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literalgrill · 1 year ago

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Do NOT Support Hard Drive On Patreon

You might see friends today suggesting you support Hard Drive on Patreon today. You know, the funny video games version of The Onion? As a journalist, I will firmly tell you DO NOT GIVE THEM A DIME.

The CEO has pushed out all former staff that have built the site up to its current greatness and has been pushing the use of AI. The staff begged to have a Patreon before basically all being pushed out, but the idea was refused until now, when it will only line the pockets of a single person instead of hard working writers.

I know they might have provided laughs before, but Hard Drive is a shell of what it was once. Let it die and support the people who actually made those moments of joy possible. Don't believe me? Check out what former employees are saying below:

Kevin Podas: Okay you know what, I would feel bad saying nothing about this, so here goes:🚨SAVE YOUR MONEY🚨

We passionately advocated for a Patreon at Hard Drive & were aggressively shot down. The talent & people who built the site were pushed out. To see this now is beyond upsetting. For the past few years or so I put a lot of myself into this website. I pitched a ton of jokes, got over 120 articles published, & met a lot of great people. I'm sure if you've been following me for some time you could easily see this.

However, there is a lot of misinformation. I was eventually promoted to Managing Editor of the site & was ecstatic. Grateful for the opportunity. Felt like all of my hard work in the comedy mines was finally paying off. But things took a turn for the worst, & each day there were new surprises that affected our livelihoods. These were all very avoidable surprises, mind you.

A patreon was going to be our hail mary, but alas, for some reason, the power that be did not want it. Causing us to leave a dream job behind. "At least we did all we could," we consoled ourselves afterwards. I put a lot of myself into this project. I pitched all sorts of ideas that could have helped-- we all did. Merch collaborations, Patreon-integrated YouTube content, so much more. And most of them were shot down out of sheer stubbornness and nothing more. To see lie after lie spread, and multiple big publications and YouTubers that I am a fan of promote this Patreon under these pretenses is incredibly upsetting. There are so many receipts.

Please share this and consider pulling out if you've already put money into this. On Hard Drive using AI, also from Kevin Podas: I can't personally confirm that part aside from some of the recent header images for articles on both Hard Drive and Hard Times are being made with AI. As far as writing, it's been mentioned in the past, but I personally do not know. Maybe others do, maybe not. MORE From Kevin Podas suggesting the owner denying a Patreon being set up earlier cost an artist a job that was replaced by AI: We had a social media person who was awesome! He made the images until this AI implementation. He had to leave because ad revenue was low and a Patreon was aggressively refused.

Luca Fisher: at the risk of burning some bridges, i have to back up kevin here. i've only been part-time, in-and-out of hard drive since i got in last year, but i can corroborate that management doubled and tripled down about not hosting a patreon/crowdfunding and that many other suggestions and ideas, including mine (and ones much smarter than mine!), were shot down in really long, apocalyptic threads of everyone left on deck desperately trying to come up with ways to keep the lights on. managerially it has been messy and sad

i've written for multiple publications that have long since died, ones that were in the process of dying, and ones that, in this case, are soon to be put in the ground. it is sad and sucks every time. i don't know what could have been done differently, but i do know that a lot of great writers and content creators were left shorthanded and unhappy by the way things have gone. and it is sort of puzzling to see the sudden championing of patreon after we were all told plenty of times that it couldn't work and we should move on also, just to add my own personal two cents here, i was really disappointed by the shuttering of many different article sections on the site over the past 6-8 months. i understand cutting corners in a deficit, and i know it had to be done. that said…

all in all, i'm really sad to see this all happen. i don't fault anyone, if only because i don't really know enough about how this all can happen to make sense of it. games journalism is in a sad, sorry state, and will likely no longer be a thing in the next decade

VideoSealMan: I'm gonna say this because I think I deserve to. For months, MONTHS on end I was bugging Hard Drive management about a Patreon. Often I got ignored for a week+, but when I actually got a response I was encouraged to - of all things, write up a Google Doc pitching the concept I did it regardless. I wasn't the only one trying to sway management on a Patreon, but so fiercely was I fighting for it that last night, I was accused of making this comment directly by the CEO! With no evidence whatsoever! After I'd been gone for over a month.

I vouched so hard for Patreon because I wanted all the writers and creatives working with Hard Drive including myself to get paid better. When I actually got a response, the idea was often shut down. Eventually due to the state of my company, my pay was cut for a second time I confronted management alongside a couple other important figureheads at the org and told them that if we couldn't do a Patreon - I could no longer financially justify staying there. The answer was still no, so I left. Baffled at the decision, but whatever.

It is unendingly frustrating to know that myself and many other people who put their soul into Hard Drive LEFT because of management's absolute refusal to compromise on a Patreon, to then see them launch one anyway a month later and get over 1000 people pledging money. I'm seeing a lot of things float around about greed and people being fired. No one was fired. Everyone who left, left because they were sick of management's decision-making. And honestly, management is a lot of things but I would not call them greedy. (From my experience.) They did genuinely make an effort to pay people as much as possible. I found the pay very fair for a while. I am not disputing that I was paid what I was owed - yet management frequently feels the need to remind critics of that. Lmao, yes. I was paid what I was owed. No one is disputing payment. You did the bare minimum a business owner should do and paid everyone their due, very well done. I make no allegations of greed, cheating or foul play. I make allegations of poor management and incompetence that has fucked over other people.

Basically the only people left at Hard Drive have been there for about 2 months. They will reap the rewards of this successful Patreon I and so many others passionately fought for for so long. We will not see a dime.

I do not know the new people at Hard Drive, But I feel bad for them. They were haphazardly thrust into Hard Drive's workplace with little to no explanation on how anything works, or given any context on the state of the place. Even now managements feeds them half-truths and misinformation about other people's grievances. I am broke and have been for a while. I had to move out of my flat in Reading and back with my family because of how little money I was making. This has basically doomed my flatmate to moving back in with abusive parents, which is something I feel guilty about every day. If we had gone with the Patreon I worked myself hoarse over back then, this could have been avoided. Some of my other good pals could also not have been fucked over.

It was a bad judgment call, but it's not a crime. It's just management getting it wrong.

So should you give to the Hard Drive Patreon? I don't know! I don't think any of the new people working there to patch up the holes left by the recent mass exodus have any bad intentions. Maybe they deserve it! But it is not the same site you knew a year ago, or even a month ago. Myself and many people who were there far longer than me and did far more for it than I did are all gone now because we could not deal with management's terrible decision-making and dogass communication any longer. That's what you should know, imo

I had an agreement in place with management that I would receive the next 8 months of revenue from the Hard Drive YT channel from my leaving in November. This was a deal I appreciated, and thought was very fair on management's behalf. So far, the deal has been honoured for 2 months. However as of last night I was removed from the Hard Drive Slack without warning, and as an editor for the YouTube channel. This means I no longer have any way of verifying how much I am owed, I just have to take their word for it. I'm sure management will make their own statements full of half-truths and weird language on the many cases being brought against them - I'd take everything they say with a pinch of salt if some of the screenshots I've seen of them talking about me are any indication lol

To management; I do not want to talk to you. I want you to DM me a screenshot of how much I'm owed every month and then send me the money per our agreement until June, then we can go our separate ways. Do that and admit to your mistakes, and maybe you can recover your reputation! That's it from me, lol. If they pull out of the deal and fuck me over I'll have more to say, but most of what I know is other people's stories of incompetence and poor decision-making, lol. I genuinely get no pleasure out of doing this; I do not think management is evil - I just think they're really bad at what they do and it's cost other, more talented people, lol. You should believe the writers imo

One last thing I wanna say btw, management did often stress that no one should try to make Hard Drive a full time thing. They were transparent about that, and that is fair. I was working on it because at a few points, I was lead to believe we actually were doing a Patreon. Many other ppl have similar stories of being strung along by management changing their minds and stop-starting shit every 2 weeks. We all made the fatal mistake of overestimating our manager - who would tell you one thing one day and something totally opposite the next week lol

Hunter R. Thompson:

I'm not your dad, but speaking as a Hard Drive writer, I don't know that funding Hard Drive on Patreon is worth it

The driving talent on the back end—behind the kickass site I joined in 2019—have peaced out over the years as the site's been (in our view) increasingly mismanaged. Mismanagement like, not setting up crowdfunding before the ship sank and all its best crew failed; or publishing a screenshot of Andy Ngo pedojacketing a trans writer, complete with her deadname; or a disgruntled ex-writer getting falsely accused of shit-talk, by actual staff. I'm grateful for the writing I've gotten to produce for HD (and will forever be kicking myself for not writing even more, in the four years I've had to do it!! i'm a dumbass!!!) but it is very much no longer the site I signed up for.

I don't want to resign as a contributor altogether, because I'm open to the idea of the site recovering and bad practices being retired as finances level out-- it would just be dishonest for potential backers to not be Aware Of The Circumstances, I think.

Jeremy Kaplowitz: i truly don't want to start shit, but feel compelled to say: i want to see Hard Drive succeed w/o resorting to throwing former writers & editors, myself included, under the bus. surely there's a way to save the site without building it over the corpses of those who left. my $0.02 i don't blame anyone who wants to sign up for the HD patreon and i support the website, but that includes those who worked on it for years, have complaints, and don't deserve to be treated like bitter assholes like this kind of stuff is just objectively true, meanwhile there's these new writers who joined the site after i left (meaning, in the last ~3 months) claiming people are liars. decide for yourself if you care, but this is what happened! [Quotes this Tweet]

Seth Finkelstein: Writing for Hard Drive has been a privilege the past few years, and it makes me so angry to see people I looked up to get jerked around behind the scenes. The amount of grenades the editors jumped on our behalf is immense, and I don't think the way they're being treated is right.

Other Bits On AI: We do know for sure however that AI art has been used by the site. Its fucking owner confirms it here:https://twitter.com/MattSaincome/status/1743040541603123622. Seems the owner pushed AI written articles as well! TayFabe: My vaguetweet is making the rounds & these made me apoplectic. - owner regularly lobbied using ai. Once he tested it & said ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. - ai images were used on the site & socials w/o consulting the team or disclosing it publicly I found the ai bit relevant to include bc 1) it illuminates a stark change in HD's current direction & leadership, 2) ai images have previously been used on the site and (since deleted) ig posts, 3) ai content fucking sucks, and repeatedly pushing to use it is a telling quality The "handful of writers who chose to leave" includes 2 editors-in-chief (both cofounders who wrote a combined total of >1,000 articles & defined the voice of HD), & at least 3 other editors. These guys put in WORK since 2017, so cool to be corrected by ppl who joined in Nov 2023 [Link to mentioned vague tweet from post.] More from TayFabe: owner continuously lobbied for using ai in every possible way. No one else wanted to do it, but he kept on, saying ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. Also, ai images were used on the site & socials without public disclosure or consulting the team.

The owner has responded now multiple times in a private discord... Thank you for people sharing screenshots! First Screenshot:

Kevin's Response: He banned me from the server for speaking out, so no, I didn't see it. And he gave no indication of a timeline, it was just "we'll do one when *I* say so" and gave every inclination he was totally against it. It bred an environment that pushed our hands to have to leave. Screenshot Round Two:

Kevin's Response: "Starting one in 3 months" is an absolute lie. He denied it, I have screenshots and others who can confirm. No timeline was given. Just "this is what it is now" and like, I couldn't live off of that. I wanted to do more but he was allergic to good ideas from others around him.

Matt, owner of Hard Drive, responds publicly on Twitter.

Matt: Kevin, the patreon launch was delayed because I didn't think it would work. Everyone is happy that it did work. Everyone who left the site because we didn't have money to pay for creative content which didn't revenue is welcome to return home. But unclear why the hostility.

Hard Drive paid out literally every dollar it had, then a bunch more, to creative people who worked on the site. When we ran out of money, we couldn't pay anymore. We did our best.

Kevin: Right, and my point of this thread was that it was completely and totally avoidable. This is reasonable to be upset about. How could I have been any more clear?

Matt: If we knew with 100% certainly that the community would have supported us via patreon, we would have done that. We didn't know. We had tried 4 years ago and got no support. We were wrong this time. We did our best to figure it out. We paid all the money we could.

Kevin: So you knew with 100% certainty this time? Or you took a leap of faith?

Matt: It was a last gasp panic effort after ad rates got cut in half on january 1st due to seasonal spending changes. We didn't know it would work. We were embarrassed to ask for support. We wanted to figure it out.

Kevin: Every site has a Patreon. Every YouTuber, comedy group, etc. But you insisted that nobody cared about Hard Drive. Which is wildly untrue. I know you see that now, but again, I think you can see why I and many others are pretty upset. A last ditch panic effort was long overdue. A couple more things from Matt:

It was about the size of the hole we needed plugged budget wise, the time I had left of personal resources, and the past data I had about us trying a patreon (which turned out to be a bad indicator). I didn't think the Patreon would help us fast enough. I made a bad estimation

aka "if we make $1000 more dollars a month via patreon, which would be 10x what we got last time, we will not solve any of our problems. If instead we try to plow down path B, we might make it out in time." That was the thinking. I chose the wrong path, but didn't mean to Kevin also retweeted this comment from the user Matt was responding to: So you're saying that you're bad at running the business, didn't listen to any of your employees until after they were forced to leave their jobs, and now you're going to get more of the money from the Patreon that was their idea in the first place? Matt's Response: Respectfully, I made a mistake delaying the patreon decision. But keeping a comedy site alive for 9 years is not easy, there are lots of potential ideas, and think overall we've done a good and honorable job. Will leave this thread in peace now to allow people their space.

Sorry for linking to Elon's hellsite (derogatory), but sources need links so...

#video games #patreon #hard drive #ai critical

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gyaruhana · 1 month ago

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Omg can we get some more player 120 (Cho Hyun-ju) sfw n nsfw headcanons where shes protective n dominant? Pls n thank uu I loved ur last work w her🩷

Cho Hyun-ju/Player 120 - Headcannons (sfw + nsfw)

Synopsis: more Hyun-ju headcannons !

A/N: ask and i shall serve !!

Warnings: smut content

SFW:

➠ i'm immediately jumping into the scene in the last episode where she was locked in bc holy moly she was so hot.. ➠ wouldn't let you go with her unless you were well-trained with a gun and able to handle it ➠ even then she's always keeping you close behind her ➠ When she's not shooting at the guards, she's looking at you to make sure you're doing okay ➠ if you run out of ammo, she doesn't hesitate to give you one of her magazines ➠ If you end up panicking she's immediately there to distract you from the gunshots and reassuring you that everything is fine and you'll both be okay ➠ and you both will be because she refuses to die or to let you die ➠ not when you both had already made plans for Thailand after you get out of here ➠ On a lighter note !! ➠ most doting girl ever ➠ does give you some of her food sometimes if you're feeling hungry ➠ If someone insults you, she's instantly at your side to defend you ➠ she HATES people thinking they can treat you badly ➠ do play with her hair she loves it sm ➠ expect her to hold your hand a lot because she's not afraid of PDA ➠ late night talks after lights out which sometimes just turns into staring into each others eyes ➠ so many quiet "I love you"'s whispered during those talks too ➠ likes when you cup her face in your hands honestly ➠ you guys are always talking about WHEN you make it out of this place and never if ➠ so so many plans for Thailand ➠ After the death of Young-mi, she definitely needed your comfort and got so much more protective of you ➠ if you go to the bathrooms, she's right there behind you ➠ you're basically never alone during the games ➠ Absolutely fights for you ➠ Overall, so protective of you and not afraid to put someone in their place if they disrespect you

"I have a few nice places to live in Thailand saved on my phone. I can show you them when we get out," you speak from your bed as you turn to face her. She smiles slightly at your words and nods her head. You both had been planning for Thailand since forever and now the dream seemed so much closer with the money you could take home. Even if some people died, neither of you would be next. Not as long as you were there to protect each other and survive this hellish place together. "I'd like that,"

NSFW:

➠ Again, she's gentle. ➠ not a big fan of having public sex so she often takes you to the bathroom with her if you guys are in the mood ➠ most skillfull pussy eater icl ➠ she knows exactly how to make you feel good ➠ gentle and meaningful kisses that convey so much love ➠ she's just a gentle cutie ➠ always whispering praises to you ➠ baby, my girl, sweetheart - literally every sweet pet name in the book ➠ refuses to be rough with you because she wants to help you relax and be calm from the stress of the games and the death ➠ always kisses you after making you cum on her fingers ➠ which happens quite quickly honestly.. ➠ she's just a little too good at fingering you.. ➠ she's practically memorized every part of you though that's why ➠ encourages volume and expressing how you feel ➠ she bases her pace on your facial expressions because she's ridiculously observant ➠ Overall, gentle girlfriend who knows how to please you<3

"You're close, yeah?" She says quietly as she looks up at you, her fingers continuing to thrust in and out of you quickly. The two of you didn't have a lot of time as the guard waiting just outside the bathroom likely wouldn't let you stay for long. That's why she was so quick with her fingers. The last thing she'd want is for you to be left without a release. "Go ahead. Cum on my fingers, my love,"

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #hyunju squid game #hyun ju #squid game smut

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purplealmonds · 11 months ago

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Finished this just in time for the new trailer drop! This is my Mononoke illustration featuring assorted merch from the anime, movie, and stage play! How many can you recognize? ⚖️👹

(Yes, please send answers in the replies! Answers, progress pics, artist commentary will be drafted on a separate post when I'm less tired) ⭐️ UPDATE 04/03/24: Abridged artist commentary is now available under the cut! For the full version, please see the Google Doc linked in the replies.

👁️Overview

Late last year, I rather belatedly discovered Mononoke’s 15th anniversary came and went, and with it, an entire swath of new content to manically pore over. This is an illustration of the various Mononoke merchandise, props, and set dressing I discovered.

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🔎Scope

Some fun facts regarding the work that went into this illustration!

Not including research time, this project ran for roughly two months, consuming much of my waking hours outside of my full time and freelance jobs.

While the illustration does not depict all of my findings, it does feature over 120 unique props and set dressings!

The majority of the props and set dressing were modeled to varying degrees of detail in SketchUp.

To model prep, I often put together schematics on Photoshop or Illustrators. Some were created from scratch. Others were created with the liberal usage of the Photoshop transform and perspective warp function.

The master file is 1.5GB. The dimensions are 6400x3600 at 300 dpi, and contains over 2,200 layers.

Near the end of production, the master file became so unwieldy I created a separate working file. This way, I could create assets lag-free then import the layers into the master file.

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Past this point is where most of the commentary cuts were made for the sake of brevity. Again, look in the replies for the Google Doc link containing the full version with a table of contents for easier navigation!

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🗳️3D Layout

As you can see, the backbone of this illustration is the 3D model. I spent perhaps 30-40% of my production time on this stage.

And this is the lit version. The lighting ultimately got downplayed in favor of showcasing the vibrant colors. I like how simple it looks though!

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🎬Production-Based Set Dressing

In addition to merchandise, I wanted to insert set dressing and props from the various Mononoke productions.

🦊Kusuriuri

It’s odd to have a section dedicated just to him, but his unique appearance warrants it. His garb and overall appearance is an amalgam of the anime and movie. The original intent was ambiguity– kind of like the blue/black vs. yellow/white dress phenomena a few years back. But after doing the color flats, I rather liked how the rich, unaltered colored fit with the overall composition so it became more blatant. I’m surprised that nobody has commented on this since I published the illustration. Maybe because I didn’t feature him in a close-up?

🐈 kai ~Ayakashi~Bake Neko (2006)

Finding props iconic to this story arc (outside of the Kusuriuri’s tools of trade, of course) was somewhat difficult. While the environment was richly decorated, it mainly consisted of 2D artwork which I wasn’t keen on retracing. I opted to paint objects that characters interacted with or featured heavily in the show.

Salt Jar

Candlestick

Rat Trap

🦋Mononoke (2007)

The props fall into three distinct categories here: Kusuriuri’s tools and trinkets; things featured in the opening and ending credits; and objects iconic to each of the five story arcs in the series. I tried to keep most of them clustered on the tatami, but as space grew scarce some props trickled up onto the deck as well.

Medicine Box

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Mirror

Ring

Geta Sandal

Necklace

Paper Umbrella (Zashikiwarashi)

Daruma Dolls ( Zashikiwarashi)

Gunpowder Ball (Umi Bozu)

Smoking Pipe (Nopperabou)

Genjiko Blocks (Nue)

Train Ticket (Bake Neko)

Lantern (Anime OP)

Butterflies (Anime EP)

☂️Mononoke: Karakasa (2024)

Pretty slim pickings for the new movie since I only had the teaser, first trailer, and movie poster to reference from. Kusuriuri’s tools of trade were a given, but finding memorable and narratively significant objects was a tad troublesome.

Thankfully, the set dressing ended up (however subconsciously) strikingly similar to the movie’s environment design, down to the green tatami and multicolor shoji screen. I suppose at this point I was so immersed in Mononoke content that its aesthetics subconsciously informed my design choices!

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Comb

Movie Poster

Butterfly (Custom design)

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🪭Official Merchandise

Goods related to canonical narratives and/or productions.

🎊15th Anniversary

Mononoke Shu - A light novel by Hideyui Niki & illustrated by 2964_KO

Whiskey Glass & Box

📖 Key Frame Art Books by Hashimoto Takashi

Ayakashi Key Art Frame Book (2010)

Key Frame Art Book vol.9 (2017)

📚Manga by Yaeko Ninagawa

Kai Ayakashi: Bake Neko Vol. 1-2

Kai Ayakashi: Mononoke Prequel

Mononoke Vol. 1-10

🎭Butai Mononoke

Bakeneko Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Acrylic Standees

Zashikiwarashi Manegi

💿Physical Media

Official OST CD

DVD Box Set

Yokai Pattern Fabric

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Common Collab Merchandise

This category consists of goods that are generally more affordable and feature graphics from the source material with minimal alterations.

Amnibus

Wall Scrolls

Tenugui Fabric

Shot Glasses

Minoyaki Bean Plates

ANIGA-TER

Stickers

Can Badges

Canvas Prints

Anique

Diorama Acrylic Stand

Acrylic Blocks

Challenge Kuji

Kusuriuri & Hyper Clocks

eeo Store Online

Folding Fan

Keychains

Can Badges

gj character G

Cushion

Acrylic Charms

Neo Gate

Satchels

Mini Badges

Mini Badges by Mame Shinoda

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High-End Collab Merchandise

Goods which derive motifs from the characters, props, and patterns from the production and transform them in an elevated manner through abstraction or usage of precious materials.

gj character G

Exorcism Sword Ring

Goodsmile

Kusuriuri Nendoroid Figurine

Folding Screen

Kusuriuri & Hyper Plush

Tote Bag

Kaya

Umbrella

Tenbin Kanzashi

Tabi Socks

Dress

Kotobukiya

Figurine

Mayla

Pump Heels

Kusuriuri & Hyper Hairpins

Tenbin Earrings

Hyper Earrings

Noitamina Apparel

Perfume

Tenbin Necklace

Folding Fan

Super Groupies

Purse

Wallet

Watch

Tsumuji Design

Exorcism Sword Necklace

Ofuda Bracelet

Useless Use Lab

Fragrance Set

Air Purifier

Three-Sided Mirror

#mononoke 2007 #mononoke 2024 #mononoke fanart #medicine seller #kusuriuri #モノノ怪 #mononoke anime #薬売り #mononoke #fan art #purplealmonds #2024

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heartilywrites · 1 month ago

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je t'aime, je t'attends ; c. hyunju

request guide | masterlist

summary: where you found your girlfriend participating in a series of deadly games.

cw: angst ; a bit suggestive ; a shit ton of narration and little dialogs, cho hyunju x fem!reader ; reader is a triangle guard 🗣 ; no use of y/n

wc: 2.3k

a/n: i love joining new fandoms, HI GUYS i've been simping for hyunju ever since i saw her and i needed to write for her or i'd die. hope y'all like it <33 feel free to request if you want, i'm a bit behind my rqs now bc of work but i'll do my best to write more for hyunju !!

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ Player 450

The robotic voice order, with your scope you looked for the poor soul, shooting without a second thought. When looking at the rest of the players, a familiar face was recognized by your orbs.

You knew that profile like the palm of your hand, you’ve spent way too many hours looking at it that it was burnt into your memory like your life depended on it. You had to be dreaming, licking your lips after a shaky sigh made the only sound in the small room you focused again on the woman. The number 120 was distinguishable on the back of her sweater as you made sure to memorize it, she was covering people behind her and a small sour smile painted on your lips, Hyunju didn’t change.

Your mind couldn’t concentrate anymore, what was she doing there? You’ve asked her time to get the money she needed, did you take too long? Did the salesman find her after you left? You were sure that was the case, if you knew she had been invited you’d done everything in your power to stop her from participating. A last gunshot was heard, you were quick to look over your scope; your heart stopped for a moment when you saw blood staining Hyunju’s face, but when your eyes concentrated on her and the kill was confirmed to be another player, you allowed yourself to relax a little bit.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ Soldiers who have completed your mission, please line up outside the sniper rooms.

As if your own hearts were able to feel the presence of the other blindly, while you were putting away the gun given to you, your body began to tremble just like Hyunju was down at the play arena. Both scared for the woman’s life now, you didn’t know what to do moving forward.

You thought back to when the Masked Officer had recruited you offering a generous sum of money that could solve all your problems if you did a couple of tasks and your first thought was your girlfriend, on the future that could be forged for the two of you after receiving the money, you had imagined the two of you living a quiet life in Thailand as per request from Hyunju, you didn’t care what the job could be about or if it meant blotch your hands in blood. You’ve done it before, you were a very well trained defense guard who was struggling to find a stable job, most people didn’t care about your time in the korean military force or if you were one of the best snipers from your battalion they all ‘needed a man for the job’. You couldn’t rely on Hyunju either as she had been facing unemployment too for quite some time now, you had reassured her that you’d take care of the bills however you could.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I’ll go back to being a guard for clubs if I have to,” you said to the woman while preparing dinner, a small sigh was heard from her that made you turn. You walked over to where she was sitting and took her face in your warm hands thanks to the fire of the stove. “It’s okay, Hyune, I got this. We’ll make it out of here, trust me.”

One of her hands looked to rest on your wrist, a sad grimace painted on her face. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone. I should be able to help you, to help myself… I want to contribute too.”

‍Your lips left a small kiss on her forehead. “We’ll be fine, my love, I promise.”

The mere memory made your heart ache with anguish, you had to get her out of there, you had to make sure she wins these games. You had to… You had to let her know you were there, didn't you? Maybe in that way she could feel more protected… Or maybe she would hate you for being there, maybe she’d break up with you, call you a monster, question how could you do that to innocent people?

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hey, twenty-three, can you believe what eleven is doing?” a distorted voice asked behind you.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Couldn’t care less,” you said back, your voice sounded completely different too. After leaving the briefcase you were carrying back into place and taking a different gun you walked over the entrance. “I’m not part of the business and I don’t care what happens with it, I told you.”

‘I have more important things to worry about’ you thought to yourself while following one of the square soldiers and accommodating the strap of the gun on your shoulders.

You saw all the players grouped at the back of the big bedroom, you thanked the gods you were wearing a mask as your eyes looked desperately for Hyunju while the soldier was speaking, you didn’t care what was being discussed at all. Even when the so famous player 456 was talking you couldn’t force yourself to pay attention until a specific line that came from his mouth caught your thoughts.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Let us take our vote right now.” your eyes looked at the man with hope, your heart filled with gratitude, at least someone was sane enough.

Without turning your head upwards, you saw the prize being announced and a sigh left your mouth, your full attention was now on the room and each player as well as your superior.

You were asked to be beside the podium, you walked a little too quick for your taste. You positioned yourself while looking forward at each player and counting on your head the x’s, hoping they would win. And then Hyunju was called over, when you noticed your hands shaking you held tighter to your gun, you noticed she doubted for a second and then voted the circle. Your eyes shut and a shaky breath came out your mouth, you had to stay composed, you couldn’t break down there.

And when the circles won the poll, the players were told they needed to rest and feast for tomorrow’s games. The group walked out leaving a couple of triangles and the circle soldiers who were handing the food. After being instructed to leave for the night, you walked over to your small room and allowed yourself to break down once the door closed behind you. Leaning against the door you let your tears roll down on your face, how could life be so cruel to you? You just wanted to make your girlfriend happy and now she was condemned to die on an island away from home, you wouldn’t be able to even take her home with you.

No, you couldn’t think like that, you wouldn’t release that energy into the universe, you had to take care of her now. It didn’t matter if it cost you your own life, you would ensure Hyunju won the games. You would be like a hawk, watching over her as much as you could. The officer was more than pleased to see you ask for more responsibility, you tried to be where the players were at all times. Behind the triangle mask you were constantly watching Hyunju, following her discreetly on the six-legs game arena and cursing people who looked at her bad under your breath. You found yourself almost celebrating your girlfriend’s win with her group, thankfully you stopped before. After seeing Hyunju win, hope began to occupy your heart fully, convincing yourself there was a chance she could win this games, that she would be free.

At night you stayed to cover for a little, after all, you weren’t that sleepy now. Leaning your back on the wall you saw your colleague deny a permission to go to the bathroom and at first you weren’t against it, you knew the rules too, but when the older woman began to ramble about her bladder issues, you stood up again.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I got this, I’ll take them.” you said to your company before they opened the door, a small thank you was said from the other guard.

When the door was opened and you saw the woman smile a giggle almost escaped your mouth, but any trace of a smile faded when Hyunju let herself show asking to go too. Your breath got stuck on your lungs as you watched closer now, forcing yourself to guide them to the bathroom, that was your time, you had to talk to her now.

You stayed outside for a few minutes to allow them to do their business and after a couple of minutes you turned to look everywhere hoping not to see anyone approaching, you knew the bathrooms didn’t have cameras so you took advantage of it to walk in.

Hyunju was watching her own reflection, it made your heart pound hard against your chest, she was as beautiful as ever. Brown eyes turned to look at you with a confused frown on her.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Do we need to-” she began to speak, being interrupted by your distorted voice.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “At ease, sergeant.” you said making her freeze on the spot, blinking a couple of times, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

You two had met back when she was in the military forces, before she came out as the Hyunju you’ve been loving for some time now. At first you were just really good friends, but as time passed you couldn’t help falling in love with each other. You were there for her at every step, inviting her to live with you when everything was just going from bad to worse for her, losing her job, gaining debts one after the other, having everyone turn on her… But you, oh you were her rock, her place to rest from the crude world and now there you were, in a pink suit with that horrible symbol on your face that has been taunting her dreams for the last couple of nights.

Your name fell from her lips on a small whisper that could almost go unnoticed if you weren’t paying your full attention to her, you released your gun and took the mask from your face, tears wetting your cheeks and she held the bathroom sink tighter under her hands.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hyunju…” you whispered back, breathing in deep to calm yourself.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What are you doing here?” the two of you asked at the same time, she shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be in that suit… What are you doing?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Trying to get the money to flee this shitty place.” you answered, taking a step towards her that she took back. “Hyunju, please.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Why would you accept to do this?” she asked now, you bit your lower lip for a moment.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Because I want you to be happy, I want us to start from zero, to have the life we deserve.” you started to answer, walking slowly her way to not scare her away. “We deserve to be happy, don’t you think, my love?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You shouldn’t have come here, you shouldn’t have accepted it, we shouldn’t be here.” she began to speak a little faster and when you let your hands rest on her face she looked directly into your eyes.

Warm hands thanks to the gloves you were required to use made her feel at ease, made her feel like home. Troubled eyes were looking at each other, but you can sense the love and strong connection in them. Even in such a dangerous place with death itself roaming in every room, the love Hyunju and you shared had such power that could make any other emotion drown.

A silent discussion was held and not even a second later, your lips met each other with such hunger like you’ve been starving for so long, like you were far from the other for years. Without distancing from Hyunju you pushed the gun to your back so you could get as close as humanly possible with her, your right hand pulled her closer by the neck making Hyunju whimper for a small second, you smiled over her lips.

Aching hands looked to sneak under her shirt while her own hands clumsily tried to undo your suit, it was the sound of a flushing toilet that made the both of you jump and stopped grudgingly. Hungry eyes just looked at her as she was composing herself, Hyunju left a small sigh sound before looking again your way.

‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We have to get out of here,” she whispered, now Hyunju was the one holding your face in her own hands, you closed your eyes for a moment. “The two of us, safe and sound.”

‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You need to win the games.” you said back, opening your eyes again. “Do you remember our signal?”

Hyunju thought for a moment before taking away one of her hands to show you the sign you two had come up with back in your military days, you giggled and nodded.

‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I’ll be in every game watching over you, okay? When you see a guard doing it, know it’s me.” you whispered, she nodded too and stole another kiss from you. “We need to go back before the other guard comes to check, tell them, I’ll wait outside.”

The woman nodded again and as you were rearranging your suit, Hyunju pulled you in for a last kiss making you giggle like a teenager, almost giving in, but lastly stepping away and pulling your mask back on. You didn’t know how you’d make her win, but you had to go back home with her alive, you’ll figure it out in the way, but for now the only thing you could do was protect her.

#cho hyunju #cho hyunju x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #cho hyunju fanfic #squid game season 2 #one shot #cho hyun ju #cho hyun ju x reader #hyun ju x reader #hyun ju x you #cho hyun ju x you #player 120 #player 120 x reader

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pitchsidestories · 9 months ago

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my kink is karma II Alexia Putellas x Reader

a/n: Hi, we hope you've as much fun with the oneshot as we had writing it.

masterlist I word count: 1695

Champions League nights were always magical, no matter who the opponent was. But a Champions League final against record champion Olympique Lyonnais promised an even more special night.

After Barcelonas loss against the same team in the final two years prior, they had something to prove. So of course, the atmosphere among the team was a mixture between excitement and nervousness.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest right before the game started. You hugged your teammates and wished them a good game, partly to calm their anxiety and partly to calm your own.

“What about me?”, Alexias voice sounded from behind you.

As you turned around, she stood there, her arms wide open with a winning smile on her face.

You looked her up and down before jokingly saying: “You? Well…”

“Well?!”, she echoed, playing offended.

You winked at her: “A goal from you later would be perfect, you know why.”

You could still feel Alexias eyes following you as you took your position on the pitch.

While the referee blew her whistle, signaling the start of the game, the bench was still busy discussing what just had happened.

“What did she mean, Ale?”, Vicky asked, barely able to contain her curiosity.

Alexia shrugged: “Nothing.”

The young striker wrinkled her nose: “I don’t believe you.”

“Focus on the game, kiddo.”, Alexia laughed, nodding in the direction of the pitch.

“I’m not a kid, you’re just old.”, Vicky retorted with a grin.

Mapi joined the conversation with an innocent look on her face: “She’s not wrong about that, Ale.”

“I’ll show you guys old!”, Alexia rolled her eyes with fondness.

Ona grinned at her: “Y/n wants a goal from you!”

“From the bench?”, Mapi asked, her eyebrows raised.

“No, when she’s coming on.”, Ona explained.

“More like if she’s coming on.”, Mapi corrected her.

While the two defenders giggled, Alexia just shook her head: “Of course I’m coming on!”

You realized quickly that the game would not be an easy win. Lyon had their chances but so did Barcelona. For almost an hour, it was an even match but you could feel that your team wanted it more. And then Aitana scored.

“Well done, Tana!”, you yelled as you ran towards her to celebrate.

She hugged you tightly: “Thanks!”

From this moment on, your priority was to defend the lead and try to put your strikers into goal scoring situations.

In the ninetieth minute, Alexia came on. Your heart skipped a beat while she joined you on the pitch. But you also felt some kind of anger. There were only six minutes left to play.

Alexia made the most out of it. 120 seconds after coming on, she scored the 2:0 for Barcelona.

You could barely contain your happiness as you watched your girlfriend run across the pitch while pulling her shirt over her head to celebrate.

You had to blink away some tears as you followed her and pulled her into a celebratory hug: “Ale!”

“You got the goal you wanted after all.”, she retorted with a smug smile on her face. Despite her cocky attitude you could see that her hazelnut eyes were turning wet. The captain of your team was overtaken by her own emotions.

Everyone could see how much it meant for the midfielder to score in the final against a team to whom you both lost twice in a final.

“You deserve it so much, Ale.”, you whole-heartedly whispered into her ear, not sure if Alexia was even able to understand you as the noise in the stadium escalated.

Embracing you for one last time the Blonde had to let you go, not before muttering close to your face, giving you chills everywhere:” This one is for us.”

“Yeah, yeah, very romantic, but we still got a few minutes to play.”, Lucy interrupted the emotional moment between you two grinning before throwing the midfielder’s jersey back to Alexia who slowly put it back on.

“Lucy.”, your girlfriend rolled her eyes annoyed at the English defender.

“Let’s go.”, Lucy replied unimpressed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll celebrate that goal later.”, you promised Alexia winking.

“I can’t wait.”, she replied.

“Hey! Enough now!”, the older English player yelled impatiently by your lovebird’s behaviour.

“You don’t understand, Lucia.”, you protested laughing.

“We’ve four minutes left.”, she said unmoved by your quite visible emotional turmoil.

“Only four more minutes.”, you repeated to yourself. In fact, they felt like the longest minutes in Champions League history. Your legs were so tired, when the referee blew the final whistle, you fell to your knees, simply from exhaustion and happiness.

Barcelona has won, a second time in a row. It was Alexia's, your teammates and your triumph against Lyon at last. This was unbelievable.

“We did it!”, Alexia rejoiced, standing right next to you.

“Yes, we did.”, you answered cheerfully, before you added with a worried glance at your girlfriend, careful, don’t trip over!”

Your warning came too late, the Barcelona captain fell ungraciously over her own boots, lucky for her she landed very softly on top of your body.

“Girls, the children are still here!”, Sandra shouted at you, although the goalkeeper couldn’t hide her amusement by what just had happened.

“Shut up, Sandra.”, Alexia demanded, her usual stern face was now full of giddiness and excitement. It felt like the young girl who became a fan of Barcelona and fell in love with the club and football had overtaken her in that very second.

“Yeah, nothing to see here.”, you giggled.

“Exactly.”, the captain confirmed, while pressing a kiss to your already blushed cheek.

“You should get up now though, the press wants interviews with you both.”, Irene intervened seriously.

“Coming.“, Alexia said, carefully lifting herself off of you.

You immediately followed suit, brushing the grass of your shirt and short before hurrying to your interview.

The young journalist thrusted a microphone towards you: “Y/n, what does the CL win mean to you?“

“It means so much to me. I know people questioned whether we would be able to keep up with last years performance. But I think we proved that here tonight.“, you said. Your gaze subconsciously shifting towards Alexia who was interviewed on the other side of the stadium.

“You certainly did. Thanks for taking the time and have fun celebrating.“

You grinned at the journalist: “Gracias.“

Turning away from the camera, you were greeted by Alexia: “Done?“

“Yes, what about you?“, you asked, hoping that she was done with her media duties for the night as well.

“Me too.“

Alexia took your hand into hers, gently pulling you away from the cameras and the bustle on the field.

“Wait, where are you taking me?“, you laughed while you followed her.

“Somewhere more private.“, Alexia smiled.

You grinned: “Sounds like a good idea.“

“Come on.“

“I’m right behind you.“, you assured her while Alexia opened the door to your hotel room and pulled you in.

“So here we’re.“, you said, patiently waiting for her to make a move.

She nodded, her shoulders slumping in relaxation: “Finally.“

You wrapped your arms around her: “Oh yes, tonight was unbelievable…“

“You were unbelievable.“, she corrected you softly.

“So where you. After everything that happened in the past year.“ You were absolutely in awe about how much your girlfriend had fought to come back after her ACL injury, the setbacks she had injury-wise and with the conditions of the Spanish national team and how she dealt with the little game time she got.

People had started to doubt that she would ever come back as the World’s best football player but you knew, it was only a matter of time.

Apparently, Alexia felt a similar way. All the hard work she put in was finally worth it. She blinked the wetness in her eyes away: “Thank you. It means so much to me to have scored this goal tonight…“

“I can only imagine.“

Alexias hand come down on your thigh, right above your left knee. The bright red of the injury from the Champions League final two years ago had faded and only left a scar.

You both knew the injury was something that had bothered you for a long time. Alexia did not have to say a word, you knew what she meant but you only shook your head: “That was nothing compared to Ona tonight… that moment was really scary.“

“Ona’s tough.”, your girlfriend remarked softly.

“That’s true. Plus, she’s in good hands with Lucy.”, you were smiling fondly as you were thinking about your teammates who’s love for each other was so visible after the win.

“You don’t have to worry about it.”, Alexia declared earnestly.

“I don’t.”, you cleared your throat before you continued, close your eyes, what do you see?”

For a moment the Blonde gave you a questioning look, afterwards she dd as you told her. A huge grin was forming on her lips:” Us celebrating.”

“A very iconic moment.”, you answered mirroring her happiness while you were slowly undressing yourself.

“Oh, not this one. The next one.”, Alexia quickly corrected herself.

“The next one?”, you lifted an eyebrow which she couldn’t see, but your voice transported your surprise.

“Next year.”, the midfielder confirmed.

“What about now? You can open your eyes again.”, you offered her trying to sound nonchalantly and hide the excitement which you felt running through your veins right now.

“Now, I see you.”, Alexia swallowed hard while her eyes who appeared dark green under the light of the bedside lamp wandered through your almost entirely naked body.

“Liking what you see?”, you asked her in a cheeky tone knowing fully well what your girlfriend was feeling when she looked at you.

“You look so beautiful right now.”, the player replied, licking her lips as she bridged the distance between you both to gave you a passionate kiss. When her kink was karma, triumph never tasted as good as with you by her side.

It was going to be a long night and you couldn’t wait to get started with your own private celebration. The public could wait until tomorrow, now was your time to enjoy the win.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso oneshot #woso #woso community #barca femeni #barcelona femeni

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year ago

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TEXTBOOK CITATIONS ON IMMORAL SEX | S. GETOU ft. F. TOJI

✮ tags ; porn no plot, afab + fem!reader (good girl, little girl once sarcastically by toji, pretty), mild degradation (dirty girl, a bitch in heat), professor!getou + security guard!toji, dubcon, imbalanced power dynamics, age gaps(10+ years), mild coercion / blackmail, spit play, wet ‘n messy sex, face-fucking, oral (f +m!recieving), spanking, restraints, dirty talk, creampie / unprotected sex, 18+

✮ wc ; 10.6k

✮ synopsis ; You’re willing to do anything to pass your intro course. Whatever it takes. No cost is too high.

✮ a /n ; a comm for the beloved @fushironi !!! thank you for commissioning me and letting me post your work. if anyone is interested in a commission i will be reopening them at some point this month hopefully

A SIDE NOTE: THIS IS VERY CONSENSUAL!! but the relationship is inherently unethical so the dubcon tag is there. and this is. just smut. no plot no brain. just porn.

You're failing ethics.

You're failing ethics and failing it badly.

You refuse to take all of the blame for your failures. Some of it is your fault, but most of it is the fault of your good-for-nothing academic advisor. You're not sure what they get paid for, since it seems like there's an elaborate prank going on between staff and you're the only one not in on the joke. In what universe is it possible, plausible - that an individual could get paid for doing everything but their job?

Apparently this one. But whatever.

In your last semester of university, on the edge of graduating and totally on the right track - you're informed that you're not going to be able to graduate in the expected time frame because you are missing a single course. You learn this information about two days before registrations close, which means all the meaningful classes contributing to your major are booked and busy. Everything is full, and everything that isn't doesn't contribute to your degree. As in, even if you took it - it wouldn't give you what you need to graduate.

After a full-blown mental break, a long night crying yourself to sleep in your dorm, and an egregious amount of begging - you managed to snag yourself a class. It wasn't ideal by any stretch of the imagination, and it did put quite the strain on your schedule. Straight out of your 8am lab - you had to speed walk to the other end of campus and make sure you made it to lecture. The lecture time itself was an hour and twenty minutes, attendance mandatory, twice a week - which meant you had to delay lunch again till afterwards and learn on empty fumes till 1 pm.

Still, better than not graduating at all.

You'd hoped (expected?) that the course itself would be about average in coursework. For one, it's an intro class. Intro to Ethics or PHIL-2467, with Professor Getou Suguru. Secondly, the actual listed coursework seems simple enough. Discussion boards, reading analysis, and a few papers made up for most of the grade. The expectations were outlined as clearly as they could be.

You didn't really know anything about Professor Getou at the time, only that his ratemyprofessor described him as somewhat strict but mostly good.

In any case, you'd consider yourself lucky. And in an effort not to freak out about your circumstances, you'd practically chanted to yourself each night the same mantra. Everything was going to be fine. You've taken nearly 120 hours of coursework, and a little extra time won't kill you. At the start of the semester, you fully believed it too. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and utterly naive.

How could a single course torment you like this? You hadn't the faintest clue. At first, it struck you as odd that the course felt as difficult to grasp as it did. The readings were complex and extremely long but always said a lot of nothing. Much of your grade was dependent not only on assigned work but participation and discussion. The paper criteria was only simple on the surface, but proved to be too lengthy to comprehend and too difficult to fulfill.

Long story short, the class was kicking your ass. And the ass-kicking slowly progressed into a failure so bad it was laughable. You're in your final year, and that means taking a lot of difficult and specified courses in relation to your major. You were at the point where your classmates were starting to thin out, and you were seeing the same group of people you had as a freshman. As far as prioritizing goes, a 3-credit hour course that isn't technically meaningful to you falls to the very bottom of your priorities. You're more concerned with things like job-hunting and finishing your capstone and all the stuff related to your actual career.

So you've been half-assing all the papers and exams, falling asleep in class, and lowkey straight up ignoring the weekly discussion boards.

However, above everything else, the worst part of your class is your professor. Professor Getou Suguru. PhD in Comparative Ethics with a Masters in Cognitive Science.

You didn't really have a chance to speak with any of your friends about Professor Getou, despite it being in your best interest - because you only knew you had the class two days before it started. You'd come to learn only two things about him after attending. First, he's a complete hardass when it comes to grading any assignments, and second most of his merit comes from the fact he is ridiculously good-looking.

He can't be any older than his late thirties or early forties, which means he's young. Young enough to be attractive but old enough for most of your peers to thirst for him in unhealthy ways. He's at least a decade and a half older than you, and by god does he make it clear.

What they don't tell you about college is that there's nothing that can make or break a class more than your professor. Everyone is always too worried about everything else, about getting their schedule right - that they often overlook this basic tenet of college life even though it's so crucial. The worst part is that while various websites rating your professors are helpful, you won't truthfully know how you feel about a professor until you've met them in a classroom. You've had professors with lower ratings be absolute angels, and professors with higher ones being some of the most useless in your entire academic career.

You were hoping that Professor Suguru would be what you expected. That his astounding 4.5/5 would be a meaningful assessment of his character, that he would be tolerable and polite and understanding and that your semester would be smooth sailing because of it.

But of course, of course - that couldn't be further from the truth.

You don't know at what point exactly your relationship to Professor Suguru became as sour as it is right now. There's no real pivotal movement where mild intolerance became full-blown and outright distaste. But part of it, you know, stems from the fact your beloved professor is a snake.

You have no idea how no one else notices it. It genuinely feels like you're the only one who catches the subtleties of his behavior. There's just something about him that's a little…off. The irony isn't lost on you. He's an ethics professor, but something about him makes alarm bells go off in your head. A walking red flag, though a handsome one. He's off in a subtle way, but more than that - he's very openly smug to every single one of his students. It's just that no one else seems to really care. The air of pretension that surrounds him in his every movement is suffocating. Maybe that's part of the charm, if the way girls flock to him after class is anything to go by.

Even so, you just know there's something deliberate about his casual cruelties. He always seems to pick out the quiet kids, and from the beginning of your semester to now - he always, always manages to single you out of the crowd of students. In every class, in every discussion, in every chance he has to make you out to be a troublemaker he will.

Yes, you don't really have any idea how it started. But you've been keeping a long record of every single act of personal terror that damned man has been inflicting on you since the start of the course, and you're not unconvinced that your shit grade is in part because he wants to see you grovel in front of him.

The first time it happened - you figure it was a coincidence. He had called you out in class after you missed a discussion board. You hadn't done the reading, and it wasn't obviously humiliating but it singled you out all the same. When you fumbled coming up with an answer, he gave you a smug smile that so quickly morphed into a fake sincere one, you wondered if you were imagining things.

The second time was when you came in late after a walk of shame, and Professor Suguru greeted you by the door by asking if those were the same clothes you wore yesterday. After being completely mortified by it, the once dark gaze immediately rescinded to his usual fake-calm self. It was suspicious, but not the concrete evidence you needed.

And the third time was after your first project of the semester. Your grade was lower than you deserved, and you knew it - so you went to his office hours to bitch and moan to get it bumped up. But he wouldn't budge, saying that he thought his assessment was accurate. Made a smug face as he told you he just didn't think you thought your points out through. Unfair critiques shielded by flowery words and polite gestures. It was that moment that cemented the dislike, though it wasn't the start.

The beginning of the end, so to speak.

Ever since then, you've harbored nothing but dislike for him. You can see past his pretty face and you don't see anything good. You've had unpleasant professors before, but none have ever targeted you so specifically. None of your previous professors, even at the worst, seemed to hold such an unbelievable personal grudge.

You're all alone, fighting an invisible battle.

The worst of it though, is that you simply couldn't be bothered to give a shit about it for most of the semester. You had way too much going on, so you just had to put up with the inexplicable dread of attending that class until you had to deal with it again eventually.

And after months and months of avoiding the issue head-on, you're at a point where you can no longer do so. Your grade is officially below a C after bombing your last quiz, and there's only 5 weeks left until your semester is over and you're barred from graduation.

And you have no fucking idea what you should do about the situation.

There's a subtle pit of dread in your stomach as you enter your first philosophy lecture of the week.

For the first time since the start of the semester, Professor Getou doesn't antagonize you as soon as you enter the door. In a strange way, this makes you kind of uncomfortable. He gives you his usual fake smile, but the fact he's gone out of his way to leave you alone makes you feel like he's planning something.

You brush your paranoia aside as you take a seat in the back of your class. You don't have any friends in this lecture, at least not ones you do more than greet. You sit closer to the back of the lecture hall, tucked into a corner and up a few steps.

The charms on the end of your book bag zippers click together as you take your seat. You open your laptop - pulling up the lecture slides to pretend to study while opening 2048 to play while Professor Getou goes on about his business. You're hoping he's going to go easy on you today, and that his lack of interference is a sign of mercy.

More people start to trickle in and the classroom is the usual amount of packed it is by this point in the semester. The last day to drop passed last week, so the number of students has decreased despite it being spring semester.

Your professor starts his lecture as soon as the clock hits 11:30am. You look up from your computer, watching him as he sets up his slide deck and waits for all the conversation to settle before he begins talking.

He catches your eyes briefly before he continues, but he holds it for long enough that you know it's intentional. You frown at him, and it almost looks like he laughs - but you can't be sure your mind isn't tricking you into thinking that.

"Good morning everybody," His voice is smooth and pleasant - hair tied up neatly. He's wearing his usual attire. Black slacks, and a loose-fitting white shirt with some kind of canvas shoe. "How's everybody hanging in there? Good? Bad?"

He takes a look around the room, gauging peoples replies before chuckling.

"Not in good shape huh? Stick it out, a few more weeks and you'll be out of here. Today, we're going to continue on into section five of our coursework - the shortest of all of our other sections," He grabs something that clicks the slide into the next one, a few images next to a wall of text "We have a lot to cover in the last few weeks, but I want to start with a refresh of what concepts we've been learning for the last few weeks."

The swiftness in the way his eyes land on you is comical in its predictability. You give him an uncomfortable half-smile as he calls your name and brings the class's attention your way. A few looks of pity don't go unnoticed. You stiffen, straighten your back as he says your name slowly before asking.

"Do you think you can tell me, what are the four core structures that define modern Japanese philosophical thinking?"

There's real, uncomfortable weight to his gaze that makes you choke. You pull back slightly.

"Uhm, well - there's Shintoism, Confucianism, Buddhism and western ideology. Primarily German idealism."

He gives you a smug look, the same one you always see before it fades off to an uncannily brilliant smile. Not a sincere one, because when is it ever - but there all the same.

"Someone's been studying hard huh? But you are correct. We've spent the majority of this class going over the first three. How Shinto tradition, Confucianism, and Buddhism were experienced in Japan - isolated from Anglo-Saxon influence for the first few centuries of its establishment. We've also studied the vague historical timeline of these influences, mostly focusing on modern philosophy. We've covered Edo period philosophy as a precursor for what we know and understand now."

You can say a lot about Professor Getou, but more than anything - he has a certain way of commanding the room's attention that never lets you get completely comfortable. He has an air of charisma you've never seen in your life and being in close proximity to it makes you feel like you're being swept in by waves larger than life.

You fidget almost anxiously as you wait for him to continue his lesson.

"Our last few weeks are going to cover the culmination of your previous lessons, and what dictates both national morality and the hierarchy of modern Japanese social mores - Bushido. The way of the Samurai."

Professor Getou continues with this slide deck as he outlines Bushido conceptually. From its existence as a moral code in late 12th century Japan, to the many misconceptions about the strictness in which it was adhered. He starts the lessons like he starts many others, explaining misconception and myth before touching the surface of the subject at hand.

It's in his nature to advocate for the whole truth. From the start of your classes to now, Professor Getou always places the same emphasis. If only that truth is unable to be understood without opposition. It's like his whole being is constructed by it, opposition that is always radical and jaw-dropping. You've known this about him since he voiced his open critique for certain ideas about social welfare and about the emphasis of national morality.

You can't be certain what he really believes - only that he'll voice his views as critically as possible, if only to stir the room.

"Bushido is the heart and soul of modern and postmodern Japanese ethics, but it remains critically undefined despite its usage and citation functionally. Other philosophical schools of thought have strict definitions - Bushido is evolutionary in nature. Inazo Nitobe is primarily credited with the modern and popular interpretation of Bushido, but has received criticism for its obvious influence from Western ideas, and its comparison to chivalry."

Professor Getou sits back on the edge of his desk with a look on his face.

"The tendency of Japanese philosophy to lean into metaphysics does not align with the many values of infrastructure and military present in the culture now, but I'm not going to critique the philosophy for you," He skips to the next slide, your last project of the semester on the wall "For the sake of brevity, I'm going to have you write a paper on one of the eight outlined ideals in Nitobe's work, and I want you to reflect on that ideal in your paper."

A collective whispering erupts in the class as people stress about the assignment of their final few weeks. Not unexpected given the circumstances. Professor Getou doesn't flinch as he waits for the room to settle down.

"This will be your final project in this classroom, and will count as your final grade. On one hand, doing a good job on it means you have nothing to worry about for the last few weeks. On the other it's make or break," He locks eyes with you again as he says this, startling you as his smile grows coy and inauspicious "So if you're in need of a good grade to pass you, I'd recommend coming to see me during office hours or during one-on-one time so I can get you the grade you need. We'll discuss more at the end of class, but we've gotta get through more lectures so you can get an idea of what you can pick."

He gives you one another look, another pointed and obviously direct look, before he proceeds on with his lecture. It gives you a bad feeling in your stomach, and maybe you're being too self-centered thinking he's focusing too much on you.

But you can't help it, swallowing down your uncertainty as you continue on with the lesson.

You need to pass this class.

___

You meet up with Nobara after the fact.

She's a good sounding board for your problems as usual. Where you're always looking for the most civil solutions, she's good at giving it to you straight on what you should do. She's no bullshit and you like that about her. Whenever you need a kick in the ass or an ounce of courage, she's the person for the job.

So after meeting up for lunch, ranting again about Professor Getou (for the hundredth—no, thousandth time), and whining about his weird behavior, you're expecting some semi-sound, if not mean advice on what you should do.

"Have you thought about just fucking him?" She says instead, her voice full of sincere boredom. It comes out so casually, like she's relaying the news cycle to you - and you can't help but be utterly shocked listening to it. "Not that it was my first suggestion, but I mean…it's getting ridiculous."

"Hello? Where the hell did that come from? What do you mean just fucking him?"

She gives you a sideways glance of disdain as if you were the one saying something unreasonable. She leans forward into her hand mirror, gluing on her eyelashes for her afternoon date with Maki. She scoffs when she realizes your shock is genuine.

"Are you serious? Does this not read as an elaborate scheme for this total jackass to fuck you?"

You're flabbergasted. Surely she's not being serious with you.

"Nobara."

"Haah? Tch. Don't make that face. It's a gross abuse of his power but well, he's not ugly. If he were any younger of a professor, would you like… not assume that was the end game?"

"Nobara, he's a professor of ethics. His whole career is ethics."

"Yeah. Like. The perfect cover for wanting to screw his wide-eyed, desperate students. He's a hot, young professor. Not my type but you get me. Don't you think it's a little naive to assume his personal vendetta against you is shit, I don't know… totally lacking that motive? Think with your brain, not your tender little heart for a minute, okay?"

"It's not that!"

"Really? Just like your relationship with Mr. Fushiguro is totally platonic?"

"I said it was one-sided, not platonic."

"You're my whole heart and soul, you know that right? I didn't freak on you when you said you had a crush on Megumi's deadbeat dad. You're my salvation from the idiots we call guy friends. So I'm saying this with love, and not as the complete bitch you know me as - you're being dumb."

"Nobara, are you seriously saying you think this whole thing is about him wanting to," You can barely even get the words out. You're not that much of a prude but god. "Wanting to have… sex with me?"

"Yeah. What else would it even be? I think an awful man is interested in screwing you - a hot, capable twenty-something. Are you stupid? Is that like, sooo impossible for you to consider?"

"Well it's not the first place I would think to go, that's for sure."

"And that's your whole problem. Don't get me wrong, again, totally gross. Is it like.. a total abuse of his authority? Yeah. But that doesn't have anything to do with you personally. If I'm right, and you fuck him - you get a good lay and to graduate. And you need both."

"Nobara!"

"Don't be mad, I love you, okay? But I'm thinking about your future and your prospects. There's nothing wrong with it on a technical level."

"That is so untrue and you know it—"

"Look. I don't like it. I think it's a weak move and kind of corny and gross. But you've been planning your big graduation for years. And it's not a bad opportunity, and you're not a complete idiot. You said before that he's never inappropriate with the other girls right? You might even be the only one. As far as I'm concerned, there's no reason for you to not get laid and pass."

"Oh, so the student-teacher thing isn't reason enough?"

"Not if you wanna graduate it's not."

The two of you remain at a stand-still as his words trap you into a corner. How the hell do you even deal with this information? And how on Earth is she so sure of herself anyways? You think you're pretty good with signs, at least about things like this.

But it doesn't feel like flirting. He's never flirted with any of the students in class, despite how much they seem to fawn over him. Could this weird, psychological dance you've been doing for the last twelve weeks be some sort of unspoken foreplay ritual?

The more you think about it, the less it seems implausible to you. There's a wave after that, some cross between impending doom and shameful arousal blooming up inside of you as everything hits you all at the same time.

When you return to reality after being trapped in your thoughts, Nobara gives you a mindful (almost pitiful) smile and shakes her head. You frown at her in reply, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

"If it were like literally anyone else, I'd totally tell them it's a bad idea. But it's not like you're going on to date him, and you're what - 24? because of your gap year so you're not a preteen like some of the freshmen in your class. I just don't see any reason not to go for it."

You tamp down the small voice in the back of your head, encouraging you to do - and instead ask her a follow-up question.

"...Do you think I should attend his office hours tomorrow, yes or no? I have to email him by tonight to get the one on one."

"Yeah. Yes. And shave before you go."

You decide, for the sake of your sanity and everyone else's - to ignore Nobara's odd implications about what Professor Getou wants from you and to attend his office hours.

(That's a partial lie, you figure - given the fact you did shave, and shower before attending. You're wearing something kind of nice underneath. But you still don't think he wants to fuck you. It's more of a safety precaution than anything else.)

You made the game plan last night that you would go, present your idea, and then beg him to be kind to you during the grading process. You even developed a list of things to sob and cry about it to generate something of a sob story if everything went awry. You've forsaken your pride. The only thing that you need to get out of this meeting is a passing grade.

And that is, of course, by any means necessary.

Fearing for your life, the state of your mood improves as you approach the building hosting Professor Getou's office. Of all of the people you interact with semi-regularly on campus (all of which you are quite fond of), Nobara wasn't lying about your affection for campus security guard - Toji Fushiguro.

He's an older man. Older than you by double digits, and from what you can tell - older than even your professor. You've been fond of him ever since he brought you back to your dorm after a horrible break-up with your ex as a sophomore. He's got a rough edge, and there's plenty of unverified rumors of his past. You know that he has something of a criminal record too.

But for all of those rumors, and for all the things you hear about him - he's been one of the highlights of your campus experience. You've had a one-sided school-girl crush on him ever since that night, because you were sober enough to catch his body and how it feels. He was strong. Not in an average way. He made it so effortless when he was carrying you home in his arms - and it's not the first time you've seen him lug around things at least over 300 pounds like they were nothing.

But attractiveness aside, he is uncharacteristically good at cheering you up. He's funny and witty, all while maintaining a cool facade. He's endearing in his own way too, and you're a little head over heels for him though you'd never push yourself to make the first move.

Still, when he sees you come towards the building - he greets you with a wide smile. The scar over his busted lip - split open and welcoming as you run up to him for a hug. He's normally patrolling around campus, so it feels lucky to catch him where you least expect.

He wraps you up with a single arm, your feet temporarily lifting from the ground before you get put back down again.

"Mr. Fushiguro, what are you doing here?"

"I got moved over here since there's been some rumor about someone stealing from the labs upstairs. So I'm on lock up duty for this building 'till it gets fixed up and solved," He says, voice as smooth as ice "What about you sweetheart? It's gonna get dark out soon."

"Ah, I have office hours with Professor Getou today. I need to consult with him about a paper."

"That right? Just gonna be you in there, then?"

"Yep. I'm gonna go in there and beg him for a good grade on our next assignment. So for the sake of my sanity, please wish me luck?"

Mr. Fushiguro tilts his head to one side, grinning.

"Wouldn't that mean you graduate sooner instead of later? Can't wish ya luck on that." He says, making you flush and letting the feeling linger before continuing "Just kiddin'. A pretty face like yours should do you just fine. Knock 'em dead."

"I feel a lot better about it with your encouragement." You say honestly. Mr. Fushiguro gives you a laugh.

"Treat me to something if my luck makes any difference. And hurry in. Last thing you'd wanna do is be late."

You nod, wide-eyed and dazed by how charismatic he is before you rush into the building. It's silent, given how late in the school day it is. Most people have already gone home, with the exception of the other poor souls likely chasing down their professors for the same reasons as you.

You feel an overwhelming sensation of dread as you encroach upon Professors Getou's office. There's no one else in the close vicinity, only a few closed classrooms and students who are passing by the small corner where his door resides - most of which are making their way to leave.

You decide to take a deep breath, calming your shaken nerves before knocking politely once on his door and entering the room.

Professor Getou's office looks like how you'd expect it to look. It's clean, and sleek - and lacking almost completely of items of personal effect with the exception of his desk. It's the first time you've ever been inside of the room before, but it smells distinctly of him. He has that same scent surrounding him, like flicks of nicotine and a hint of bergamot. Sweet with the taste of metallic bitterness, like blood and sugar.

You feel the back of your throat bob as you see your Professor sitting at his desk. It's lacking his usual gracefulness. His shirt is unbuttoned down by three entire buttons, and his slacks seem looser. Most notable is his hair - classically long, now in a loose bun with pieces falling all on his shoulders and rolling down his neck.

You think of what Nobara said to you earlier in the day alone, a strange and overwhelming sensation of lust and embarrassment making it difficult for you to open your voice and talk.

It's Professor Getou who greets you first. He looks up from whatever he was reading and looks at you from where you stand awkwardly at his door. His smile widens, though it's just by a little.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd be here. Looks like you're right on time." He says first, sitting up in his chair but not bothering to gather himself in any way otherwise "Come on in and sit. I assume you're here to talk about your grade."

You sit across from him hesitantly, hands folded in your lap as you put your bag down on the floor.

He studies you quietly. There's a long stretch of silence, where neither of you do anything but sit in each other's company.

He breaks the silence first.

"So, while I have a guess," He says, elbows on his desk "Do you want to talk to me about what you're here for?"

You've practiced the dialogue in your head so many times now. What to do and how to say what you need too, but the words seem to fizzle out completely when it's time to really say them. Leaving nothing but uncertainty, you open your mouth only to close it once again.

"Uhm," Your voice strains trying to make the words out into a coherent sentence. "I came to talk about my paper. And my grade, like you mentioned in class."

"So you decided to heed my advice? Good girl, that was a smart choice," You try not to be taken aback by the pet name - unsure if it's as inappropriate as you think it is "Do you know what virtue you want to cover?"

"I thought I would pick uhm, righteousness - and then pull from some of the Western ethics we learned about. Making uh, connections between deontological ethics and duty and how it relates to the defined idea of righteousness," You explain nervously, an uncomfortable laugh bubbling out of your throat "How practicing duty and righteousness relate to each other."

"Hmm. Sounds like you've had time to think about it a little, then."

"I uhm, haven't finished the reading but I did take a look over my section to see if I could make it work."

"I think you have something to work with. You'll need to straighten out the thesis of your paper into something more tangible. I know that's an ironic ask. But I think it's a good idea," He gives you a brief glance, studies you with eyes. Snake-like. Something coils inside of you, tickles and brushes against your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise "It seems like you have something more to tell me, though."

Do you? Is there anything more there? The answer lies indifferently on a scale from obviously to no. nothing at all and it haunts you that he's able to pick it out.

"It's just well. Uhm. You know, I don't have the best grade in this class so I was more prepared to go down with my grade. You approved quicker than I thought you would."

"Your grade is pretty abysmal. Did you come in here planning to beg?"

You refrain from an instant yes, even though it's what you feel. Something about the way he says it makes your stomach clench. Your heart quickens. Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth as you laugh uncomfortably.

"Something like that? Uhm, or at least try to hash things out between us. I know our relationship over the c-course of the semester has been kind of sour so I…"

He cuts you off.

"Has it?"

Your brain stutters to halt.

"Uhm. Yes?"

It's unpredictable, utterly and completely - the way he reflects on your words like you've said something incomprehensible. You aren't sure if that's sincere. You can't be sure if any of the words out of his mouth are. But he doesn't seem like he's lying. Your mind flashes to Nobara, and you find yourself speaking before you can stop it. It comes out like a flood.

"I j-just always assumed you singled me out in class because you didn't like me? I don't mean to be accusatory, though."

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea," He says, shaking his head "I don't harbor any negative feelings for you at all."

"Oh," You say, eyes falling down to your lap again "Right, then."

"You must be desperate for that passing grade, hm? If you're meeting with a professor you think hates you."

You glance at him.

"Well, yes. I want—need to pass this class. I've already planned my graduation for this semester."

"And you'd be willing to do anything for that, is what you're implying?"

"Yes," You say, with a sudden rush of unwavering confidence "Anything."

"Let me ask you another question, then." He lets his elbows rest on the edge of his table, a familiar coy smile "Do you think there's any other reason for why I've been paying special attention to you, aside from me disliking you? You're a smart girl, so I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out."

The weight of his words don't go unnoticed. The air feels heavy as it hangs between you. He couldn't be implying it so directly could he? Your mind drifts back to Nobara's warning to you, and your breath hitches. Your eyes widen as you glance up for the first time and give him a look of mild distress.

And he smiles. His grin widens as soon as it dawns on you.

"Seems like you've reached an important conclusion," He says, casually - as he sits up in his chair and leans back. Stretched like nothing could get in his way "Why don't you share with the class?"

"You," Your voice is a nervous tremor. You must be crazy. You must be completely out of your mind "...To sleep with me?"

"See? I told you, you're a smart girl."

The question is a burning one. One you've been wanting to ask since you started thinking about it last night.

"B-but…why? And why me? A-and,"

"You have a tendency for being combative. You know that? An air of defiance. I can tell you're a little older than your peers. A little wiser, and a little more knowing of when to ask for help," Getou outlines, staring you down "And seeing you with that sense of desperation was exciting for me. I'm a man of simple tastes. At my age, I know what I want."

"And I like when tough, combative, clever women turn into babbling, desperate, needy girls. I'm quite fond of it, actually."

He's detrimentally serious. Your stomach flips.

"Do you want to pass this class?" He asks you, an air of confidence surrounding him. You close your eyes, unsure if you can call it coercion when you're feeling so terribly willing about it.

"Yes. I need to pass."

"Then come up here," He gestures, widens his legs and leans back in his chair "And sit."

Your body is burning. You don't know if you're even really in the situation, or if you've daydreamed it into something impossible. Something phantom moves you. Stands you to your feet shakily before walking in short strides. Professor Getou looks at you from where you stand over him.

His hand brushes your outer thigh, patting it.

"Sit."

So you sit. You spread yourself and straddle your professor - and the reality dawns on you the minute you touch what you're doing. You haven't gotten laid in a bit, and he's nothing like anyone you've ever slept with. You feel out of your element. You get the impression he's a man, a grown one. There's a confidence in him that looms and looms and looms, overshadowing any of your doubt.

He's sexier up close. There's the faintest trace of smile lines on his expression as you look down at him. He guides your arms to loop around your neck, and holds your hips with his hands.

Then you feel it, almost instantly - something hard and bulging pressing against the seam of your pants and against your crotch. He's already half-hard and he hasn't even kissed you. He grins at you lazily, like a cat with cream.

"I'll pass you as soon as I put it in," His hands are so big - long, slender fingers gripping your ass "And give you extra credit when you cum for me. How's that sound?"

You feel dirty. It's all happening so fast. Almost vulgar, but it's impossible to feel cheap. To believe in the wrongness of it when Professor Getou is so undeniably sexy. Wrong, on so many levels, to do this for the sake of your grade. Or just in general. Yet you want it, yearn for it, find the culmination of all your annoyances melting as he graces you himself.

"I wanna pass," You say, uncharacteristically nervous about everything. You add the next part a little quieter "...I want it."

"What do you want, exactly?"

"Want you to fuck me." You admit, against your better judgment "Please?"

"Gonna make a real pretty mess out of you," He says, voice smooth and serene. You look down at him. His knuckles brush against your jaw, on your cheek before his thumb holds on your lower mouth. His fingers push past the edge of your lips, sliding against your tongue and gently running along your teeth. He gags you on it, so slightly - enough to startle you but not enough to hurt. You feel spit pour from your lips.

Thick messy strings of drool drip down the sides of your mouth. You want to back away in shame. But there's an air of intention behind the gesture. It's deliberate, the action - the mess and how it runs down your neck. Before you know it, he's kissing you in that same state.

Professor Getou kisses like he's done it before.

His hands grip on your ass as he kisses hot and heavy. Self-assured, he sucks and bites at your mouth - sticking his tongue in and mixing his saliva with yours in a way that feels downright dirty. Yet it makes you throb, white-hot flames licking at the back of your thighs. The sparks of arousal crawl up your skin.

Your nerves tighten as Professor Getou cups your face with one palm, kissing you with fervor. You melt into him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Been thinking about what you would look like bent over my desk all semester," He says as he pulls away, looking on with admiration at your messy complexion "You wanna go on ahead and show me?"

Another wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you find yourself standing to your feet. Sliding your sweats off down your legs - your lower half is left bare with the exception of your feet. You lay or stomach on his desk, the cold wood sending chills up your whole body and your stomach and tits lay flat and squishy against the hard material. You stand, shoulder width apart, and present yourself in front of him.

"That's what I like to see," His voice is rich and deep as he speaks. You can feel him inch towards you, pulling you apart with his palms before his hand comes down on your ass in one hard motion. The noise echoes against the walls of the room "See, I knew you could listen well when you had to."

You don't say anything in reply, pressing your cheek against the desk.

"W-what do I call you?" You ask, your voice trembling. You feel his fingers against the seam of your panties. He snaps the cotton waistband against your skin before humming thoughtfully, a light tap to your ass.

"Getou is fine. Suguru is too. Sir if that makes you more comfortable."

Getou makes a show of fondling you, though you can't see it - you can feel the way his eyes nearly swallow your naked lower half. How his fingers touch and prod all of your sensitive places, with some kind of keen observation. Everything Getou says is like that, keen and particular.

"Such a pretty pussy on you. Would've been such a waste if you didn't come to me."

You don't bother to ask what he means by that. Behind you, there's a noise. Of a chair rolling back, and the dull thud of knees hitting the ground. Before you know what's happening, there's a face dangerously close to your clothed pussy. The minute you try to squirm, there's a tight grip keeping you in place. He takes a deep breath. Without any real hesitance, you feel his tongue lick across the clothed material.

In one fell swoop, he pulls your panties to one side and kisses your clit without any more real introduction. You're gripping the edge of the table you're bent over as you feel his tongue slide against the wet folds of your pussy, making your voice cry out involuntarily. Normally people would urge you to be quiet, but you got the feeling he didn't care if anyone heard you crying out for him. You get a second wave of intuition telling you he might even like it.

A sensation of bliss washes over you as he sucks hungrily at your cunt. It feels good enough to be holy. There's such immense expertise in it that you can't help but succumb to it completely. The warm, heavy muscle gliding over sticky folds.

You're so lost in the pleasure, your mind completely blocks out the intrusion. The sense that would detect another person in the room disappears completely. You only know because of Getou, the way he stops and scoffs. It forces you to blink your eyes open. He speaks before you get the chance.

"What are you doing here?"

You recognize the voice instantly, and your heart drops through your stomach.

"Thought I heard a ghost howling," Mr. Fushiguro says, his voice is rougher and deeper and older "Turn out it was just a little girl wanderin' into the woods."

"If you can see I'm busy, why're you still here?"

You can't help but feel the second wave of overwhelming shock as you sit there, naked and unafraid. Still, they stand like nothing is wrong. Chat like they know each other somehow, but you have no idea in which way. All you can focus on is the bubbling, nauseating shame.

"Oh god." You voice, but both others ignore. Mr.Fushiguro speaks first.

"This one is off-limits, Suguru. What kinda professor goes around fuckin' their innocent little students?"

"Just the one, Mr. Fushiguro. And I'd like to get back to business."

"Ah, no way I'm letting you off the hook. I could report this y'know? Make headlines. Ethics professor coerces student into sexual activity. It'd be big.

Your heart drops.

"Fuck off, would you? Does she look coerced?"

A beat of silence. "Nah. Not with the way she's twitchin'. But it's not fun if I just let you go. How about you tap me in and I'll keep your little secret hm? She's gotta cute crush on me already."

Your heart flounces around in your chest, a muffled noise of shock escaping your lips as you squirm to move but are held, still, so firmly in place. Your expression and feelings all go through 5 stages of grief before settling at dumbfounded. They don't especially ask for your input, but you hear Professor Getou behind you.

"Fine, if it'll get you to shut up. And I'm fucking her first."

Strange. Nothing about today makes any sense. You don't miss the almost childish sense of competition in Getou's voice that changes your view of him in an instant. Humanizes him in the strangest and most unrecognizable ways. It lacks his usual virtue.

Mr. Fushiguro walks up in front of you, imposing. He's grinning, a well-worn smile on his face that you know. He helps you up, and you keep yourself upright on your arms as he grabs your chin with his palms. You look up at him wide-eyed, unsure of what to do.

"Dirty fucking girl aren't ya?" He says, though he almost sounds like he's impressed with himself

"You into older men or is it a coincidence you're screwing 'im for your grade?"

You're speechless, and you moan a little pathetically as Getou doesn't stop eating you out. This only seems to make Mr. Fushiguro even more excited. You look up at him through wet lashes, unsure of what to do.

"Don't mind either way, just curious. Guess I'm a little sad 'cause I thought your little heart eyes around me made me special," He tells you this looking down at you, eyes locked. You can tell he's just teasing you, and it makes you twitch "But I guess that's not true, is it?"

"You're different. I uhm. Well it's true at least."

"Yeah? You're just letting both of us fuck you 'cause you're like a bitch 'n heat?"

You flush. He gives you a smile and a well-meaning laugh that makes your body feel warm with heat.

"Mind if we're a little rough on you, sweetheart?"

You shake your head.

"Good. Stick your tongue out and open your mouth for me then."

You listen, oblige the instructions almost obediently. Your face is still covered with spit from before. You watch idly, intently - as Mr. Fushiguro pulls his cock out from his black pants. The loose material covers him well, but as soon as they're down past his thighs - the outline of his cock borders on intrusive. Your eyes widen, fluttering and unfocused because it's hard to think about anything while feeling such intense pleasure.

But Mr. Fushiguro is captivating as he pulls himself out for you. His cock is thick and heavy, protruding but too much that it can't stand up on its own. Weighed down by gravity, you stare at it wide-eyed. It's the size of your forearm, so thick you can't possibly imagine what it feels like.

Your heart stammers.

"It won't fit in my mouth." You say, gasping for air as if you're already suffocating on it "You're—you're so huge."

He laughs with an edge of snark. You blink at him in complete seriousness, taken aback. He lets the tip of his cock tap the plushness of your cheek before pressing against your lips. You stare at him, almost afraid.

"Of course it'll fit," He says in confidence "Just gotta make sure you're relaxed. So relax, sweetheart, and open your mouth for me."

Hesitantly, you open your mouth wide. You feel the corners of your lips stretch around the intrusive, thick head of Mr. Fushiguro's cock. The taste of sweat and skin is invasive and heavy, violating your senses. Just the tip and it barely fits in your mouth. You try and concentrate, sticking your tongue out and curling it around the underneath of his cock, focusing on sucking just the tip. He groans above you, a hand on the back of your head. He doesn't force you down, but you can tell by the twitch in his fingers that he wants to.

"Look at you," He says, his voice coarse with restraint and desire "You're drooling on my cock while you're professors busy eatin' your pussy. Thought you were an innocent girl, but now I don't know what to believe."

He says this as he eases more into your mouth, slowly letting you adjust. He rocks his hips back and forth until you relax. You open yourself up, trying to focus on blowing him.

But a hand comes down on your ass, hard and heavy - making you yelp. The noise is muffled but audible. A short squeal, you can't turn your head to look

"Don't you think you two are getting too comfortable upfront without me? I'm the one who decides your grades."

"Maybe you're not doing good enough for her to care."

You can feel a strange sense of competition between them, but you're too occupied to ask about it. How do they know each other, and for what reason do they seem so automatically hostile? It bothers you, but you can't think about it too hard.

"That's not true. Her pussy is soaking fucking wet." He punctuates his words with a harsh smack against your cunt, the force rippling through your as you bend forward and choke "Almost as messy as her face."

He's quick, again, to latch himself to your clit. He flicks it with his tongue, licking it mercilessly as your brain starts to fog up with desire. Like he's trying to prove a point, you moan around Mr. Fushiguro's cock as your pleasure starts to thrum up again. The back of your legs tense, trembling as a knot begins to uncoil in your lower stomach. The cock in your mouth moves too, using the distracted moans to ease himself even deeper into the wet, arm cavern of your mouth.

Your head feels heavy, body weak as the both of them use you to their contents. Your stomach starts to stir as a familiar feeling of euphoria claws at you.

You cum for the first time like that, your body pressed against a wood desk - restrained and under careful watch of two men. Your whole body explodes - white, hot nerves fraying off and ricocheting off your ribs inside of you. Your insides shake as the wave of an orgasm washes over your entire body. You gasp, clenching down hard and gasping as tremors of orgasm pulse and push through your whole body. Something in you ignites as you grip the edge of the desk for your life, trying to keep yourself upright as Getou pushes you through the orgasm.

You've barely recovered when Mr. Fushiguros pulls out of your mouth, pressing his spit-soaked cock against your face and cheeks with a smile. You let it slide against your tongue, eyes fluttering open as your face gets covered in precum and saliva.

"You look so fucking filthy right now, you know that? But it looks good on you. I'm dying to fuck you."

"Mr. Fushiguro," You groan. He clicks his teeth.

"Toji's just fine sweetheart."

You whimper helplessly as you ride out your high. Behind you, your professor pulls away. You peek behind you to see him, flush as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Toji looks down at your frazzled expression with a grin, teeth showing as he cups your jaw a second time and slides his cock back in one go. This time, he pushes his cock in the base - keeping your throat around him with a hand on the back of your head.

"Just focus on me for now, baby. Focus on sucking me off, yeah? Just like that, easy easy. He's gonna open you up. Stretch you nice and make your pussy all sloppy. That's what you want right?"

Getou leans over you, the weight of his body looming as you feel slender fingers slide through your sticky folds. His middle and index brush against your abused clit, rubbing a few circles into it before pulling away. He grabs your arms and positions them behind your back, gripping them in one hand to keep you restrained. You squirm against the gesture, unable to get any leeway as he holds you down. Then you feel his fingers move, middle finger catching on your wet hole as it trembles and sticks. He opens you up like this without any warning.

His middle finger goes first - delicately intrusive as your pussy widens to accommodate him. They're so much bigger than yours. Just one feels like two of your own. You push back out of instinct but Getou doesn't let you move. He buries himself, pushing in and out until he's able to fuck your pussy all the way down to the knuckle. Once there's no longer any resistance, he pulls back and makes room for another. The sensation is duller, lets you clear your head and think even as Toji rubs his cock on your face and fucks your mouth in short ruts.

Not enough to make you choke, but enough to smear something hot and nasty all over you.

Professor Getou repeats the process with his pointer, pushing and stretching and opening until you can't fight it anymore. With two fingers, he scissors them trying to make your insides soft enough for him to take you.

"You're stretching out for me like it's nothing. You must be turned on, hm? Like getting all your holes used like this? Getting your face-fucked by a man old enough to be your father?"

Toji laughs harshly, smacking your face lightly, enough it doesn't hurt but enough to make you feel it.

"She loves it. She's clenching down on you tight ain't she?"

"Sure is. All this for a grade. Maybe I should've bullied you about it a little more first. Since you're so eager."

"Gonna give her extra credit for this?"

"I should deduct points for the fact you're even near here."

He laughs good-naturedly at this point, and you're still having trouble making sense of their relationship. You manage to speak for the first time in forever, voice barely there as you go to question them. You're not expecting any solid answers.

"How do you two know each other?" You ask, before Toji starts fucking your mouth again

"Goes a long way back. And we're still on bad terms, so congrats on bringing us together, sweetheart. Kind of an expected reunion really."

"He's been working here since Professor Gojo and I were students here and we knew him from before. A long story. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

The burning question is quick to fade out of your mind as you feel your professor's clothed bulge rest against your cunt. You moan, a clipped needy sound as you nearly beg him to fuck you. Toji bends over you this time, reaching back to spread your pussy open by grabbing your ass. You can feel the grip of his hands, strong and assured.

"She's gettin' impatient. Give it to her."

"Don't need your help with that." Getou spits, irritation sounding in his words.

"Consider it an apology."

The air of tension is there temporarily, before Getou pulls his cock from the confines of his boxers. You can't see it, eyes squeezed tight as you work your mouth and tongue Toji's length. You can feel it though. He makes a show of rubbing his cock against your puffy, sore cunt. You get a feel for its shape as he pushes it between your thighs and lets it cling in between your lips. Professor Getou's cock is longer and more narrow, but it curves upright. It's hard, throbbing between your legs. Whining helplessly you wiggle your ass again. You feel increasingly restless about needing something inside of you. You're still bound though, completely and utterly unable to move. Toji's hand comes down heavy on your ass as you do, clicking his teeth in faux irritation.

"Don't fucking move unless you want my handmark on your ass forever," He says, his voice cool and forgiving "Impatient."

Getou must feel something inside of him merciful enough to keep you waiting. Even with all the stretching and prep, the minute you feel the head of your cock push through - something inside of you snaps. It's still so big, still too much, still reaches a part of you so deep you didn't know it was there. The position itself - still being on your stomach, makes it reach so much farther than other positions. The raw, skin-to-skin contact leaves your tummy fluttering, skin prickling with heat. Your top is pushed up enough to expose your lower back and your skin is pulsing. You feel like your whole body is on fire, suspended between men so much older than that want nothing more than to fuck you.

Every time you try to wiggle away from the sensations, Toji's hand comes down heavy on your backside. It doesn't matter how minuscule the movement. If he gets the idea that you're going to try and pull away, he spanks you hard enough that the room echoes with the sound. Your skin tingles, phantom sensation left before as you're held open and made to take your professor's cock - obedient and wanting.

Inch by miserable inch, it takes forever to take him down to the base. Your toes curl, eyes shut and mouth sloppily trying to keep up with the cock in your mouth and just barely succeeding.

He groans behind you, shuddering

"That's incredible," He praises, and it feels so good to hear him saying something so overtly kind you don't know if you want to laugh or cry "Your pussy is fucking incredible. Shit."

"You hear that? You gotta. Pussy's twitchin' like crazy. Ass is too, how cute."

"Feels sho good," You slur, brain clear of any and all rational thought as a string of saliva drips down your chin "Please fuck me, please,"

"You heard her teach."

Toji lets go of you and returns back to where you are. He pulls his cock away from you, instead holding you up and cupping your mouth open. He kisses you, after everything - with all of his pre-spend in your mouth before spitting into it harshly and kissing it again.

"Such a pretty face you're makin' right now." He says, something of a warm and unprecedented affection to it "So excited to get your pussy filled up."

He leans you on him, lets you wrap around his midriff, and squeeze tight while he pets the back of your hair in a strange streak of affection. You don't know what to make of anything. All you can feel is the long cock pounding into you without any mercy. Razor-sharp thrusts, nudging against your swollen g-spot and pounding into your cunt with immeasurable force. A man so much older than you is fucking you, pounding your pretty little pussy, and turning you into a complete mess. He's meant to be a mentor to you, but he has his cock imprinting itself inside of you over and over and over.

Your stomach feels hot again, but some other feeling takes you over as Toji cradles you - watching you just as intently. He talks you through with confidence you can't entirely understand.

"Yeah, that's it. Tighten up for him, just like that. Feels good doesn't it? I know baby, I know."

You whine out in Toji's arms as he talks you through it. Behind you, you feel Getou's grip hold you tight as he pistons you. The sound of his thighs smacking against your ass is noisy, almost as noisy as your pussy. Slick wet, sounding each time he thrusts.

"I'm not gonna last like this, shit." He pumps into you a few more types before his hips stutter to a halt. He cums with his cock buried deep inside of you, filling you all the way to the brim. You feel his white, hot seed fill your belly, cock twitching as he unloads and makes your legs shake.

A sense of emptiness overwhelms you as Getou pulls out, landing a hit on your ass as he shakes. He kisses your spine.

The two of them switch places without communicating with each other about it. Getou pulls out, and away - coming back in front of you and picking you up in his arms as Toji positions himself behind you. He spreads your cunt out with his fingers, examining the seed left over with a light laugh.

"Gonna fuck into your sloppy little cunt, give you another load where you need it and make you cum." Toji says, not hesitating at all. You feel your breathing start to quicken as he takes the same positions as before.

Toji doesn't neglect touching you as his arm curls around your waist, calloused fingertips brushing against your clit before his cock pushes into you. Your pussy takes him much easier, but even so - Toji is just so thick, you can't help but feel him all over again. This time, Getou has you in his arms, holding and guiding you. Your hands are curled around his bicep and lower spine as you're held up.

Toji's thrusts are slower, but just as rhythmic - focused on bringing you to another orgasm. It's duller this time, the sensation more focused and spread. Toji is so big you feel it in your hips, your entire lower half tingling as he pumps his cock in and out of you. He gives you all of his attention, staving off his own orgasm as Getou encourages you with his own words.

"Gonna cum again, pretty? Take another man's cum in you right after me? You want to, right? Take it all in, every drop. You've earned it."

You feel your insides tighten again, for a second time - in a miraculous span. Every muscle in your body tenses and contracts as both sensations work in tandem to bring you closer to your edge.

Your nerves fire off a second time as you push yourself to the limit. Toji fucks you through another orgasm with ease, thrusting with each tremor until you've ridden out your high. His own orgasm and chase come not long after that fact.

As soon as you've gone totally limp underneath him, he sheaths himself as deep as he can. Bent over you, he cums hard and deep, filling you to the brim a second time.

There's a brief moment of silence as Toji rides out his high, where all three of you sit in silence.

You find yourself limp as you lay there, Toji pulling out and Getou slowly letting you down before you look up with a tired expression.

"...So, did I pass?"

Your professor laughs harder than you've ever seen him laugh.

"With flying colors."

#toji x reader #getou x reader #toji smut #getou smut #writing tag #jjk x reader #dubcon cw #age gaps cw #blackmail cw #coercion cw #lmk if i missed anything

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boy-cow000 · 1 year ago

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Drained

Spencer x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mostly Fluff, Mention of a case, Spencer feeling rough

Summary: After a particularly long case Spencer happens to lock himself out of his apartment. In need of help, he stumbles into the home of the only non-bau friend he has left. However, he finds himself much more comfortable with you than he originally thought.

Word Count: about 890

A/N: Pretty short blurb because I’ve been dying to write again but I’ve been too lazy to rub my two brain cells together and produce something :,D btw IDK what season this is in so use your imagination

_______________________________________

Spencer couldn't be more thankful for his job. Knowing the lives he saved and the people he helped was enough to get him through most of the especially rough cases. However, this most recent one had been particularly troubling. The random small American town they had been flown to was not known for their technological advancements, to say the least, and the lack of documentation had made Garcia's job almost impossible. On top of that, the intrusive and misguided opinion of the head chief of police had completely skewed the case in the wrong direction. Needless to say, Spencer was rightfully exhausted, along with the rest of the members of the BAU.

After landing and leaving the jet, he told himself that all he had to do was head home so he could finally sleep. Truth be told, it wasn’t even that late; the plane had landed around 8:20 PM. Yet, sleep was the only thing on Spencer's mind after that 48-hour case.

It took him some time to get home, but at this point, nothing but the sweet relief of his bed mattered. Except, much to his dismay, he seemed to have a little trouble finding his keys. Unfortunately for him, that “little trouble” turned into a full-blown panic very quickly. Spencer tried to remember where he had put it. Mentally swatting away the thick fog laying over his mind, he let his head smack against his front door in defeat when he realized that his keys were left on the jet. Calculating his options, it became apparent there weren’t many. His coworkers were probably already sleeping, and it's not like Spencer had a history of having an extensive list of friends. Well, except you, that is. Spencer didn’t feel like paying upwards of 65 to 120 dollars for some locksmith to come in the middle of the night, so you were starting to seem like the best option. Knowing you didn’t live far away, he grabbed his things and started to text you. On the drive over, he began feeling a little nervous. He wondered if the reason you weren’t answering was because you were asleep and if he was going to bother you.

Upon arriving, he felt at ease seeing the lights in your apartment on. He fumbled with his bags but managed to get to your front door without dropping anything. He was so tired. Blinded by the light of the inside of your apartment, he resorted to a curt “hi” once you opened the door. You let him in a bit panicked; to be frank, you didn't know why he had suddenly asked you if you could crash. You were still happy to see him, however.

After explaining the situation, you let out a sigh, knowing nothing serious had happened. You told him to make himself at home while you figured out where your extra covers were. He took off his shoes and sat himself on your couch, awaiting further instruction.

When you came back, you saw Spencer, palming the socket of his eyes. Your heart stopped for a second, worry took over, and you wondered if maybe the case was weighing on him more than he’d like to admit. You rushed over.

“ Spence! Are you okay?” You laid the covers on the edge of the couch and rested a hand on Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer peeked into your eyes for what seemed like forever—a breathless moment between his answers. You felt your heart form a lump in your throat; your cheeks flushed, and you suddenly felt guilty. What if Spencer was actually doing terrible and you couldn’t help him because you were too busy wrestling with the effect he had on you? Eventually, you broke the intense eye contact, and Spencer sighed in return.

”I’m fine, really. It’s just… I was exhausted a minute ago, and now”

”Not so much.” You finished his sentence for him. He let out a light chuckle and bumped shoulders with you. He must’ve been delirious, because you couldn’t think of another reason why he would’ve been comfortable enough for all that physical contact. Your torso stiffened, and while still trying to calm yourself down, he let his head roll onto your shoulder and nudge itself into your neck. Spencer was going to kill you if he kept this up.

Spencer snaked his arms around you, entrapping you and making you fall back into the couch a little. You grabbed his opposite shoulder, hoping to lay him back, but his head bobbled a little lower, and it was clear he was no longer awake. Spencer kept snuggling, and it was making it increasingly harder to get yourself out of his grasp. An incoherent thank you left his lips before he fully fell asleep. So you sat there, absolutely surrounded by Spencer. Glaring at his slumbering state. Overtly aware of his faint sent, of his hair brushing against your face, of his slowed breath on your neck, of his hand grasping your waist, of him.

Your own exhaustion was catching up to you at an alarming pace. Despite your brain and dignity screaming at you not to fall asleep in his arms, your thoughts were starting to blur. Eventually, you fell asleep, caged in, breathing to the sound of his heartbeat. With that, tomorrow promised itself to be interesting.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid moodboard #spencer reid angst #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine

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bokutoko · 6 months ago

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Helloo! I saw your request open so I thought to myself let's ask something bout shoyoo!! I want to see how shoyo looks like in ur cute writing hehe, So may I ask for hinata shoyo with anything domestic related? I would love to live in a world where he's my husband. SORRY FOR THEBLONG ASK I hope you're alright with it, have a great day!

late nights

character: shoyo hinata

wc: 707

content: hinata’s new training schedule makes for long days, and you, as his biggest fan, try to wait up for him. does it work? (it doesn’t.)

a/n: MY SWEET ANON!!! i’m so sorry i’m answering this so late—writer’s block was eating me alive pls forgive me. in return, here’s some sweet shoyo <3

Everyone knew Hinata Shoyo was a hard worker—he put blood, sweat, and tears into his sport, gave 100% effort into everything he did. So when he was chosen to represent the Japan Men’s National Volleyball Team in the Olympics, he knew he had to start giving 120% daily. Even earlier mornings, later nights, longer practice days—he took it all in strides, just honored to be afforded this monumental opportunity as a pro-player.

His muscles ached from practice, his hair still damp from the quick locker-room shower. It began curling slightly at the ends as occasional droplets of water fell onto his shirt. A tired sigh left his lips as he opened the door to his humble little one-bedroom apartment.

He quietly entered and slipped off his shoes, the only noise in the apartment being the ticking of the clock. Though in his peripheral, he noticed a light on in the main room—were you still awake??

Entering the living room, the TV had Netflix’s “Are you still watching?” on the screen, and a bowl of what used to be popcorn—only a couple kernels left—sat on the table. He rounded the corner to find you lying on the couch, sleeping soundly, despite the bright TV casting a glow on your face.

Taking in the sight of you, he suddenly felt his cheeks grow hot. You were sporting one of his MSBY shirts—even now, he always reverted into a goofy, lovesick boy at the smallest actions and in the most innocent moments. A simple little kiss? His cheeks are scarlet. You whispering a soft I love you every night before bed? The tips of his ears burn. Just looking at him with a small smile and hearts in your eyes? With a stutter, he’d turn so red that you wouldn’t help but laugh.

By the state of your uncomfortable position on the couch, it was obvious you tried to stay awake to see his return, and his heart ached at the thought. He wished he could stay with you every day and never leave the comfort of your arms.

But of course, you understood the importance of this new adventure—you’d never want to get in way of his dreams. You knew just how hard your husband worked for this very moment, and here it was, staring him in the face and holding out a welcoming hand.

Hinata knelt down, his face level with yours as he studied your sleeping face. Your mouth was slightly parted, causing you to have the softest snore that he found so adorable. Your face was slightly smushed in one of the throw pillows that you picked out. He couldn’t help but smile as he reached a gentle hand to your face, gently tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Wakey wakey,” he whispered as he intertwined his fingers with yours and lightly squeezed your hand. Your eyes barely cracked open, and you let out a soft whine from the awkward position now leaving a crick in your back.

After blinking a couple times and making out some striking orange hair, you mumbled out a soft, “Sho?”

He smiled, his eyes soft with love. “Hey there, sunshine. C’mere,” he scooped you up and carried you like you were weightless, “let’s get you to bed.” You nuzzled into his neck, smelling the subtle citrus scent of his body wash. In the mere seconds it took to walk from the couch to your shared bed, Hinata figured you slipped back into dreamland again. While tucking you into bed, his voice was low and soothing as he whispered how he missed you, how he loved you.

Slipping between the bedsheets, his eyes caught your sleepy gaze. Turns out, you were awake. “I’m sorry I’m home so late,” he whispered, his fingers carding through your hair, “Go on back to sleep, pretty girl. I love you.”

With the moonlight slipping through the curtains, Hinata saw your cheek meet his wrist as you leaned into his touch. You hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his skin and mumbling, “Just glad you’re here now. I love you.”

And with that last declaration of unconditional love, Hinata fell asleep knowing he could do absolutely anything, so long as he had you by his side.

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scrumpledorph · 1 month ago

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I feel compelled by some recent realizations to share the story of my lifetime experience with weight, weight loss, fatphobia, and self acceptance.

I weighed 180 lbs for a lot of my early childhood, and got bullied constantly for it. It was comorbid with severe, impairing asthma that limited my ability to use my body at any pace faster than a brisk, if I was lucky, walk. Nobody ever blamed the asthma, they just called me out of shape, lazy - all the usual insults. I got kicked out of high school gym class in both grades it was a required course because I couldn't run fifteen laps of the gym. I never signed up for it again.

I was the school whipping boy wherever I went. (I moved schools a lot, because I'd lash out violently about this happening to me) One time in elementary school a group of boys hid behind me because they were being bothered by some girls, and knew they wouldn't get within ten feet of me outside the classroom where they were forced to. The first guy I ever hooked up with negged me to lose weight and join him at the gym if I wanted to do anything more serious with him.

Then a growth spurt combined with a two week vacation where I only ate ramen twice a day in high school shaved literally a third of that off. 120 lbs. My parents and I considered it a miracle. Suddenly I really liked how I'd come to look. I went from a frumpy, comely child to a heroin chic rockstar like David Bowie, and all the other imitators that chased after him, and I wasn't even trying!

I was skin stretched over bones. If I lifted my arms up every single rib from the collarbone to the stomach was pronounced, with gaps you could run your fingers along. This was before I realized I was trans, so I was mostly putting myself into the world as a twink (femboy hadn't really come into parlance yet, I'd probably have used it if so). People started treating me well for the first time in my life, I was popular. My romantic advances were reciprocated instead of pushed away in disgust for the first time in my life, I went on dates, I had a couple short lived girlfriends.

Some time in my twenties, I realized I was lactose intolerant. To both truncate and avoid needless disgust; once I took steps to mitigate that my weight rebounded back up from the 160 it had ended up settling at as my metabolism evened out, to 216. So I tortured myself with the most bland, boring diet in the world: plain oat cheerios, cashews, barely seasoned salads and coleslaw, microwaved chicken wiener sandwiches. It sloughed off the pounds, at first.

I hit a hitch around 180. I had originally wanted to go back down to 160, with the height I'd gained since high school that would put me in about the same ballpark range as how I looked then, and it's what the BMI scale says is healthy for my body proportions. But I simply could not go under 180.

Even a single cheat day a week, the recommended amount for any diet, would make my body snap back up by two pounds the next day, which took me the entire rest of the week just to get back to where I started. It was truly miserable, checking the scale every single morning and beating myself up over every single time my family took me out to eat or brought me leftovers.

So I stopped. I said fuck it, let my body sit at 185. Now? I can eat pretty much anything I want and it barely makes a dent in the long run. Recently checked in after three nights of stacked turkey dinner plates for the holidays, with eggnog and ice cream and a whole bag of christmas candy sitting on my desk next to me that I take occasional nibbles from. 184.8, exactly where I want it to be. The BMI scale says this is the borderline of overweight for my height.

An acquaintance who had known me while I was in that emaciated point in my life recently reconvened with me, and said that I looked a lot healthier. It was genuinely the first time anyone in the world had made a positive comment about my body outside of that short lived stint of emaciation. It was a genuine shock, because I hadn't up to that point considered for a second that I could possibly have looked bad to anyone at that point.

An article I doubt I could find with how bad google is nowadays once said that around 97% (I might even be lowballing it) of diets fail, because the body will slash your metabolism by 30% if you drop even 5% from where it wants to sit. I guess all I have to say is: listen to your body.

If maintaining your slim figure is a hobby all unto itself: with a meticulously crafted diet and double digit hour exercise regimen that you lock yourself in by checking the scale every morning? It's not worth it, holy shit. Maybe you'll end up with an extended illness that keeps you from working out for a week or two. Maybe your willpower will just finally give out, and you'll spend a week catching up on all the pleasure you'd denied yourself while you were dieting. But I know, from experience, that one day you'll just end up where your body wants you to be, whether you're comfortable with it or not.

I promise you that the freedom of accepting the weight your body wants to be at and being able to treat yourself guilt free will bring you so much more joy than having a thigh gap does.

#musing. opining even.#fat acceptance #fat activism #fat liberation #I kind of want this one to maybe actually get some reach so I'm doing a bit of scattershotting in the tags

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dear-ao3 · 5 months ago

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bucket of facts here. This is one of my favorite f1 things ever, apologies for how long it ended up being:

In the 1980’s, formula one teams, notably BMW, added toluene to their fuel mixtures. If that word sounds like it’s probably dangerous, that’s because it is — most people know it as rocket fuel. It’s extremely poisonous and carcinogenic, but did have some upsides! For one, it was less volatile [citation needed] than what they had been using, making is slightly less dangerous in the event of a crash (by 1970’s-80’s F1 standards that just means in only turned into a small bomb most of the time). It was also denser and burned faster, so the same amount of toluene could give much more power than the standard F1 fuel.

While the new fuel did allow them to run higher turbo pressures, it did it have a tendency to increase turbo pressure as it was run during the race, and everyone ran turbos at this time. They had to dial back the turbo pressure from what it’s max could’ve been, just to compensate for the power of the fuel — this mitigated the admittedly high likelihood that the engine decided to submit its two weeks notice on two seconds of warning (read: it caught on fire and sometimes kinda maybe sorta just exploded).

Modern f1 fuel has an RON octane rating of 95-102. The toluene aided fuel had an RON octane rating of 120+. For context, your car probably runs on about 87 RON. For those unfamiliar, RON octane ratings measure how much compression fuel can be put under before it sparks, which is how engines work: compress fuel, spark, make power (I can explain that better if you want but short version is that). This incredibly high octane level allowed the engines of the time to be run at a much higher compression, which had a myriad of bonuses to the cars.

Current F1 regulations are 1.6 litre V6 engines that rev to 15,000 RPMs (max allowed) and produce a max of 850 BHP (horsepower) when they’re pushing the edge of their abilities without aid of electric components like H/KERS, which is used to boost the cars to around 1,000 BHP.

Brabham-BMW’s 1983 engine took Nelson Pique to his WDC that year. It was a 1.5 litre inline 4 (so smaller than current) and produced 12,000 RPMs, as the restrictions were a bit tighter there back then. Without electronic aid like today and a smaller engine than your standard Toyota Camry, it easily produced 850 BHP at race trim, the version built to last a whole race. When in qualifying trim, with everything tuned to maximum to get the most out of the car without it blowing up, it ran at 1,250 BHP. Original testing put it at producing over 1,400 BHP, but BMWs testing facilities couldn’t measure past that — the car put out more power than they could even register.

The teams also had a sneaky loophole: the amount of fuel allowed to be held at once in the car (refueling was banned at this time) was effectively limited to how large the gas tank could be. The teams realized that they could literally freeze the fuel and store it at cold temperatures. This compacted the fuel, allowing them to put more fuel into the gas tank — more fuel per fuel, really. This allowed drivers to be more aggressive and push harder more often, not having to worry about running out of fuel.

In case this whole toluene thing seems bad, don’t worry! It’s only used in nail polish, rubber, adhesives, and paints :3

hit me up for more facts if you want

oh my

anon bestie i might in fact be in love with you

#u definitely delivered with your fact this is so fucking silly #f1: exploiting loophole since the beginning of time #not a tag #from saph #f1 #pls send facts whenever u please this is wonderful

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hollyhomburg · 25 days ago

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Prey Animals (2)

— Pairing: Yoongi x Jin, Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

— Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, Enemies to friends to lovers, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt and Comfort,

— Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

— Words: 8.6k

— Warnings: funerals, referenced violence, threats of violence, organized crime, manipulation, angst, hurt/comfort,

— Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! —

(Last Chapter)

While Betas are valued for their level heads, they are also valued primarily as secret keepers.

Yoongi is probably the best secret keeper in the whole state, maybe the whole country even. Yoongi keeps his family’s secret so well that he doesn’t even let himself think it most days.

It only bothers him when he remembers. Yoongi does not like remembering where he came from, he does not like remembering his blood family. Not his found family, not the pack. I get that it’s confusing, but ‘blood family’ couldn’t be more accurate when it comes to talking about the people that Yoongi is genetically related too.

They’re the ones that painted Yoongi’s hands with blood when he was barely old enough to drive a car, who taught him how to kill and get away with it. But getting away with murder is child’s play to the largest organized crime family in the continental united states.

Alphas, Betas and Omegas. In the family- everyone has their place. Everyone has their spot in the hierarchy. As a beta, Yoongi won’t be expected to pop out heirs like an omega- or cultivate the family business like an alpha. He won’t be expected to mate because betas don’t mate the same way that alphas and omega’s do.

Beta mating bites are too strong- people say. They make you go crazy, it’s not worth the risk. People have died from them.

There’s only one person that Yoongi would ever want to give his mating bit too anyway and he’d never risk it. Not when Namjoon is right there- ready and wailing to carry Seokjin’s soul the day they met. They’ll wait a few years for propriety’s sake. But Yoongi has always known that he’d never know what it feels like to be mated to someone else.

Never.

Being a beta born into a mafia family is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand- Yoongi is `-expected to have little to no involvement in most of the violence. Tradition orders that the betas shouldn’t sully their hands with blood, drugs, and gunpowder.

Their job is much much more important than that.

~-~

(6 years later, 120 days before, Yoongi)

Like with most good tragedies, this story starts with a death and a secret. I’ll leave it up to you to decide which is which.

For Yoongi, coming back to the family feels like walking into a nightmare.

Despite his derision and hate for where he came from, Yoongi’s always been able to wear the mask. He finds himself putting it on to a snug fit the day of the funeral. He got into the hotel late last night and the tiredness weighs on him as does the unanswered text messages from his pack. The tiredness drags him down down down, past his grief and past his hopes for a future that involves any sort of permanent happiness as he stares out the window of the car, spotted with dark beads of rain.

His phone dings.

Jinnie (12:34): Hey! Could you let me know that you got in safe? Joonie’s going a little crazy lol.

He can still smell Jin faintly on him from their last hug at the train station only 18 hours ago. All he has to do is close his eyes to feel like he’s standing right next to him. The memory is both painful and sweet. Yoongi doesn’t have the heart to wash away the pack’s scents quiet yet.

He doesn’t know the next time he’ll have Jin’s scent on him. He should savor it while he can.

Yoongi knows better than to hope that this will be just a brief diversion. He can’t lie to Jin or tell him the truth, so he opts to say nothing instead. To leave the texts un-answered, read receipts off. Maybe he’ll answer tonight- when he’s gauged the situation and how risky it might be.

Yoongi already misses the pack, feels their absence from his side like a physical wound. He doesn’t know how other beta’s do it; every time he turns, he expects to see one of them. Body already screaming in a touch starved language of humming skin and aching muscles. Had it been just yesterday morning that he’d woken up in Tae’s arms with Jungkook nuzzling into the small of his back? Is he only 24 hours removed from it? Why does it already feel a lifetime away?

Yoongi can’t believe that it’s over, can’t respond to the text, can’t resist making any message sound like goodbye. Can’t accept that for all intents and purposes, they’ve already said goodbye.

There’s a very good chance that none of them, Jin nor Namjoon or any of the 4 other members of his pack will ever see him again.

For what it’s worth, Yoongi didn’t want to go.

He’d paused at a hotel to drop his bags off this morning, but the lady at the front already knew him by name and had a reservation ready for him before he’d spoken two sentences for her. The calling card on the bed paired with an Armani suit had let Yoongi know that one house was already hoping to earn his favor.

His Korean is rusty- but not rusty enough that he can’t read the neat lettering.

The Choi family cordially invites you to dine with them next Saturday. Please take this gift as a gesture of our good will and enduring friendship.

He’d tossed the card back onto the bed and sighed. They couldn’t have waited one day before trying to court him?

The suit is stuffy, but it compliments his mask well enough to be necessary as he makes his way up the steps of the cathedral. He can walk like one of them and talk like one of them and can wear their consumes. But it will never fit right. The sneer on his face or the emptiness in his eyes is just an act. The guards at the front do not stop and ask him who he is. Anyone who’s anyone knows Yoongi’s face.

Arguably- he’s the most important alive person alive at the funeral.

He’s given a wide birth. Those who know who he is hide their whispers and shock behind velvet gloved hands and the curl of their teeth.

The closer he gets the more he feels his persona drape over him like a shroud. He knows how his eyes look when he tilts his face downwards and lifts his lip in a soundless snarl. He knows how to look like a threat and act like they expect. Yoongi is a god among men, Yoongi will offer them no salvation or chance at hope. Just like with God; if they want something from him, they’ll have to earn it through devotion.

And even then, he might not give in.

He lets his angry scent roll off of him in waves- a warning before he wades through the sea of people. A hundred or maybe two all in black. His scent is Oceanic and briny, the sea of people part around him giving him a wide berth. Yoongi has always smelled like sea salt when angry. The sweet chocolate of his scent going bitter and yucky. They expect it from him. Betas have more important things to do than attend funerals, more important things to grieve than family members. Betas belong to no one and everyone.

Not all of the hatred or derision is faked. Yoongi does not like these people.

He hasn’t thrown up because of a dead body in years, but the matching caskets almost do it to him. Their cold faces, the sallow almost grey black tint to their skin. Powdered and dotted with morticians puddy to turn their cheeks less hollow. The makeup powdery but very opaque. They turn his stomach as he pays his respects. No one bothers to approach him until he’s stopped kneeling. He lingers, unwilling to surrender himself up to the dogs quiet yet.

The Don of the family and his beta are smaller in death. His salt and pepper hair falls flat, his dark suit baggy. The beta’s long grey hair is braided over her shoulder the same way she wore it when she was living. They are two sides of the same coin. The leading and legal bodies of the family, now resting peacefully.

There is no one kneeling besides Yoongi to pay his respects. Not yet.

They wait for only a heartbeat before they descend.

He gets more than a few tearful hugs and reunions. Yoongi loses track of how many people drag him in for a hug or kiss his forehead, bending low to rub their noses against his knuckles as is tradition. Some of them look vaguely familiar, some of them look vaguely like him, round faces and small lips, hawklike eyes that glimmer with more familiarity and less fear. The aunties and the omega’s have their faces covered in dark veils. Red lipstick hidden behind gauzy silk.

“Cousin!” Someone calls above the others. Yoongi turns slow like it’s barely worth his effort to greet this person and yet he finds himself smiling when he sees who it is. The mask cracking.

Jongho is less chubby than the last time that Yoongi saw him. Less of a little kid with the habit of following the older cousins around and more of a young man. A young alpha judging from the strong woodsy scent that clings to him. During their teenage years, he’d made a habit of trailing after Yoongi like a little duckling because Yoongi was the only one who didn’t tell him to get lost (or worse).

At least before he’d been sent away. It’s good to see him, to see a kind smile on his face, the warmth and curiosity in his brown eyes- lighter than the usual deep brown of the family.

“Your hair is so long!” is the first thing he says, but after some coughing behind him, and the appearance of his father, a stout well-groomed man with eyes that can never quite hold their viciousness, Jongho falls into a deep bow.

“The Choi family hopes that you’ve enjoyed your gifts, Beta-sshi.” Yoongi sets a hand on his shoulder, drawing him up. Jongho seems to remember himself, looking away, failing to meet Yoongi’s eyes.

“Don’t you want to see how well your gift fits?” It’s too hard for Yoongi to resist indulging his young cousin. He reminds him so terribly of Jungkook. At the prodding Jongho prattles on, hands skimming up and down the sleeves and appreciating the fine silk of Yoongi’s suit. Going on about FIT and how he’s been promised a semester or two there, after things have calmed down.

After things have been decided.

Yoongi isn’t surprised that these tid bits are met with a glower from Choi senior. A constant shadow to their conversation. Fashion isn’t a major becoming of any would be leader- better business or international relations. Choi seniors glare is so disapproving that Yoongi almost want to snap at him.

Let the pup have his fun.

Yoongi likes him- but just like with all his family members Yoongi cannot trust Jongho on principle. But it’s hard not to want to know him. This cousin who was once a chubby haired youth is now a strong alpha, teenaged, barely 20. Yoongi congratulates him on presenting as an alpha (as is expected, condolences would have been offered if he presented as an omega. Yoongi hates it.)

Eyeing him up and down, Yoongi admits that they might have been rivals in another life. They’re close enough in age, but Jongho still wears the bright eyes of a child eager to please.

Jongho is not the eldest alpha in his family, but he is one of several elder siblings and cousins in the Choi family (the moniker he greeted Yoongi by was just that- a name to call him. They’re not related by any blood that Yoongi is aware of). Yoongi’s not surprised that Choi senior seems to have selected him to meet Yoongi first. He’s the Choi families obvious choice for Don. He’s by far the most measured of his siblings, the most controlled and the most intelligent.

Last time Yoongi saw the eldest Choi son, Geumjae was trying to rip his throat out. Yoongi has no idea if he’s still alive.

It’s clear Choi senior hasn’t forgotten this show of impropriety. Clapping Yoongi on the back so hard his knees start to buckle. “He’s scored in the upper percentile for college entrance exams, and he has excellent extra-carriculars. He did student government and student counsel at his private school and-” Yoongi cringes, but nods along. He can’t expect every family not to treat this funeral like a job interview even if it is a little grating.

And Yoongi is the first to admit that leading the family is a job that requires more than brute force.

Yoongi passes along his thanks and holds out his arms for them to see the fit. “My mother picked out the color, she-” his eyes flicker up to Yoongi’s face, and Yoongi sees a bit of hesitancy there.

Jongho’s father claps him on the back again and derails the conversation, “He’s a good alpha, always knows when to listen to his elders.” Yoongi resists the temptation to roll his eyes at the obvious ass kissing.

The Choi’s let him go but not before getting an official acceptance of the dinner invitation extended to him. Yoongi wades through the crowd, searching aimlessly. There are hundreds if not thousands of people packed tight to pay their respects. Reporters and camera’s too- because not all of the families’ businesses are illegitimate.

All members of the family have pinned roses to their lapels as a sign of respect so it’s easy to pick them out of the crowd. White for the omegas and red for the alphas. The omega youth who hands them out at the front desk eyes Yoongi upset, unsure which to give him, hand shaking as he flutters between white and red.

“It’s fine really- I’ll just take a white one-”

“I’ve got you.”

A woman steps up to him from the crowd gathered, the only one brave enough to disturb his peace. Yoongi isn’t immediately able to place her Family name or her face. She plucks a red lily from a nearby bouquet and tucks it into his breast pocket. Smoothing out the fabric after she’s done. Fussing with it. The delicate flower drops rusty red pollen onto Yoongi’s suitcoat.

Alphas don’t fuss, but she is one- judging by her scent and the red rose pinned to her own suitcoat. Female alphas don’t always dress like men, but this one does. Her tapered slacks, charcoal suitcoat, and dark blouse ripple like water when she moves. She smiles up at him delicately. Her smile is well trained and gives nothing away. It is neither genuine nor fake. “We didn’t think you’d be coming until later.”

“Neither did I.” Yoongi admits carefully. But why should he hide it. He doesn’t want to be here, and they all know it.

There is nothing in her eyes- nothing at all that tells Yoongi what kind of mask she might be wearing. She’s got long hair, silver, dyed from the roots that poke out from the perfect middle part. it doesn’t take Yoongi any time to place her scent- it’s so strong.

Peppermint- it almost has a numbing effect on his nostrils. An artificial edge that cuts the sweetness and makes it more alpha. It takes him second of searching her face before he recognizes the tuck of her chin.

“Moon Byulyi.”

She smiles tensely, dropping into Korean out of formality. “It’s been a while Beta-sshi.”

Moonbyul is someone he remembers well. From a shared childhood spent running around in too tight tiny stuffy suit jackets at formal occasions like easter and Christmas. Playing underneath tables for hide and seek and tag. Moonbyul was one of the few pups that was brave enough to talk to him. That wasn’t cautioned against being his friend or overly encouraged to gain his favor by the power-hungry parents. Yoongi would never have called them friends back then- because you aren’t friends with people outside of your house- not without it being risky. But a certain kind of knowing respect hovers on the edge of her smile.

Even as a pup, he’d been infamous. In the cathedral, people whisper, pointing him out in the crowd to their companions. Red lips hidden behind velvet gloved hands. He’s allowed to cause a commotion- there is no one left to tell them off for their blatant disrespect of the dead. No one left to remind them of tradition.

Yoongi lets them stare.

Just like with Jongho, Moonbyul was sent away before presentation. Many families choose to send their children away from the mafia life after elementary school. Before their scents start to lean either sweet or musky. Before anything starts to hint at if they’ll be an alpha or omega.

Those formative years can be a little bit dicey, with everyone’s scent and hormones changing every few days. New instincts provoking fights and spats with anyone who comes too close. Presentation provides Improper and dangerous volatility in a family like theirs. It’s better to whisk the next generation away for a private and more dedicated education.

Alphas are taught to fight and kill and bleed; omega’s are taught to simper and preen and scheme. They’re educated just like the rest of the population, sure, but the family requires a more thorough sort of learning.

Yoongi hardly remembers when his older left. He only remembers when Geumjae had come back smelling like smoke and fire and rage.

Scents are as individual as a fingerprint. Omega’s and Alpha’s don’t get theirs until they go into their first heat or rut but Beta’s scents present immediately upon birth. The other sub genders smell uniform in a soft milky pup scent. A smell ingrained into people’s brains and instincts that nudges the impulse protect and provide and nourish.

Yoongi had started to smell like chocolate on the third day after he was born.

There are boarding schools and private little compounds that the family keeps where unpresented pups can have a more dedicated education away from the prying eyes. Yoongi hasn’t seen Moonbyul since just after she turned 13.an early age for presentation by any standard. Although the year’s stretch between them she’s still the same. The mischievous lilt to her words is subdued here. She looks more serious; she looks as tired and as anxious as they all feel.

That much he can tell is not faked.

She should be more careful to hide her emotions. She’s a head of house after all.

They are no longer children chasing after brightly colored eggs and wishing for sweets. To show any weakness is dangerous for her and her pack. One of them hovers on the edge of her elbow, smaller and shorter but no less bright eyed than Moonbyul herself. She’s an omega from her garb, her dress is long, flowy, and black. Her hair is cut to her chin, atypical for an omega. She knows better than to speak here. Moonbyul stands almost infront of her, tall, nearly posturing.

She doesn’t need to bother, there is only one person in this room that Yoongi’s even a little bit afraid of.

“Have you seen my brother?” She makes a noise, glancing behind him.

Yoongi tries to turn before Geumjae can get too close, but he’s too late.

There are crow’s feet beginning to pull at the corners of his eyes. That’s the first thing that Yoongi notices, and the fact that he’s armed despite given the clear orders not to be. The lines of his harness visible just under his well-tailored suit. He registers only that before the broad-shouldered man pulls him in and Yoongi’s nostrils fill to the brim with the scent of burning things. Not the smell of cooking or firewood- but the smell that buildings get when they burn, acrid and metallic.

Geumjae must be nearly 33 now, but the stressors and finer points of ageing seem to have spared him for now as he pulls back and gives Yoongi a beaming smile, bright eyes calculating. Aware that the rest of the family is casting glances at the two of them many more times than is socially acceptable.

His brother looks exactly like he did the last time Yoongi saw him, taller than Yoongi and meatier. Wide shoulders and a tapered waist that says alpha. But their faces could be identical if it wasn’t for the scar crossing his eye and his mouth perpetually twisted into something like a snarl. They look similar enough that they’ve been mistaken for twins before.

He pulls Yoongi close with a hard hand at his neck digging into his scent gland and Yoongi resists the urge to flinch. Geumjae forces them to embrace, the picture of brotherly affection and comfort as he presses Yoongi’s face into his shoulder. Mouth pressed to ear hidden in Yoongi’s hairline so that no one can hear what he has to say or read his lips.

There are no hello’s, no farce, just straight to business. The lily remains between them- crushed by the sudden hug. All beauty here is short lived.

“I hope you’re not planning to change anything Yoonie.” Geumjae says the childish nickname with a sickly-sweet lilt to it. “It’s been so long since we’ve all seen you that you’re practically an outsider. There’s a lot you don’t understand. You should let your older brother teach you how things work again.”

Yoongi can’t pull away or else risk making a scene. No matter how much his burning scent is sticking in his nose and making him want to gag. Geumjae’s expensive suit reeks of rich cologne, at odds with his scent. Geumjae smells and acts like wildfires and burning houses; destructive and unpredictable.

Geumjae knows of Yoongi’s only weak spot.

His arms around Yoongi’s body remain ridged and vicelike, hand threading through the back of his hair in a clutch that is much more intimate than is necessary. Geumjae has always been stronger than Yoongi- has always been the alpha. Yoongi pushes against his chest, but Geumjae holds firm.

“All this talk has me thinking- if you died, I guess we’d have to invite your little pack, right? The pictures I’ve seen of them look so delicate and unprepared. Your pack omega seems like the type I’d love to sink my teeth into.”

Yoongi’s blood goes cold, and he starts to push- visibly at Geumjae’s chest. Recoiling from his touch and from what he insinuates. He doesn’t stop there

“I wonder why you didn’t bring them. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were afraid of us getting our hands on them.” He pulls back, smiling. It’s not friendly- more of a bearing of teeth. Geumjae must have had implants put in because his canines seem sharper than should be normal.

“But luckily, I know we’ll never have to find out.”

These threats are not hollow. Yoongi knows better. Yoongi does his best to school his face into a somber frown. Nodding like Geumjae has just said some words of wisdom. He’s not really agreeing- all of this, every inch between their bodies and the lack thereof- is done for the presentation of it all.

His choice is the furthest thing from his mind. Every moment all he can feel is wrong wrong wrong. Wrong to be here- wrong to be away from the pack- has Jungkook had a seizure yet? Is Jin worrying after his unanswered text? What song is Hoseok listening to over the radio? How did Namjoon’s surgery go- the one that he was worried about and felt underprepared for. What about Tae and his book? How did it end. How how how? How can he keep his brother away from them?

The phone in his pocket burns. And he knows the texts from the pack will go unanswered. Yoongi will be too afraid to reply.

Yoongi casts a look at the ceiling. The rosette windows in the vaulted ceiling shine in all their colors, but they offer no word of God.

(Yoongi knows better. God only listens when you speak through sin.)

~-~

(5 Years ago, Yoongi and Seokjin)

The thing about working with someone is that you spend a lot of time together. It’s kind of hard not to grow attached, kind of hard not to be friends.

Over the next three weeks before his birthday, Seokjin spends a total of 126 hours with Min Yoongi. He comes to learn that he likes the cinnamon coffee cake over the plain ones, that he likes vanilla latte’s over matcha- that he thinks it tastes like dirt.

They become friends quicker than Jin expected, quicker than he necessarily wants- seeing as Jin’s kind of shit at keeping them- and hasn’t made a single friend in the last 3 years that he hasn’t lost. What’s the point of picking up something only to lose it later?

Seokjin doesn’t want to be Yoongi’s friend, but it happens that way anyways.

Seokjin resists the urge to watch Yoongi, waiting for him to take a sip of coffee (black, americano- but with a secret spoonful of matcha, the color of it disguised by the extra dark roast) Seokjin waits, watching his prank play out in his peripheral vision. Tensing every time Yoongi gets even a little close to where it’s cooling. Yes, almost, there-

“Uhm? Excuse me?”

Seokjin almost flinches at the customer, tapping his hands on the countertop impatiently- but not impatiently enough. A businessman, alpha, pale gray suit baggy at the waits. A faint blush on his cheeks. “What can I get for you?”

“Your number would be good to start,”

“Uhm” Seokjin barely resists the urge to cringe and hide behind his notepad. He’s not on the market- but he’s not off it either. Seokjin does not respond, just waits until the uncomfortable silence festers long enough, for the alpha to just reply to his order.

Seokjin is very very picky. Picker than he should be maybe- as an omega of his standing.

Yoongi notices, bypassing His (sabotaged) coffee, polishing the chrome of one of the espresso machines glassy. He waits until the alpha is gone, the door to the coffee shop tinkling closed before he asks.

Yoongi is always doing that. Waiting until they’re alone to speak. Seokjin wonders if it’s a habit or a beta trait.

“What’s with you today? Usually, you’d have a line or something.”

Seokjin’s mouth quirks beyond his control. “What was it that I said last week?”

“Treating omegas that way you do won’t make your father love you?”

“Your knot is not big enough to act like that.”

They double over into laughter, and the skim of Yoongi’s hand up his back as he passes behind to put in another tray of muffins (mass market, made from mixing oil and water into bags of grey brown mix) in the oven is so tender, so thought out that Seokjin almost melts.

“You should put more chocolate in them” he says, and Yoongi pauses, hums thoughtfully and reaches past him to get the chocolate chips, adding another quarter cup to the batter. Yoongi is always making the chocolate muffins- mostly because Seokjin is always eating them.

The café is full of the smell of melting chocolate, and it’s not just from the muffins. But from Yoongi too. Yoongi’s scent is so pleasant, Seokjin catches himself raising his nose to catch it on the air when the other isn’t looking.

“But seriously. You always have a reply, what’s up?” Yoongi doesn’t look at him when he says it, instead directing his attention to mixing in the chocolate chips into the batter. He’s not very good at it, gets a bit of glossy brown on the countertop. Seokjin doesn’t have it in himself to complain. Seokjin knows he’s trying to make Seokjin feel more comfortable, more open by not looking at him.

Any other person doing that would make Seokjin feel manipulated or backed into a corner. But it’s different with Yoongi.

The two of them linger there, looking out the wide windows. The rain that falls that casts the streetlights all drippy. The cloudy sky up above offers no shooting stars or wishes, not even the moon put there like a single burning wick of a candle. Nothing in the sky, no burning, no joy, only wet.

“Today’s my birthday.” Seokjin finally admits, voice soft and quiet. It won’t be his birthday for much longer, the clock already reads 11:32. They’ve got less than a half hour left. And Seokjin did not cry today- his only goal. Not presents or blowing out candles and love. None of it.

He’s tried of crying. Tired of being alone too.

“Fuck” Yoongi stops stirring the metal bowl, setting it down softly before he leans against the counter. “Why didn’t you tell me, would have gotten you something or some shit-”

Seokjin hums, stirring his coffee hard, turning the wooden rod through the crust of extra sugar at the bottom. Seokjin always likes things extra sweet and extra warm; he wonders how long it will take Yoongi to realize there’s a reason for that. That he’s trying to fill a family sized hole in himself that the wind whistles through. Like a ripped sail on a ship.

When Seokjin looks over Yoongi looks if not genuinely upset then a little devastated. It shocks Seokjin enough that he stands up a little straighter, color to his cheeks that has nothing to do with the stoplight outside as it goes from yellow to red.

The muffins ding, and they’re ready, piping hot, the chocolate all melty at the top like Seokjin likes. “Hang on I know they’ve got- here.”

Yoongi leans over, he’s got a lighter, and Seokjin isn’t sure what for. It’s white, has initials on it. There is a crappy pink birthday candle sticking out of the muffin. It’s too early to take the muffins out of the tray and it’s melting onto the countertop. But when Yoongi says, “Make a wish,” Seokjin closes his eyes and blows.

He’s not really sure what he wishes for, but when he opens his eyes, Yoongi is smiling.

They share half of it each, and Seokjin feels so warm he has to take off his sweater. Yoongi licks the chocolate from his fingers. Seokjin watches and looks away. Nervous.

They play Seokjin’s favorite music while they mop the floors, and Yoongi does his best impression of that one alpha rapper than everyone likes.

“You like seriously like music, right?” Seokjin says, sitting on the countertop and swinging his feet because there’s no one here and it’s almost 2 am. They pretty regularly only have one or two customers that come in mid-week. Why their boss insists on keeping the shop open and two of them there at this hour- Seokjin has no idea.

“Yeah, I’ve got like, 6,000 songs on my phone.” Seokjin scoffs, endeared. Yoongi is exactly the kind of person to brag about something like that. Seokjin’s feet hit swish back and forth.

“You better not have given iTunes all that money.”

Yoongi grins, tipping an imaginary hat. “Nah- it’s a pirates life for me.” Yoongi continues to sweep at the floor while Seokjin watches. “You’re like, really bossy for an omega. Thought they were all supposed to be like, docile?” Yoongi moves onto mopping the entry way and Seokjin switches to the booth seat so that they don’t have to shout to keep talking.

Seokjin snorts. Instead of parrying Yoongi’s words, Seokjin settles into the booth, pulling his knees to his chest until he can feel the pleather through the hole in his shoe. “You go to school for it? The music?”

“No, I ugh-” Seokjin watches Yoongi brace himself for disappointment or judgment. “I didn’t go to college.”

Seokjin’s fingers stop their drumming. “Good, it’s a waste of time.” Betas don’t really need to go to college to be successful, the same way that alpha’s don’t need to dress or preen or maintain themselves to gain respect. Seokjin skirts by, doing the bare minimum for an omega. It would be different if he were female. If his reproductive organs had presented him as anything other than male at birth. Men are alphas until proven otherwise and women are omegas until they decide different. It’s only his rotten luck that his presentation came with a heat and not a rut.

“What you’d go for then?” Yoongi asks, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

“Psychology.”

“Why don’t you do that then?”

Seokjin shrugs, “can’t get a job that pays more than this without my masters, can’t pay for my master’s without this job but-” It’s Seokjin’s turn to brace himself. “It’s so so expensive, and my student loans are already a lot-”

“Nah I get it; your family wouldn’t like help you or something? You seem like a good kid; do they know that?”

“I am older than you.” Seokjin scoffs, reminding him. “And besides, what family?”

They haven’t gotten to the dead parent’s thing yet, but they will one day. Yoongi looks up and stops his mopping. The water drips onto the dirty linoleum. Instead of contesting with Yoongi’s bereft look Seokjin replies quick. It’s still his birthday for another 10 or so minutes. And he’d rather not talk about his parents.

“Did your family like not approve of you doing music or did they want you to be a doctor or something?”

Beta’s usually become doctors, or CEO’s or managers or anything. Seokjin can already tell that their boss likes Yoongi more than him. There’s a sour lilt to his voice, a pout there. Seokjin bets Yoongi gets paid more than him.

That’s okay, Seokjin’s instincts tell him. He needs it to eat more- his legs are so skinny.

But instead of saying what Seokjin expects, Yoongi just looks back at him, his dark eyes mirroring his misery. He scoffs parroting Seokjin’s words back to him.

“What family?”

Seokjin is a lone omega, a dangerous thing to be in the city these days- or at least that’s what the news has him and everyone else believing. Enough omega’s go missing that it makes the news. Picked up off of street corners or otherwise, they just vanish. The only thing that keeps Seokjin from being one of them is luck and the fact that he’s taller than most omega’s and broad enough to pass for a scrawny alpha.

Yoongi turns away from their mutual grief, stilling when he see’s what’s outside.

“It’s snowing.”

It’s early for November but neither of them says it, they move, abandoning their posts for a second to go out and watch the gentle flakes flickering down.

“First snow!” Seokjin says, and Yoongi grins. The snow is brief, melts the second it hits the concrete. But it’s a good thing, because it means that neither Seokjin nor Yoongi has to walk home in the rain.

When they return inside, Yoongi takes a sip of his coffee and makes a face. Seokjin laughs so hard that he has to clutch at his stomach.

It’s an even better birthday when they have to depart for their respective apartments for the day and Yoongi hands over his flannel and says that he won’t take no for an answer. At least he’s wearing a long sleeve unlike Seokjin. It settles Seokjin’s instincts so well that he sways. His fingers quickly making sweater paws on account of how long the sleeves are.

“Like this one a lot, whenever you wear it.” Yoongi’s hands linger on the flannel. Seokjin’s wrist. He does up the button. Seokjin lets him.

“You can keep it, as a birthday present.”

Seokjin huffs, shakes his head, “I said I like it when you wear it, giving it away defeats the purpose.”

Yoongi’s hands go tight in the fabric and then relax, and his voice takes on a husky quality. Breath billowing out in the cold. They’re standing close enough that all Seokjin can smell is chocolate.

“Then you can bring it back to me when you get tired of it.”

The first night shift ends and the second begins, Seokjin and Yoongi go their separate ways. Seokjin walks past the same alpha’s from the night before that and the night before that. And like usual Seokjin tenses, readying himself to be catcalled. His fingers tangling in the arms of Yoongi’s sweatshirt as he braces himself for it.

But it doesn’t come, it’s like the alphas take one whiff of Yoongi’s scent on the air and their eyes slide over Seokjin as he scurries past.

Seokjin pauses at the end of the block, at the edge where streetlight becomes shadow, and looks back.

~-~

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to put two and two together (no- not like that, although that takes predictably less time too).

The alphas Seokjin passes on his way home from the coffee shop never bother him as much when he’s wearing something of Yoongi’s. The beta’s scent clings to his clothing like an invisible shield- keeping Seokjin from harm. Seokjin mentions it offhand once and from then on Yoongi makes sure he’s got something, his gloves, his hat, his jacket, everything. Just so that Seokjin gets home safe.

It doesn’t mean anything at first, that Seokjin is under Yoongi’s protection- but after a few weeks that starts to mean a whole lot more.

Seokjin has never believed that betas are particularly special. He attributes most of societies reverence to just foolish mythos and childlike mystery. But even he has to admit that It’s almost spooky the way that the alpha’s unwanted attraction and attention slides over him like he’s slippery, like he’s a mirage, a specter- but only if he’s wearing Yoongi’s scent.

Seokjin always draws attention- for the way his shoulders swivel and the pretty omegan curve to his hips and face. He's pretty, he's always been pretty. He was glad of it as a teenager and in college. An apex predator for his beauty alone.

But all the prettiest flowers have poison hidden at the root.

That prettiness felt more like a threat the older he got, and now when he walks home from his closing shift at the café it’s always on the edge of his mind. Seokjin is lucky but plenty of omegas aren’t. He's been followed home before. He lives in the bad part of town. Yoongi does too- but living in a bad part of town means something different when you're an omega.

They share things, like mittens and hats and button-down coats, not because they’re the same size but because Yoongi is…soft. Yoongi is fond of Seokjin, and he shows it in the way he talks, the way he’s always touching Seokjin on the elbow or the shoulders. They’re careful. And if Yoongi where an alpha- Seokjin would hate it. If Yoongi where anyone else- he’d hate it.

Yoongi never mentions any friends or lovers, there are no other scents but his that cling to his clothing. After a while Seokjin doesn’t ask. It’s so not cool to ask after the affairs of a beta, you have to be nonchalant.

They go through most of November and the start of December like that, dancing around each other, each shift ends with one of Yoongi’s sweatshirts or coats or scarves folded there on the countertop, covered with coffee rings and crumbs from chocolate cupcakes- waiting for him.

Over time, Seokjin gets used to Yoongi's quirks. Like how he always makes Seokjin drink's with too much sugar and is always ducking back into the office at the coffee shop whenever the phone rings. So much so that Jin starts to associate the sound with his new co-worker. His new co-worker who makes him laugh and feel like he's 14 not 24. His new co-worker whose also his friend and asks Seokjin to come with him to see the tree lighting in the center of town. They pack in like sardines and go, see each other the next day and it’s not boring. Yoongi doesn’t get bored of Seokjin. He doesn’t.

He makes Jin feel like it's not too late for him just by looking at him and saying. "Smart kid like you, though you'd be out of this city by now."

"I am older than you, you know."

"Still a kid- you've got chubby cheeks." A pinch to them that has Jin’s face warming. A flush that could melt any spring.

With Yoongi’s scent on him, Jin isn't as much of a target for harassment. It irks him- that a beta is worth their respect but an omega isn’t. All it takes is just Yoongi's pheromones to settle the thugs and gang members he passes on street corners and make him invisible.

Seokjin wants to be invisible most of the time- mostly on social media which he keeps relatively blank. He's worried about what his old friends might think of his lack of social life, the lack of likes on his selfies that he always deletes after an hour anyways. He's scared of his aunts and uncles calling and asking how he's doing and has he found a job yet? Is he really applying himself as hard as he can? How could a cushy college in America not set him up for success?

Yoongi makes Seokjin feel the opposite of invisible. Yoongi makes Seokjin feel... special in a way he’s always craved. Chosen. When he gives him his jacket, when he bumps their shoulders on the cold nights. Stands closer so that some of his warmth gets shared by Jin. "It's cold," he says, voice a low gravel. A true gentleman, his thick jean jacket held out.

"But you'll be cold on your walk home too."

"Doesn't matter, I'd rather the warmth went to you."

Yoongi gives him his flannel, his hat, his everything just so that Seokjin can feel a little bit safer on his walk home. How many layers of fabric and viscera separates Jin’s heart from Yoongi’s scent? How many?

And then Seokjin’s twice yearly heat hits, and he doesn’t see Yoongi for nearly 5 days.

He wakes up one morning in early December and it feels like someone’s holding him under warm water. An ache in his chest that’s so visceral he checks his ribs for wounds. But the wanting is there, ever present, a phantom limb.

Heats are just another vestigial trait left over from shapeshifting times. No one can shift anymore- but the more animal side like the scents and heats and secondary genders still remain. Seokjin usually doesn’t go into heat until the spring as is usual for most omegas. Something in his body must have confused Yoongi’s warmth for the change of the seasons.

Seokjin’s heats have always been brutal.

A fever is pretty typical as far as heats go. He’s got some cramping along with the mess and honey sweetness between his legs that goes untended too and under enjoyed. Unlike the bone deep exhaustion that has him wanting to swath his body in soft blankets and nest the day away

And do little else but fuck and breed, but Seokjin’s so annoyed by that he hardly touches himself.

Breeding season is a fire that never ends. A particular sexual hunger that cannot be sated by Seokjin’s hands alone. Beyond the violent need for sexual attention, he finds himself reaching out for hands that aren’t there, nosing at his sheets for a scent he finds in mittens and an old flannel. His dreams are a tangle of slick, pleasure, chocolate muffins and big hands.

On the second day he thinks to check his phone and finds a text from an unknown number.

Unknown (12:28): Please make sure you eat something.

A pause then, where sweat beads on Seokjin’s forehead and he whimpers out through the next wave of wanting. Omega cock hard and straining against the nest, loose with Yoongi’s things dotted along the barrier. Smelling like chocolate.

Seokjin bites them just to taste, blunt omega teeth sinking into the fabric. Hungry and Helpless.

Unknown (12:28): Let me know if you need anything.

It’s too much to offer for strangers and too much to offer for just friends. Seokjin resists the urge to call and talk to him, but just barely. Probably sparing himself from some helpless begging and friendship ending embarrassment.

It feels like someone’s scraping out the inside of his uterus with rusty tongs. Going through a heat without a partner feels like being touch starved only worse- like he actually is wasting away because there isn’t anyone holding him. If people could starve from lack of love Seokjin would. His heat is mistimed, too early, most of the time Jin takes a suppressant to make sure it doesn’t come.

Jin tries to ignore what it means at first. Unable to meet Yoongi’s gaze when he sees him after. How do you explain to a beta that being around them, feeling safe with them, was enough to make your heat come early? It doesn’t help that he’s unable to return his clothes like usual- due to the slick-soaked state they'd been in. Much to his pink-cheeked shame.

Jin’s a little thinner, a little gaunter because eating during a heat is always a little hard- when the wanting strikes so completely that other needs are pushed out. Yoongi cooks him up a whole tray of chocolate muffins and makes him sit through the whole of his shift on his first day back. Sets his jacket over Jin’s shoulders when he nods off in one of the booths around midnight and lets him sleep until a half hour before their manager is supposed to show up.

Seokjin is already awake when he comes close. Jin has his eyes closed; head tipped against the vinyl back of one of the booth seats. Resting his eyes. “No one’s taken care of me in a long time you know.” When his eyelashes flutter open, Yoongi is looking at him. There’s no one in the coffee shop on account of how early it is, the clock in the corner is red, flashes that it’s close to three am.

“No one’s looked after me in a long time either.”

Seokjin’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek. “I could do it.”

Yoongi just huffs and hands him a cup of coffee. It’s made just the way that Seokjin likes it. Jin takes a sip of it and hums, licking his lips. Yoongi watches. Eyes flickering down and then to Seokjin’s eyes.

“We’ll see about that.”

And then Seokjin’s basement apartment floods and half his stuff gets ruined and Yoongi offers his couch and shit- the rest is basically history.

Christmas passes and they cut off a branch from a tree at the park and stick it in the only empty corner of the apartment, hanging pilfered and stolen ornaments from the shop on the branches. And they get each other necessities like socks and a new pair of shoes for Jin with their limited extra funds.

But things are easier now that there’s just one apartment. And they won’t have to stress for long because both of them get raises before valentine’s day. Yoongi will hardly let Seokjin sleep on the couch for weeks at a time and his bed was big enough for the two of them.

It was winter they could save on heating if they just got a little closer. A little snuggling never hurts anyone right? Seokjin doesn't need to ask if Yoongi's lonely- if he's got someone. Yoongi defies what Seokjin knows of most betas; usually elusive and unwieldy, uncommitted and cold. If Omegas are like moon's and alphas are like sun's then beta's are like comets, coming into orbit every now and then.

But Yoongi is not a cold icy rock that throws Seokjin the barest hint of affection. On the contrary, Yoongi's always so warm.

“Last snow.” Yoongi says, standing outside of the coffee shop wearing Seokjin’s sweater- so big on him that it falls to his mid-thigh. Yoongi’s legs aren’t so skinny anymore. His kiss tastes like the cold, cold lips and warm big hands, and Seokjin wonders how he ever worried. How fate ever let him wonder when there was this waiting for him.

There are 6 other people waiting for Seokjin, he just has to be patient.

There is something about a pair of arms that you know are meant to hold you and keep you safe. Something unnamable that blocks out all reason and fear and leaves only hope. Seokjin feels it the second he sinks into Yoongi’s strong arms and feels that heat, the heat of belonging. Maybe it’s strange that he’s older. Maybe it’s strange that Seokjin wants him and not the countless other knot-head alphas society says an omega should end up with. Beta’s and omega’s are not supposed to be enough for each other.

By the time he’s saved enough for a deposit for a new apartment Seokjin never wants to leave and Yoongi would never make him. Now Seokjin grabs Yoongi’s flannels not out of pure safety but because he likes having the beta’s scent close. It's like sea salt and chocolate. It conjures up warm nights around a bonfire at the beach with s’mores.

They do that on the weekends, a low-cost date night because they can’t afford anything better but it’s better than any fancy dinner at Nobu or the steakhouse. Just because it’s them. And Seokjin makes Yoongi perfect little sandwiches of love and marshmallow, and Jin eats only the chocolate out of them cuz really- that’s his favorite part.

They’re a pack even if it’s just the two of them. Seokjin tells himself he can be happy with just this even though every day on his walk home he wonders if Yoongi will still be at their apartment, always worried that today is the day that Yoongi’s just- gone. It makes his face when he opens the door, the shy smile and the open arms- that much more delicious to behold.

There are horror stories of that happening everywhere- My beta was fine until he wasn't. My beta left our pack on a random afternoon- said he had a job lined up across the country. I came home and my beta had another alpha in our bed, and I couldn't even be angry- that's just how betas are after all. Do you ever think it's fucked up? How they don't have to be faithful to one pack.

You can't be angry. Betas are biologically designed that way. Just be happy you're in his roster.

Beta's always stray. Seokjin knows that and accepts it as a fact before Yoongi's even officially his boyfriend. It's not like Seokjin's not allowed to date other people either, it's socially acceptable for an omega- with a beta or not- to look for an alpha. But Seokjin doesn't date. He doesn't date anyone once he and Yoongi become a pack. It would feel weird, to bring someone into their orbit.

It doesn’t escape him that Yoongi puts their next apartment in Seokjin’s name the first time they decide to move- just in case he needs it. Yoongi wouldn’t be so unkind as to leave Seokjin without making sure he has a roof over his head. Seokjin looks for the hints of others. Other scents on Yoongi's clothes, and any suspicious absence. But there's nothing, nothing that hints that Yoongi's got someone else.

Omega's are biologically inclined to seek out alpha's. Especially omega's in their prime like Seokjin. Seokjin never thought he’d be the one to change first, to want more first.

But then he meets Namjoon in a Laundromat of all places. (Really?Who meets their soulmate in a fucking laundromat?)

(Next Chapter)

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Ahhh the little pre-section in this chapter. Definitely one of the ones that I thought about cutting out of the story especially because it has so many like- references to Namjoon and he isn’t a character we’ve been introduced too yet.

- I just realized that I use the word ‘court’ to try and describe what the Choi family was trying to do to Yoongi. And you know that’s not exactly what they were trying to do to him like- they where certainly not trying to entice him to be a part of their pack- but it’s close enough!

- It’s important to me that you know the specific smell I’m referring to, the scent Geumjae has is the smell that housefires have. I saw my grandparents’ house burn down to the ground once, fire smells different when it’s memories that’s burning.

- Originally when I was first writing bily- I just looked up the name of Yoongi’s brother and was like- ‘woo there we go’ and thought nothing of it but going forward with this version I want to be clear that I think of him as more of August d- this version of Geumjae is identical to Yoongi besides the scar! If it were ever made into a movie I think Yoongi and Geumjae should be played by the same actor and edited parent trap style.

- (SPOILER) you’ll notice at the very end of Yoongi’s section where he’s wondering what the pack is doing at that moment- he doesn’t mention or wonder about jimin. That is because Jimin is actually directly above him in the cathedral with a gun trained on Geumjae but! You’d never know that unless you had already finished the story! Just a little tidbit that only makes sense if you look at everything closely.

- Did you notice the hyyh reference? Yoongi’s lighter?

- I just realized that Yoongi parrots Seokjin’s words when he’s talking to the m/c from this chapter to chapter 12 the “I could do it” I could love you, I could be your person! Ah the beauty of unintentional parallels (my brain is like a record skipping. The same wishes and dreams on repeat where I write out the same tenderness again and again, hoping that something will stick, like flesh made flame, like sugar made sweet and friendship bracelet made bond).

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