could follow ‘bus boy’ and see him again because that's always where he was headed! You hate going home late! You didn't even go to the same school as him! How could I say you were in love with the guy with the amount of effort you put to see him??”

“Yeah well, every girl falls in love with a guy on a bus at least once right?” You tried to reason out.

Jungwon huffed before facing the other side, completely turning away from you.

You sighed before walking over and sitting next to him.

“Babe” you started, hands going up to hold his face so that he'd look at you. “You don't have to worry about anything, okay? Yes I liked him, but that's in the past now. I'm with you now, aren't I? There's no need to be jealous baby” you kissed him on the nose after talking.

Jungwon melted into your touch. “I'm not jealous, I swear. I just wanna know which asshole had your heart first.”

You held back a laugh. You were 100% sure if you laughed right now he will not let you sleep with him tonight.

“Okay, you really want to know?” You asked again.

“Yes.” Jungwon replied, with a cute but serious expression on his face.

“Then let's make it a game”, you replied. “If you can guess who he is with 3 or less of my hints, I'll buy you that new hoodie you wanted—and lots of kisses.”

“And if I lose? I don’t even know the guy.” Jungwon raised his eyebrow.

You simply smiled. “Oh you do know him, trust me. No hoodie if you lose.”

He thought about it for a minute, before eventually agreeing. What's the worst that could happen right?

“Okay, first hint” you started. “He didn't go to the same school as me.”

“I already know that” he whined.

“Oh shush if I tell you something else you'll know who it is immediately”. You softly glared at him before continuing.

“Next, he was in the grade above me.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Okay, that's new. What's the last one?”

You smirked, ‘this is gonna be fun’ you thought.

“The number of the bus he always rode was 726” you replied.

Now he was really confused, his eyebrows were now furrowed and his eyes kept darting around the room. As if the walls around him would give him the answer he's looking for.

“Bus 726? I'm..very lost” he said after a few minutes of thinking.

“Final answer?”

“No wait!” he exclaimed.

You waited for him as you both sat there, the atmosphere so quiet as he thought long and hard about who the mystery man was.

“Was it Jaeyun?” He asked after a long pause.

“Nope”

“Yeonjun?”

“Babe he's like, 3 grades above me.”

“Ricky?”

“We were classmates 5 times.”

“Felix?”

“I barely know the guy.”

“Nicholas?”

“Who?”

“Maybe it's Sungho-”

“Okay!” You grabbed him by the shoulders, cutting him off. “I promise you love, it is none of you friends. I don't even know majority of them”.

Jungwon just looked at you, clueless. “Well if it's not any of my friends, who could it be?”.

You sighed before standing up to grab something from your bag, feeling Jungwon's eyes following you.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“I’m going to grab my phone, I still have some pics of him from before.” You said as you pulled out the gadget from your shoulder bag and started scrolling through your photos app.

“What?!” Jungwon gasped. “My love, why the fuck do you have pictures of another man in your phone. Just tell me, are you still interested in him?” He asked, stress and hurt evident in his tone.

You started to feel bad at this point, but you can't back out now. This will be the grand reveal.

You sat back down on the couch, scrolling to find a pic of the mystery guy. Meanwhile Jungwon sits next to you, practically hovering over your phone with how close he was.

“Aha!” You exclaimed.

“What? What is it?” Jungwon asked. His eyes are instantly glued on your phone screen. wanting to know what you found.

“I still have the best picture I took of him saved, look!” You turned the phone so that he could see it.

Jungwon made sure to take a good look at the picture, lots of names immediately coming to his mind. But none of them match the face in the picture because he sees himself.

It was a candid picture of him on a bus. He was looking down on his phone, doing something. He doesn't recall how old he is here, but he guesses he was in his early teenage years from the uniform he's wearing in the picture.

“Wait…how do you have this? I don't understand…” Jungwon trailed off.

You mentally face palmed. “Baby, didn't you ride a bus to go home after school? Does Bus 726 not ring any bells at all?”

A few seconds passed, before a light bulb went off his head.

“Oh my god” he muttered. “I'm the bus guy you fell in love with? Your first love?”

You let out a relieved sigh. “Yes, Jungwon, you are my first love.”

Jungwon was shocked. He felt relief and joy all at the same time. But he's still confused over one thing. “Wait but- but how do you have this picture of me? Oh my, were you in the bus stalking me during this??” He asked accusingly.

“What? No!” You retorted. “I took it while I was in the car. You literally mentioned that I follow ‘bus boy’ around in my brother's car like 20 minutes ago, remember?” You defended yourself.

You looked at the picture, suddenly feeling nostalgic. “That was actually the second U-turn my brother did. The bus wasn't moving but I couldn’t tell my brother to stop the car and cause traffic just because I didn’t snap a proper picture of you now could I?”. You laughed at the memory. “My brother was pissed after that”.

“I thought of showing you when I gathered enough courage to talk to you. But by the time I did, you already graduated and changed schools.” You told him with a small sad smile.

“Oh” Jungwon replied. His mouth stayed at an ‘o’ shape as he took the information in.

“Um” he hesitated. “You didn't follow me until I went home, right? Just to make sure you didn't actually stalk me before we met.” He asked.

“What? No!” You retorted, again. “I always stopped following you after the first stoplight. I may be there at places you're usually in without you knowing, but I know where the line is” you reassured him.

Jungwon let out a relieved sigh. “Okay, just making sure…”

“Wait, is this why your brother was like ‘thank fuck it's over’ when you introduced me to your family as your boyfriend?” He asked.

You smiled at him sheepishly. “Yeahh, aside from the U-turns, I asked him a lot of favors regarding you so that's why…”

Jungwon grinned, “I'm your first love.” he was teasing you right now. But deep down, he was glad that the competition he thought he had was only himself. He didn't know what he'd do if he had to fight another man for your love.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah yeah don't get too excited. You're not getting any hoodie because you didn't guess it right.”

“I don't care,” he responded, still grinning widely. “Me knowing the fact I was your first love is enough of a gift for me. Now, where are my kisses?”

You stood up, preparing to run away from him. “Not a chance babe, you lost!” You said as you dashed down the hallway, heading to your shared bedroom with him.

Not long after he ran after you. “Hey, you didn't say no to kisses if I lost!” He said, laughing as he chased you.

Jungwon is a very jealous man. That's how you know he loves you. Luckily for you, you always know how to reassure him that he's the only one.

Divider: @/toastray

[fartistt]

❤︎ five years ago on valentine's day, you left twisted wonderland and left ace behind ❤︎ ace trappola x gn reader ❤︎ wc: 1k ❤︎ content warning(s): spoilers for chapter 7/inspired loosely off of ace's dream, reader is mc ❤︎ farteline prompt day one: see you again ❤︎ happy valentine's day guys -🍝

ace trappola doesn’t consider himself to be a philosophical kind of guy, but as of late, he’s started to detest the growing infinity of numbers.

sometimes in his dreams, he’s still a sixteen year old boy. the biggest concern in his mind is how he’s going to steal part of deuce’s lunch and manage to wiggle his way out of it without getting shoved into a headlock by his roommate, and if his brain is feeling particularly agreeable, he can make out the peals of soft laughter in the distance under deuce spewing insults towards the redhead.

and without fail, the alarm goes off, and ace is left with the humiliation of groggily rubbing his eyes open to an oddly cold bed. 

it’s one extra day that he wakes up without you by his side. without you in this world.

the number of days since you’ve left twisted wonderland only grows bigger. they get further and further away from zero and closer to unending infinity. it takes ace a bit longer this morning to force himself up into a seated position. it’s as if there’s a physical weight in his chest bogging him down, making it that much harder for him to get up.

it’s been 1,825 days. he hates that he cares enough to keep count. if he didn’t care as much, he wouldn’t keep count, and then, it wouldn’t hurt as much to ruminate over it. some days are better than others, and the grief is just a whisper in the back of his mind. on other days, it’s all he can think about, especially when his dreams are so vivid.

ace wants to close his eyes and sink back into the fleeting comfort of his bed again. his version of you in his sober, waking mind is so blurry and hazy, but behind his eyelids, you’re right at his fingertips. it’s almost like if he gathers his courage and reaches out, you’d be right there. you’d melt into his arms and scold him for being so reckless and brazen, and he’d soak up your voice like a spoiled cat throwing a tantrum in its owner’s arms. 

it drives him crazy to think that this is the only way he can have you. 

would you still recognize him if you were to see him after all this time has passed? would you ruffle his hair like you always did and call to him as if he were still nothing more than the stupid boy in your class? or would you get shy about how much taller and slimmer he’s gotten? he can imagine the way your eyes would widen slightly before averting your gaze, fidgeting with the ends of your fingertips, and just imagining the scene before him has ace’s heart reacting noticeably. 

but there’s no point to it. you’re not here. 

no matter how much he runs, fantasy only ebbs away into heartbreak. his veins feel as if they’ve been filled with lead instead of blood, and the grief gnaws away at him until it causes physical pain. ace winces and grits his teeth, recoiling into the plush material of his bed, but even though he tries to hide from the monsters by retreating into the safety of his blankets, reality is far scarier and far meaner than any boogie man he could conjure up.

he can’t even console himself with the thought that you might be happier in your world. he doesn’t know where you are or what you’re doing. maybe everything would hurt less if he could at least see you, hear from you, but as the days tick by, the only answer his desperate prayers have netted him is the silence that he just can’t seem to get used to. time won’t heal him. it never will. 

it makes him feel so helpless. even more inferior to the sixteen year old boy that squandered the one and precious love that crash-landed straight into his lap. everything was easier then, sweeter, since he had no idea of the lifetime of hurt he’d have to face when the idyllic daydream would end. there are no retries for him, no second chances, no do-overs to do the right thing and chase after you and cling to you and beg and beg and beg until his voice goes hoarse in one final futile attempt to force this twisted world to listen to his own selfishness. 

it’s too late. it’s no use. he knows this. he accepts this. but god, he can’t live with this. 

you’re gone now. 

ace is no longer the immature sixteen year old boy that you knew. time has cruelly nipped at his heels, and as his ongoing count of seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years carry on, they’ve caught up with him too. the lively, boyish charm in his eyes is gone, and the lingering baby fat in his face has slimmed down. his once deft fingers are now lifeless, and his smooth palms that would grab at you are calloused and lonely. when ace looks at himself in the mirror now, all he sees are sunken eyes with dark circles and pallid cheeks. 

valentine’s day tastes like regret to ace. the numbers 2 and 14 are a curse you’ve left on him, as punishment for his idiocy and for his lack of action. all the words he’s left unsaid sink in his stomach year after year like tears he can’t seem to fully choke down. his heart is nothing more than a heavy rock in his chest, no longer able to muster the strength to even scream and cry and claw at his skin until he tires himself out physically. all he can do now is to learn how to live with the heartache, to constantly oscillate between the void and the distance that only grows and grows between the two of you.

it’s been five years. 1,825 days since you’ve left his side—left this world.

ace detests the growing infinity of numbers.

rené magritte: time transfixed

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Protector | Matt Rempe

wc. 2.1k

You decide to go on a first date on Valentine's Day but what happens when the date goes beyond horrible? You call your best friend to help save you from it.

warnings: really really mean date, mentions a concern for being drugged but nothing actually happens

So maybe going on a first date with a guy you’ve never met before on Valentine’s Day was not your best idea. 

The fomo of Valentine's day has been weighing on you ever since you were a teenager. You were far from the most popular kid in school and had little luck in the love department as you worked through college. Now freshly out of college, living in Manhattan and kicking off your career, you figured now was the time to start getting out there and going on dates. 

To say you have hated online dating ever since trying it would be an extreme understatement. It felt like you had been on hundreds of dates with zero success and tonight was no exception. 

Your date Paul was a bit older than you, unemployed at the moment and looking for a new relationship after just leaving his ex. He met up with you at this fancy restaurant you have never been to and has so far criticized everything about you. 

“Why would you order seafood?” Paul sneers, looking down at your dish. “It’s gonna make your breath smell and I don’t want to have to deal with that later.” 

You’re shocked at how you’re able to keep your face neutral, at least long enough to cough out some excuse that you needed to use the restroom. You grab your purse and your phone, excusing yourself before speed walking over to the bathroom. Once safely inside, you open your phone but pause directly afterwards. 

Who were you supposed to call? 

You were still fairly new to the city, your best friend still lives back home, college friends were either out with their partners or out at a bar, there didn’t seem like anyone could come to your rescue. You started to think through excuses to make to Paul but fall flat. 

Then, you do something you shouldn’t. You call him. 

Matt was just settling into his short break from the NHL. Granted he hasn’t played a ton of games, he still reveled in a break from the grueling schedule of hockey life in general. He knew he was due back to the rangers in less than a week but for now he was content in catching up on some reading and relaxing. 

Just as he’s settled into his couch, fantasy novel in hand, his phone goes off. He looks down, spotting your contact flashing on his screen and he sighs quietly. He remembers you mentioning a date for today but he can’t remember much past that. 

You and Matt have been friends for about a year now and Matt has had a crush on you for even longer than that. Damn near since he got drafted to the Rangers back in 2020. You had done some on and off work for the Rangers for a while now, a side hustle job that Matt wished was your full time one so he could see you more often. 

You were there the day he was drafted, stepping in for media/photos for the day and he had beat himself up for years following for not getting your number that day. When he saw you during his NHL debut it felt like fate was on his side and he made sure to introduce himself better this time. 

You’ve been close friends ever since but that only made Matt’s crush on you grow stronger. He always tried to play it off but time and time again of saving you, protecting you, was hurting his heart more and more. He promised he’d always be there for you but at what cost? His heart? 

Still, he picks up anyway. 

“Hello?” 

Your heart floods in relief at Matt’s familiar voice, a jump of butterflies adding to the mixture as well. 

“Oh thank god,” you release in a breath. “I really need your help.” 

Matt’s heart clenches at your words and he can’t help the way he’s already standing from his seat, walking over to where he keeps his keys. 

“This guy I’m on a date with is a total creep and now that I think about it I left my drink uncovered just now and I’m scared and he keeps making weird comments and-” 

“I’m on my way,” Matt interjects, anger flaring his words and you visibly relax at his response. 

You hang up the phone, shooting Matt a text with the address you were at and he tells you he’ll only be five minutes. You make your way back to the table where Paul is clearly unamused. 

“What? You have an emergency? You suddenly need to leave right this minute?” he asks sarcastically and you shake your head. 

“No I just-” you start but he’s quick to cut you off. 

“You know, a decent person would just tell someone that the date isn’t going well instead of making excuses. This is the worst date I’ve ever been on.” 

“Excuse me?” you snap, anger rising in your chest. You had been nothing but kind and polite this entire time and all he’s done is rip into you and you were done playing the sweet and demure girl. 

“Firstly, you pick this horrible restaurant. Then, you catfish me, lying about your weight and showing up looking like you just rolled out of bed. God and your personality! You-” 

His rant sends you into a spiral that causes you to freeze, unable to react in any way. Your brain blocks out his next words, not sure what to do next when the decision is taken out of your hands. You watch as someone steps up, grabbing Paul by the shirt and hauling him up from his chair. 

The minute Matt steps into the restaurant he spots you, your posture stiff and unwelcoming, something that sets him on edge instantly. He starts to walk over, his long strides making short work of the distance but when he hears your date's words it takes all of him not to start sprinting at him. 

“You are such an obnoxious little-“ Paul continues but Matt has him by the collar of his shirt and is pulling him out of his seat before he can finish the words. 

“Don’t you ever,” Matt’s voice snaps you out of your state and you stare as he pushes Paul backwards, effectively blocking him from you. “Speak to her or fuck even look at her again, or it will be the last thing you do.” 

Matt is breathing heavily like he just completed a 3 minute shift on the ice and is still staring down his opponent. He’s trying to tamp down his anger but he never realized what people meant about seeing red until this moment. This rat faced looking dick was saying these things to you? Oh Matt was gonna kill him. 

The restaurant is deafeningly silent after Matt’s words and you watch as Paul analyzes the situation before holding his hands up in surrender. Matt stares him down for another moment or two before turning towards you. 

Matt wants nothing more than to turn and lunge at Paul and beat him senseless but he knows you and your safety are the priority. He grabs your purse and jacket before taking your hand in his other free one and pulling you out of the restaurant. 

Matt drags you down the block before you finally pull him to a stop, the intensity of the moment still thrumming in your veins. Matt turns to face you, waiting for you to do or say something and you take a deep breath, running a hand through your hair. His heart leaps looking at you, wanting to pull you into his chest and hold you close so you know you’re safe but wanting to give you space to process what just happened. 

“Fuck darling you’re shaking,” Matt says finally and when you look at him you realize the adrenaline mixed with the cold February weather has you shaking like a leaf. He steps forward, wrapping you up in your jacket and his proximity makes you finally take a breath of relief. 

“Thank you for helping me,” you murmur quietly. Matt’s heart pounds at the words, a mix of anger, jealousy, and sadness rushing around inside of him. 

Matt lets out a heavy sigh and steps back with a curt nod of his head. His warmth leaves and you’re shivering again causing you to frown. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, “Let’s get you home.” 

It’s the only thing he can say at the moment, his heart and mind in turmoil. He would do anything to protect you, he knew that truth for the rest of his life. But he hates that that’s all he is to you. A protector. He needed it to stop before his heart gave out. He turns away from you and you can’t help but step back up next to him, wrapping your hands around his arm as he starts to walk. 

Matt wants to shake you off but the feeling of you next to him settles his heart in an instant and he steps closer to you as you make your way back to your apartment. The journey is short and your heart seems to have settled almost to a normal rhythm now that you’re home safe with Matt next to you. 

When you get to your door you unlock it and let Matt in without a word. He follows you slowly into the kitchen where you pour yourself a glass of water and just as you’re about to offer something to Matt as well, he starts to speak. 

“I should go,” he mutters awkwardly and you frown at his words. 

Matt knew that if he stayed here, comforted you, went as far as staying the night, the pattern would continue and his heart would stay stuck in this endless loop of hope and heartbreak. He had to get out now for the best. Even when everything else in him was screaming at him to stay. 

“Please stay?” 

“Why?” he cuts you off, stepping closer with an intensity that wasn’t there before. 

“Why?” you repeat, confused by his question. 

“I promised to keep you safe, and I kept my promise,” he snaps and your face twists to confusion. “I’m done here.”

Your heart splinters at each word, falling apart at the seams as he talks. Tears threaten to spill over, you watch as Matt takes in your expression, something unfamiliar flickering over his features before he turns away. 

Matt can feel that each movement in his body is beyond forced. He has to tell himself to turn, to take a step, take another step, not look back at you and so on. He can’t handle it. 

“Excuse me?” you snap and he pauses. “I’m not done with you.” 

You march over to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to face you. He towers over you, his six foot nine inch frame should be intimidating but right now it’s just frustrating. He stands in front of you, motionless, his eyes finding purchase on something behind you. 

“Look at me,” you demand and his eyes flicker for a moment and you repeat yourself. Finally his chocolate brown eyes land on you and you instinctively take a breath. 

“You may think you’re keeping me safe and that you’ve done your job as my protector or whatever so now you get to leave,” you start and Matt stares at you with a blank expression. “But I only ever feel safe when you’re around.” 

“What?” he asks, shell shocked by your words. 

“I need you Matt,” you tell him quietly. “I need you here. I need you to keep me safe. I need you to help me I just, I fucking need you.” 

The look in your eyes is so vulnerable, so intense Matt can’t look away. He knows the underlying meaning to your words but he’s too scared to take the leap. He doesn’t want to be wrong. He can’t ruin this. 

“Matt,” you say, breaking his train of thought. “My love, you’re all I want.” 

That’s all Matt needs to hear before he’s finally stepping up to you, wrapping you up in his arms and hauling you to him so you’re face to face. His lips meet yours in a desperate kiss that has warmth spilling throughout you. 

Matt felt like he was flying. He knew he was always going to protect you, take care of you, keep you safe, love you. He never realized you depended on that truth as much as he depended on living it out. He was nothing if you weren’t safe. 

“I love you,” you whimper out quietly when you break apart. 

“I love you,” he responds, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

His promise is everything to the two of you and your heart settles gently in his hands, him handing over his as well. 

[random2908]

I don't have any good way to estimate this, since I'm not a linguist. Speculatively, I think the fact that it came into English through circles that would label it as "a useful German word for a concept we don't have in English" every time it was written slows the process.

Again just speculating: since people stopped labeling it that way maybe a decade ago or a little less, it's probably starting the process already--but only among people learning it within the past decade. Those of us who learned it with a German pronunciation aren't likely to unlearn it, at least not until another pronunciation is so common that the old pronunciation signals something that we don't want to signal. (Pedantry, social class, whatever.)

But compare, say, "anime", which was largely introduced into English through more casual speakers, as far as I know. Anime, after several decades, still gets a hybrid pronunciation in English, in that we pronounce the a like an ash but also do pronounce the final e. This is probably because it represents a foreign class of an object for which we have a already have pre-existing word as the generic term ("cartoon"). Anime is certainly a word that still had to be explicitly defined for adults (outside of specific geeky social circles) when I was a teen, but I feel like most teens at least knew the word even if they didn't watch anime, circa 25 years ago. Which means it probably entered the English language as a loanword at least a decade before that. More than a full generation later, we don't say "aneem" or "anaim."

That said, English doesn't always fully nativize its pronunciations. It's actually kind of interesting to do a cross-comparison between American English and British English, because sometimes the pronunciation of loanwords from centuries ago are wildly different, due to them having been nativized on one side of the Atlantic and kept foreign on the other. (And it's not even consistent which dialects do which.)

there's this strange category of loanwords in english that are culturally marked so strongly as being loanwords that they just refuse to become fully nativized regardless of how common they are. like "schadenfreude" is a perfect example, it's a fairly common word in english but it's still perceived as foreign, to the point where some people will directly claim it's "not an english word". there's probably some implications for exactly which types of words people do this for I'd reckon

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 04

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS/WARNINGS: flashback in italics, the first chapter all in MC pov!, The Truce, yoongi is insane about pens and notebooks again, communication via lipliner and water, yijeong cameo, park jimin strikes fear into yoongi’s heart, tangerine hats and heart-pocket pants, seokjin is unhelpful, idk most of this chapter is a bit silly to be completely honest with y’all, stuff happens but i don't want to give too much away (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 6.8k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i told y’all this was a slow burn... but happy valentine’s day! thank you to tanni @yooniivrse and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading this chapter (and K again for literally writing a whole line for me when i got stuck)

CH. 04: E-X-P-L-O-D-E

There are worse places to be, you think, than sitting across from Yoo Kihyun.

He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Expensive clothes, perfect teeth, dark brown hair styled neatly away from his forehead. An endearing little divot at the curve of his sharp jawline. The kindest eyes you think you’ve ever seen.

The restaurant he’s picked is a bit hard to get into, a new trendy spot that’s had a line out the door every night since it opened. You’re honestly a little impressed that he managed to get a reservation. If the flush in his cheeks when you mention that is anything to go by, that was his intention.

You’re no good at first dates, but Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind carrying the conversation. He has plenty to talk about, riding high on his critically acclaimed debut. Well-earned acclaim, in your book—he has a beautiful voice, along with a charming personality that his growing fanbase is sure to love the more they get to know him.

You’re happy to listen, and even happier to keep the attention off of yourself for as long as you can. Kihyun’s relatively new to the industry, hasn’t been in the game for too long, and you’re starting to realize that the less he knows about you, the more you like him.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been in such an intimate setting with a man, and you’re surprised by how at ease you begin to feel as the night goes on. The tension in your body dissipates more and more with every sip of wine, every kind word. Kihyun hasn’t made any move to touch you, but by the time he pays the check, you’re starting to think you’d let him if he tried. 

You wait together, side by side, for the valet to pull his car around. Maybe it’s the wine, but in a moment of bravery, you allow your fingers to slide between his tentatively. Your heart skips a beat when his hand squeezes yours, interlacing your fingers all the way.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Kihyun says, his voice soft. “I’m sure you get that all the time, being a model. But it’s true.”

His free hand comes up to brush your hair away from your face, and you turn to him. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you,” he adds.

It’s the first thing everyone notices about you now, with your new career path. More often than not, it’s the only thing people bother to notice, you think. You still haven’t learned how to respond to the compliments, not when you don’t even know how to feel about them.

You kiss him instead. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him to meet you. His lips firm against yours, frozen in surprise, before they yield into something softer. Tentative. Chaste. Gentle.

You were probably going to do it anyway. It feels better than saying ‘thank you’ when you’re not sure you’d really mean it.

★ ★ ★

A week has passed since you shook hands with the devil.

To his credit, Yoongi seems to be holding up his end of the deal—better than you are, even. It’s unsettling. You think you hate it.

It’s gone like this:

Day One

You wake up and choose violence. 

The memory of Yoongi using your ex-boyfriend against you is still fresh in your brain, and you decide to say fuck the truce until he pays suitably. It’s only fair.

Yoongi doesn’t leave the house often, unless dragged, but the universe seems to be on your side today. He’s out of cigarettes! Praise be. Surely his absence, however brief, will give you enough time to exact your revenge.

You tiptoe down the stairs just in time to watch the back of his stupid head disappear as the front door closes behind him. As soon as the lock clicks, you’re springing into action.

Careful not to tip off his bandmates, you slink around the house, stuffing your cardigan pockets with every single Uni-Ball Jetstream Premier pen you can get your sights on. 

Maybe it’s childish, stealing all of Yoongi’s pens, but fuck it. What else do you know about him? What else is there to take? Pens will have to do.

By the time you’ve scanned each room in the house, twice, your pockets are overflowing. More pens create indentations in your stomach, stashed in the elastic of your leggings like a belt. Like a trophy.

Fifty-six pens are dumped into the bathroom sink. An absolute mental patient amount of pens for one person to have, you think as you separate them into groups of seven. You bundle them with hair ties, stuff them into your emptied makeup bag, and hide your crime in plain sight—the bathroom counter.

Then you wait.

The payoff isn’t immediate. Once he gets back, it takes an hour or so for Yoongi to start patting his pockets. A little longer for drawers to be rifled through, for couch cushions to be overturned. You just watch, confident that he won’t find anything.

By the end of the night, the house looks like it’s been ransacked by a crazed fan, and your makeup bag remains untouched.

Day Two

You have sightseeing plans with Jeongguk today, a visit to the aquarium where photos are sure to be taken. You’re just about to leave the bedroom and head downstairs to meet him when you notice a piece of paper at your feet. 

When you pick it up, you’re faced with the scrawl of Yoongi’s handwriting, smudged in an eerily familiar shade of pink.

The name Yoo Kihyun will never come out of my mouth again if that’s what you want. Have mercy on my pens. They didn’t do anything wrong.

— The only person committed to this truce, apparently

P.S. Your lipliner is now a prisoner of war

You absolutely do not snort at Yoongi’s note. You don’t find him funny.

What is funny, however, is that when he swiped the lipliner from the bathroom you share with Jeongguk, he was less than three feet away from all fifty-six of his pens the whole time. Hilarious.

Later, when you’re watching a group of penguins waddle behind glass, you’re hit with a wave of genius.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

“Hm?”

“Can you give me Yoongi’s number? I don’t have it.”

Jeongguk seems more than happy to comply, instantly fishing his phone out from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Wow, you two are really getting along now, huh?” he asks, sounding more than pleased as he taps on his phone screen a few times.

“What can I say?” you hum, retrieving your own phone as it buzzes in your purse. “You were right. We have more in common than we thought.”

You open your camera app and hit record, zooming in on one of the penguins for a few seconds. It’s the first thing you send to Yoongi.

You: has anyone ever told you that you walk like this?

Day Three

Yoongi has a new pack of pens delivered to the house. You decide to let him keep them, since your message was clearly received. No response to your penguin text yet.

Day Four

Jeongguk needs to learn to read the room, you decide.

It’s late as fuck. You’ve been out all night with him, on another sightseeing trip—following him around, holding his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. Everything that’s expected of you.

By the time you make it to the bedroom, the mask of ‘fake girlfriend’ feels too tight, too heavy. All you really want is to climb into bed and go to sleep.

Instead, you’re wide awake, idly scrolling on your phone in bed while Jeongguk talks to his real girlfriend over the phone. With all the fucking lights on.

Despite how hard you try to tune them out, you catch every single word. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to even notice that you’re in the room with him, that you’re trying to sleep, too busy cooing sweet nothings over the line. 

In this moment, you’re more aware of where you stand with Jeongguk than you’ve ever been. And for the first time since this whole charade began, you’re actually kind of grateful that you’re not really dating Jeongguk. As it turns out, Jeongguk in love is nauseating. Since you’re on your phone, you go ahead and tell Seokjin as much.

After toughing it out for nearly half an hour, you slip out of bed. You decide to go get yourself a glass of water or something, give Jeongguk time with his girlfriend. You’re sure he misses her.

You tiptoe to the door quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary to your presence or your departure. “Noona, I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Jeongguk whines, completely oblivious to you. 

Aw hell nah.

You book it down the stairs as fast as humanly possible, so fast that you’re out of breath by the time you make it to the bottom.

The living room is dark when you pass through it. You think, for a moment, that you and Jeongguk might be the only ones still awake at this hour. As you get closer to the kitchen, though, the smell of fresh coffee floods your senses.

There’s only one person in this house insane enough to make coffee this late at night.

“Hey.” 

The sound of your voice makes Yoongi freeze in his tracks, caught, but he shakes it off quickly. 

“Hey,” he replies in kind, looking you over. “You’re up late.”

Something in his tone makes you pause, confused, until you look down at yourself and realize what he must be thinking. You’re in sleep shorts and a tank top, barely covered despite the chill outside, sneaking downstairs late at night. From the room that you share with your supposed boyfriend. Out of breath and shaken up.

He probably thinks you just had sex.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply stiffly. “Thought I’d get some water.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else, opting instead to stare at the coffee pot as it brews in front of him. Good. You don’t want to know what he’s thinking.

You grab a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it up at the sink. It hits you, as you take a sip, that you haven’t actually spoken to Yoongi since the truce began four days ago. Nothing beyond a note written in your lipliner and an unanswered text about penguins. You don’t know how to act around him now, unsure of how guarded you need to be.

Thankfully (you hope), he breaks the silence first.

“I’ll be out of your hair once this is done,” he says, gesturing towards the coffee. You can’t help but note that he still isn’t looking at you.

“Who drinks coffee this late, anyway?” It’s an attempt at a joke, something to cut through the awkwardness settling between you.

Right at that moment, the coffee pot beeps. Wordlessly, Yoongi fills his mug and shuffles past you like he’s in a hurry, hot coffee threatening to spill over.

“People with albums to write,” he mumbles once he reaches the doorway. Without another glance in your direction, he’s gone.

Day Five

Your day starts with a pounding in your head.

Despite both of you falling asleep around the same time (read: late as hell), the couch Jeongguk’s been sleeping on is desolate when you open your eyes. 

He does that, you’ve noticed. No matter how late he stays up, he’s always up at the asscrack of dawn, going for a run or whatever it is he feels so compelled to do during the devil’s hours.

You roll out of bed around ten. You don’t have anything to do today, and judging by the quiet, it seems like you might have an empty house on your hands. It’s for the best, you think, because your skull feels like it’s about to pop.

Coffee, then. That should help.

Almost as soon as you cross the threshold from bedroom into the hallway, you’re intercepted by an extremely perturbed Yoongi.

“Okay, the pen thing was cute and all, but this is a little different,” he says. No hi, hello, how are you? Great. Your temples are throbbing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, making an attempt to push past him so you can get to the stairs, but Yoongi stops you with a hand on your elbow. Again with that shit.

“YN,” he huffs, unimpressed. “Just give it back. I know you have it.”

“Have what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, jerking your arm out of his grasp. “Will you stop fucking doing that, by the way?”

“My notebook,” Yoongi says, stepping in front of you again. “I can’t find it, and you stealing my shit seems to be a running theme this week.”

You blink at him, brows knitted together in confusion. His notebook? The fuck?

“What, you only had the one? But five dozen pens didn’t seem like overkill?”

“YN, I’m not fucking around,” he snaps. “There’s shit I need in there. Like all the songs for the album I’m here to write? An album I’d really like to finish as fast as possible.” 

He doesn’t say the ‘so I can get away from you’ part, but he doesn’t really have to. His tone says enough.

That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have his shit.

“Should’ve kept better track of it, I guess. I don’t know what to tell you.”

At this, Yoongi laughs, sharp and bitter. “You are fucking ridiculous, you know that? You’re the one who wanted this stupid truce. I was perfectly fine with the way we were operating before, but you came to me, practically begging me to play nice. What the fuck have I been doing?”

He’s looking at you like he expects an answer. You clench your fists at your sides. “Playing nice,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Better than you,” he adds, arms crossed over his chest. “I know you’re used to everyone letting you get away with whatever, but I’m not Kihyun, and I’m not Jeongguk. I don’t gain anything by letting you act like a brat.”

That makes you bristle. “Fuck you. I don’t have your stupid notebook, Yoongi. It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not interested in reading any more shitty lyrics about how much of a cunt you think I am.”

With that, you shove him out of your way once and for all. Blood rushes through your ears as you hurry down the stairs, almost running face-first into a wide-eyed Jimin in your haste. 

Shit. You can only hope he didn’t hear any of that.

You run into Yoongi one more time, right before bed. Same as last night, you’re getting yourself a glass of water while he makes coffee. You move around each other in stony silence, both of you unwilling to acknowledge the other’s presence in the kitchen. 

This time, though, you’re the one that leaves first. It feels a little like getting the last word.

Day Six

You spend the whole day in Teams meetings. You packed your schedule on purpose this time, disinterested in dealing with anyone that isn’t paid to kiss your ass. 

You eat a power bar for lunch. At dinner, Jeongguk brings a plate upstairs for you. You claim that you’re too busy to come down, but really, you’re still licking your wounds after your run-in with Yoongi yesterday afternoon.

It seems stupid now, but you really thought things were getting a bit better between the two of you. Or, at least, you hoped so. You weren’t naive enough to think that Yoongi was starting to like you, but you did think that there was a mutual respect forming there.

Your mistake.

It’s late when you decide to venture downstairs. You’re restless, having spent the better part of an hour tossing and turning while Jeongguk snores from the other side of the room.

Late enough that you think, hope, that you’ll be able to avoid another run-in with Yoongi. Even if he’s still awake, there’s no way he’s making coffee at this hour. You held off for long enough.

When you reach the kitchen, you find that you’re half right. The coffee pot is nearly empty, but judging by the aroma, the pot wasn’t made all that long ago. Yoongi, however, is nowhere to be found.

On the kitchen counter sits a glass of water, and next to it, a scrap of paper. Blank, but unmistakably from Yoongi’s thought-to-be-missing notebook.

Huh. So he found it.

You take the glass upstairs with you, careful not to wake Jeongguk as you sneak back into the room. It’s only when you climb back into bed that your phone buzzes beside you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the sight of your still-unanswered penguin text, and a new message.

The Devil: 🏳️

Day Seven

When you venture into the living room in the morning, you’re surprised to find the whole band gathered around the seating area. 

For the most part, the house has remained pretty quiet during the time you’ve been here. Today, though, it’s rowdy. You quickly find out why when you spot an unfamiliar fifth face—a handsome stranger with his arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulders.

A new bombshell has entered the villa. 

The chattering stops as soon as you’re spotted. You don’t even get a chance to be properly introduced to the new houseguest before you’re intercepted by Jimin, who throws himself in front of you at the foot of the stairs. 

“The inappropriately dressed goddess in silk shorts is Jeonggukie’s girlfriend, YN.”

“You may recognize her face from every Olive Young in Seoul,” Taehyung adds with amusement. 

“YN, this is Yijeong.” Jimin turns around, pointing at you. You think you catch a twitch in his right eye. “Go get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Um… Okay,” you say, half-awake and confused. 

Once you’re dressed less than half an hour later, you’re all piling into the van outside. The busy day, you find out, consists of a trip to the Little Prince citrus orchard—the trip that the band takes every time they’re in Jeju. You guess it was fast tracked due to Yijeong’s arrival.

In any other circumstance, you’d be thrilled at the prospect of spending your day picking tangerines, but the vibe seems off. Jimin looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, and the glances you catch him sending Yoongi’s way chill you to the bone. You don’t know what Yoongi did to piss him off, but it seems like Jimin has officially cracked, and you don’t really want to get on his bad side by asking.

Still, you suck it up. There will be plenty of photo opportunities, you reason. Plus, the hallabong smoothie this place offers looks really fucking good.

Upon entry, you’re handed a small wicker basket and gloves for tangerine picking. At the very least, the weather is suitable for what Jimin has in store. It’s the kind of winter day that feels fresh and crisp, more than comfortable to walk around in as long as you have a jacket.

At first, the group breaks off into twos—Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi and Yijeong, you and Jeongguk. You’re not exactly mad about the pairing, considering it means you’ll get to take those pictures for Seoyeon to post on your Instagram. Jeongguk is more than willing to indulge you, immediately tugging you close and snapping a selca with his cheek smushed against yours.

As your basket fills, though, you end up rotating through the group. Taehyung, dressed all in warm tones, buys you one of those smoothies you’ve been eyeing. Jimin snickers at you as you spike it with the flask you’ve had stashed in your purse, stealing a sip. Even Yijeong makes a point to walk with you for a bit, re-introducing himself politely.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to greet you properly earlier,” he says, sheepish. “It’s hard to get a word in with this group, sometimes.”

“So I’m learning,” you quip back easily, eyes scanning over the hanging hallabongs surrounding your path. “So, you’re here for the weekend, then?”

“Seems like it. Yoongi-yah called me down earlier this week. He wants a fresh pair of eyes for a song he’s working on.”

You scoff at that, unable to help yourself. “Like he doesn’t have three other pairs already?”

Yijeong gives you a sidelong glance, although it isn’t unkind. “He can be kind of secretive,” he explains, careful. “I think he just wanted the opinion of someone without a vested interest.”

You hum, unsure of how to respond. It makes sense, you guess.

“Am I wrong in assuming there’s a little bit of… tension there?” Yijeong continues. “Between you two.”

“We’re working on it,” you mumble, taking a much-needed sip of your smoothie. “Really. Chalk it up to incompatible personalities.”

“Ah.” Yijeong chuckles knowingly. “I get it. Yoongi-yah can be a little…”

“Bitchy?”

“Guarded,” he snorts. “But bitchy, too. I thought the same, when we first met. I was signed to the label about a year after Burn the Stage was. It took us a while to become as close as we are now.”

“You’re a musician?” you ask, interest piqued. You’ve never heard his name before, but granted, you don’t really keep track of that side of the industry anymore.

“Soloist,” Yijeong confirms, seemingly unoffended by your lack of recognition. “Producer, sometimes. I helped master their last album. I guess I impressed Yoongi, back then.”

“Teach me your ways,” you joke, earning another laugh from him.

“He’s not as hard to figure out as he likes to come off. It’s getting him to trust you, that's the hard part.”

Ah. Well. You’re kind of fucked in that department.

“Just give it time,” Yijeong says reassuringly. “If you’ve won the rest of them over, Yoongi will follow. He likes to play the part of the overprotective hyung, but he really is a nice guy when it comes down to it.”

“So I keep hearing. You two must be close, then.”

“Yoongi doesn’t have a lot of people to talk about his problems with. He’s way more interested in being a problem solver for others. But… everybody needs somebody.”

You grimace, stomach dropping at the thought of what kind of things Yoongi might have said about you, to this virtual stranger. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yijeong.

“If it helps, he hasn’t had anything bad to say about you since I showed up,” he adds reassuringly.

“Meaning he hasn’t said anything about me at all?” you ask, hopeful.

“Mm. Well, he said you’re pretty… passionate,” Yijeong says, lips quirking up at the corners in a soft smile. “I’ve learned that’s a good thing, in Yoongi’s book.”

Or it’s code for crazy bitch. But hey, you’ll take what you can get.

“Sure,” you hum, glancing in Yoongi’s direction. He’s a little further ahead on the path, deep in conversation with Jimin. His face is as pale as the white flag he sent you. Uh oh. “We’ll see.”

As the two of you gain on Yoongi and Jimin, it seems like whatever confrontation that was being had is over with. Good, because you still don’t really want to know what that was about.

“You need the Vitamin C, hyung,” you overhear Jimin say as you and Yijeong approach. He bumps Yoongi’s shoulder conspiratorially. “I bought something for you.”

“What?” Yoongi narrows his eyes.

From behind his back, Jimin procures a hat—a fuzzy, bright orange tangerine hat, complete with a tiny green leaf on top. He looks thrilled.

Yoongi, however, does not.

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” Jimin is already shoving the hat onto Yoongi’s head before he can fight back, dodging his weak attempts to resist. “Cute,” he coos, stepping back to admire his work.

Yoongi glares, but to your amusement, doesn’t make any move to take it off. 

Jimin, delighted, raises his phone. “Come on, let me get a picture—”

“No.”

“Just one! You’re already wearing the hat—”

“Park Jimin, do you want to die?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Jimin is full-on sprinting, chasing Yoongi around the orchard, phone camera wielded like a weapon. You can’t help but laugh. You’ve never seen Yoongi run, but just like his walk, there’s something penguin-esque there.

As Yoongi dashes past you, tangerine hat still firmly on his head, your gaze catches on something. His jeans—fitted just right, annoyingly so—have heart-shaped pockets.

You blink, looking away immediately. Definitely not something you needed to notice. Definitely not something you should be thinking about. But the image is burned into your mind, and unfortunately, Jimin notices the direction of your gaze and stops dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” he gasps, doubled over as he catches his breath. “Hyung, are those hearts on your back pockets?”

Shit.

Puzzled, Yoongi slows to a stop, frowning. “What? So what?”

Jimin, absolutely giddy, points. “Oh my god. Look at you, Mr. Soft and Romantic.”

“They’re just jeans,” Yoongi grumbles, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears says otherwise.

Jeongguk, watching the whole thing unfold, slides next to you where Yijeong had just stood. “You know, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea, staring at Yoongi-hyung’s butt like that,” he murmurs, voice low so no one else can hear.

You shove him, hard, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself. “Yah, they’re cute jeans!” you hiss-whisper. “Maybe I want a pair for myself!”

He just grins, nudging your shoulder again. “Come on, pervert. We’re all going to dinner.” 

★ ★ ★

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

★ ★ ★

The finale to Yijeong’s impromptu weekend visit is a night of bar hopping. A night that ends at a local noraebang.

The room all of you inhabit is small but cozy, with plush seating surrounding a sleek table. Accent lighting on the walls glows neon, pulsing to the rhythm of the music. The large screen in the middle of the room is lit up with endless list of songs—some that you’re surprised to see in the repertoire.

Everyone picks off of a tray of drinks and snacks—crispy fries, fried chicken, soju shots, frothy beer—refueling after all of the alcohol you’ve downed tonight.

You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, but when Taehyung thrusts the microphone into your hands with a boxy grin, you don’t hesitate. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a noraebang, but you can never go wrong with some Paramore.

The moment the opening chords of Ignorance blast through the speakers, something electric rushes through you. It’s instinct, really—the kind of song that demands to be sung like you mean it.

If I'm a bad person, you don't like me Well, I guess I'll make my own way It's a circle, a mean cycle I can't excite you anymore

Where's your gavel? Your jury? What's my offense this time? You're not a judge, but if you're gonna judge me Well, sentence me to another life

Like riding a fucking bike.

As soon as you open your mouth, Jimin and Taehyung immediately lose their minds, jumping onto the couch and headbanging along like he’s one of the fans at a concert for his own band. Jeongguk, beside him, stares in awe, boba eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them.

But it’s Yoongi you glance at between verses, though you’re not sure why. He’s leaning back against the couch, half-hidden in the dim lighting, watching. His expression is completely unreadable. You can’t look away.

This is the best thing that could have happened Any longer and I wouldn't have made it It's not a war, no, it's not a rapture I'm just a person, but you can't take it The same tricks that, that once fooled me They won't get you anywhere I'm not the same kid from your memory Well, now I can fend for myself

Don't wanna hear your sad songs I don't wanna feel your pain When you swear it's all my fault 'Cause you know we're not the same We're not the same Oh, we're not the same

By the time you hit the chorus, you’re all in—singing like you’ve got something to prove, like the song is a battle you refuse to lose. 

It’s cathartic. It’s messy. It’s more fun than you’ve had in a long fucking time.

As the last note fades out, you’re fighting for breath, buzzing from the energy. The room erupts into cheers, and Jimin all but tackles you in excitement.

“Holy shit, YN,” he howls. “That was amazing. Again, again!”

Before you can protest, Jeongguk takes the mic from your hands and spins through the song queue. “Nah, it’s my turn,” he declares. “Does this thing have Linkin Park?”

When you manage to peel Jimin off of you, Yoongi’s gone.

You know that it shouldn’t bother you. You know that you should say good riddance, let him go do whatever is so important that he had to bolt like that. But for some reason completely beyond you, you just can’t. 

Your feet start moving before your brain can catch up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, but it falls on deaf ears anyway. Everybody is wasted, attention already diverted to queueing up the next song, and you slip out entirely unnoticed.

The alley behind the noraebang is dimly lit, the cool air hitting your skin like a slap. And there he is, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his lips. He notices you immediately, his gaze flickering to you in that lazy way of his.

“You left,” you say dumbly.

He lifts his cigarette in answer. “Need something?”

It’s a great question. Now that you’ve found him and you’re freezing your ass off, your lost sanity is quickly finding its way back to you. Why did you leave everybody inside to follow a person you hate?

“Just needed some air,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Couldn’t breathe in there.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, smoke curling in the space between you, and you shift on your feet, shivering against the cold. If he notices, he doesn’t comment—just watches you with that unreadable expression, waiting.

You should go back inside. You should say something biting, roll your eyes, turn on your heel. But you don’t. Instead, you rub your hands along your arms, trying to warm yourself up, and Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“You’re shivering.”

Uh, yeah? It’s winter and you forgot your jacket inside. Of course you’re shivering.

“It’s freezing,” you mutter.

Yoongi sighs, long-suffering, then shrugs off his jacket. Before you can protest, he steps forward, draping it over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It smells like him—faint cologne and smoke, something a little sharp but not unpleasant.  

You clutch at the lapels before you can stop yourself, blinking up at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, waving a hand dismissively as he leans back against the wall. “Just don’t make it weird.”

Right. Because this is totally normal behavior.

You huff, rolling your eyes, but the warmth is welcome, and you make no move to give the jacket back.

Yoongi glances at you sideways, smirking. “See? You do like it.”

Suddenly, the cold is forgotten. Like somehow, the cramped noraebang felt less stifling than standing here, out in the cold with Yoongi.

“Why’d you follow me out here, dollface?”

There it is again.

“You need to stop calling me that,” you snap, annoyed.

“Nah,” he hums. Your eyes are drawn to the orange glow as he flicks his cigarette, crushing embers into the ground with the toe of his boot. “I think you like that, too.”

What the fuck.

“I—”

“Answer the question,” he interrupts.

“Why did you leave?” you counter.

“Needed a smoke. Told you that already.”

It’s a solid alibi, but something in his tone tells you he’s not being completely honest. So, you pry.

“Left in a pretty big hurry, for a cigarette,” you goad. 

Yoongi huffs, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you want me to say? Clearly you have something in mind.”

All you do is glare at him in response. You’re out here, shivering to death instead of being inside with people that actually enjoy your company. The least he could do is not waste your time by being a fucking pussy.

It’s silent for a long moment, both of you waiting for the other to break. But then, Yoongi sighs.

“I didn’t know you could still sing like that,” he finally says, his voice a low murmur.

Wait.

“Still?” you ask, bewildered.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth turns up in a lazy smirk. “What, you think I don’t know things about you? You should know better than that by now.”

“I was at your debut show,” he adds, his voice suddenly more earnest than you’ve ever heard it. “That voice was my first impression of you. Almost had me fooled.”

Infuriatingly, he doesn’t elaborate any further. “Fooled into what?” you ask, eyes narrowing. That wasn’t an attempt at a compliment, was it? There’s no way Min Yoongi is paying you a compliment right now.

“Into thinking you’re someone I might want to spend time with,” he replies, unwavering but still completely unclear.

You wish you could tell what he was thinking. What does he mean by that? That if you met under different circumstances…?

The tension is thick, suffocating. Your pulse thrums in your ears, drowning out everything else—the distant music, the buzz of electricity, the rational part of your brain telling you to walk away.

Yoongi just watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his gaze now—something that makes your breath hitch. Eyes all pupil. 

Against your will, your gaze drops to his lips. You wonder if he notices. You hope he doesn’t. Or maybe you hope he does.

You don’t know who moves first.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him in the cold; the next, his mouth is on yours, and you’re backing him into the wall. It’s messy, urgent—like neither of you expected this, but now that it’s happening, neither of you want to stop.

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. You’re dizzy, drunk off the way he kisses you, how he tastes like smoke and whiskey, how his tongue slips into your mouth like he owns it, the sensation of smooth metal on the roof of your mouth making you whimper.

And then—

Reality crashes back like a cold slap to the face.

You pull away, breathless, hands shaking as you take a stumbling step back.

“What the fuck,” you pant, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, like that’ll erase what just happened.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he looks just as bewildered as you feel, his chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.

What the fuck. What the fuck did you just do?

Without another word, you turn on your heel and bolt, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to get away. Your head is spinning, your heart hammering against your ribs and threatening to explode.

And Yoongi doesn’t make any move to stop you. 

You leave everything. You don’t stop. You run, catch a cab, operating completely on instinct until suddenly, you’re in the bedroom, door shut behind you, hands pressed to your face like that’ll somehow ground you.

When you finally lower them, your lips are still tingling, Yoongi’s jacket still draped over your trembling shoulders.

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