#Also why do I always make Nines suffer?

[ghosts-bandwagon]

can you do one where the reader has *terrible* periods (im talkin cramps, headaches, while nine yeards) but does their best to push through them and how 141 + ale, rudy, and konig react to them <3 (also i really do like the way you did your masterlist its v neat and put together)

Literally me every month 😭 this one’s for the nightmare period squad, I love y’all and I’m right there with you (thank you love!) (I’m sorry for leaving Rudy and Ale out, it’s a little much for me I’m so sorry 😭)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

He’s pretty attuned to you, he has a sense when something’s up, so he decides to keep an eye on you throughout the day

You’re sweating a little more than usual and looking a little clammy when you’re on the treadmill (hoping beyond hope that working out will help) (… it doesn’t)

He’s watching you during the briefing, your hands are clenching your abdomen, your breathing is a little irregular, and your left eye twitches occasionally. You’re masking your discomfort and you’re doing it well enough to fool everyone else but him. He sees you make a detour to the clinic on base and walk out with a small heated water bottle pressed against your stomach

He stops by your room to see that your usual coffee is replaced with peppermint tea, the lights are dim, and you’re sitting at your desk, curled over the table with paperwork scattered under your head. He announced himself with a knock and you bolted upright, you winced almost immediately

“Easy love, it’s just me.” He chuckled, “Doin’ alright?” He eyed the tea and turned the bottle of pills in his hand,

“Of course, always.” You we’re out of breath, “Why?”

“Don’t make me ask.”

“Ugh fine. It’s my period, I’m sorry.” He tossed the bottle in his hands at you and you caught it not very gracefully.

“Don’t be. You’ve done more in your state than most of them do normally. Just… take a rest. Take your meds. You’ve done enough.”

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He doesn’t really notice, you’re unfortunately good at hiding your symptoms (save for the obvious bleeding and the wrappers in the trash)

Honestly he’s amazed you can go about your day so effortlessly with all that going on

He’s watching you catch up on some chores when he starts to notice the wince in your eyes when you move a certain way, you’re putting away laundry fresh from the dryer and pressing the warm clothes tightly against your lower abdomen

You’re in the kitchen and you’re massaging your temples, breathing heavily, leaning against the counter, shaking your head and continuing with your task

“Alright, bonnie, that’s enough. Let get you set up.”

“Johnny, baby, I’m fine.”

“Sure ya are, I’m just taking care of that fine arse for you since you won’t.” He winked at you, he walked you back to bed, grabbing your heating pad and menstrual relief pills from the bathroom.

“Take it easy, hen, let’s get some movies going, yeah?”

John Price:

He knows your tells. Not only because he lives with you and sees the wrappers in the trash, but because he can feel the shift

You start to take on tasks that you’d normally pass on, whether it’s to prove to him or yourself that you can muscle through it

You don’t need to prove anything to him sweetheart, he knows how strong you are, just let him take care of you

He tells you as much but you wave him away and continue with what you were doing

He gets a little frustrated because he knows you’re suffering, he knows how hard your periods hit you, just let him help you damn it

So he sets up a little trap, he asks you to help him in the bedroom, and being the big strong girl you are, you go in ready to help but he wrap you in a big blanket and swings you over his shoulder, he set you down on the bed, tucked under the blankets, half-heartedly glaring at him.

“Rest, darling, please.”

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He knows how bad your periods are and he doesn’t let you move an inch out of bed, he’s super doting, and he spoils you absolutely rotten

Even if you insist you can muscle through it, he won’t let you

Dishes need to be done? He’s got it. Groceries? Instacart that mf. Laundry? Say no more queen. Gotta make dinner? No you don’t.

He’s got your heating pad cranked up as high as you need it to be, your comfort show or movie is playing and he’s got your meds and some water ready for you when you need

Period care king tbh.

König:

Schatz please, you only make it worse, he knows that and you know that, but he’ll always remind you

He lets you press on about your day, doing whatever you can to distract yourself from the pain, but as soon as he sees you clutch your stomach and double over when you think he can’t see you, he steps

“Liebling, please you’re hurting me.”

“König, don’t start.” You sighed exasperated, he’s willing to deal with a lot but when it comes to your well-being, he doesn’t fuck around,

“Beg your pardon, schatz?”

Oops.

“Fine. Do your worst.” You relented, he smiled mockingly at you (not in a malicious way),

“That’s what I thought.”

You’re buried under blankets, your electric heating pad spread over your abdomen, water and medicine is on your nightstand, and you’re so grateful König knows you as well as he does.

[satoruhour]

AFTERCARE

a/n: an aftercare collection from da old blog, enjoy! plus also i had an anon asking abt nanami aftercare !!! u read my mind lol / tagging @na-t0, @jabamin who do i tag !!!!!

wc: 2k

warnings: overall fluff, contains nsfw at the start, pet names for all, praise, protected sex, implied breeding, tickle fight (gojo), unprotected sex, creampie/breeding (geto & nanami), implied fwb, cuddling, unprotected sex, creampie/breeding (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

“oh, good girl, that’s it,” gojo mumbles out breathlessly, forehead against yours as you both come together. his lips continue to mutter out praises because he knew how much they affected you, and he hopes that you’d forget all of his saccharine words just so he could make you shiver and whimper all over again. your back arches into his hold one last time, digging your nails into his back.

“you did so well for me — shit — i didn’t think you still had any energy left,” gojo laughs breathlessly at how tired you two were after a mission, yet you know none of you could hold back on each other when passion took over. there’s a slight smile lingering on his face at your sweat-filled forehead and heaving chest and he loves, loves that he’s the only one to make you feel this way. the way moonlight weaves through the window makes you look stunning, and gojo’s smile can’t help but widen.

“what?”

he shrugs, removing his flaccid cock from you and eventually, the condom from himself. he ties a knot quickly, dumping it into the trash beside the bed, but before he can make a move to the bathroom to get you a wet towel, he feels your weight on his arm. it makes his heart flutter and sends shivers down his spine at the thought of doing away with contraception altogether — how would you look with his baby? who’s features would they get? what— 

“satoru.” gojo snaps out of his stupor, observing silently while you moved across the bed to him (hell, you sometimes forget he has a king sized), kneeling so you’d almost be at his height. “why were you smiling at me earlier?”

he eyes you with a levelled stare, grin turning into a smirk, “nah, no, it was nothing, baby.”

“hmm… really?” your arms hang limply over his shoulders, “i feel like i should know, you know.”

gojo simply winks, cutting off the teasing atmosphere with a deep kiss before he takes advantage of the situation, hands flying to your sides and you yelp, loudly. your laughter breaks through the quietness at 1am, making your stomach hurt and body squirmy.

“just planning a tickle attack s’all, princess.”

“y-you— fiend!” you try your best to escape the torture, but gojo is relentless in seeing you suffer, his laughter mixing with yours as his initial agenda is yet again interrupted. “satoru!” you both collapse into the soft sheets, giggles slowly subsiding to broad smiles as you admire the other, and him, you.

“god, you’re beautiful.” gojo’s stare bores into you and you avoid eye contact just like every other time he’s told you that, but your lover made it a point to make it clear to you.

“i love you, my pretty girl.”

✶ GETO

geto doesn’t stop giving you kisses even when he releases in you, helping you through the overstimulation by holding you tight until the euphoric feeling subsides and everything halts. there’s a moment of quietness, save for some concerned questions from your boyfriend like he hadn’t just blown your back out.

“sweetheart? you okay?” his eyebrows knit together, always worried that he might’ve hurt you in any way. but you’re always too tired to answer after, simply settling for a delicate hand to his face and a faint nod.

“kiss me,” it comes out as a whisper and dies out, dazed and still on cloud nine and geto indulges you like the lovestruck lover he is. even if he doesn’t need your palm to guide him, he lets your hand bring him right to your lips where they lay waiting. his kiss is soft, unlike before, moulding against your lips perfectly and like always, it makes you sigh and smile. “how’re your lips always so soft?”

geto smiles, hair falling from his loose hair tie. it shields his face and you think he looks like a greek god. “they just are, darling.”

your boyfriend’s always prepared when it comes to cleaning you up, so he usually has towels draped across the bedside table’s railing. wetting it with some water, he warns you gently with the free hand that strokes your thigh.

“but i also sorta use the lip balm gojo uses.” he cheekily admits, hand still diligently wiping at your core. he makes sure to cover it one, twice, thrice, before turning around to stand up. “i can buy it and we’ll share it instead.”

from here, his eyes skim over how the sheets cover you, and how your pose is provocative yet guarded — like an unnamed muse in a romanticism painting. there’s a teasing tone in your smile, a slow and languid drag to your movements. your dramatic gasp cuts off his thoughts, and your acting falls apart when you see geto’s jaw dropping in faux shock, “so you’ve been indirectly kissing your best friend this whole time? how dare you, suguru?”

geto slaps you lightly with the towel, laughing, “you’re crazy.”

“and that’s why you love me.”

he simply rolls his eyes, crawling back onto the bed to come face to face with you, the you who’s still feeling a bit playful, the you who grins at him and thinks that you like your suguru unkempt and messy and drunk in love with you.

the kiss tastes a bit like cigarettes, a little less prominent than earlier, but it tastes like him, nevertheless. “yeah, yeah. although, you’re the only one i’d wanna kiss — no one else, but you.”

✶ NANAMI

nanami groans into your neck with a final thrust, skin feeling the way your body shivered and trembled at how his cock twitches in you. he pumps you full, drinking in the moans of his name and he stays sheathed in you, face buried in your neck like none other. you realise it’s his favourite position — to stay close to you, to feel your pulse, to hear the almost inaudible sounds.

“you’re perfect, fuck,” nanami says, breathless, body propped up with his elbows by your ears; and of course you’ve heard your lover swear — at gojo, at some stubborn curse, at the terrible dishwasher in your home in kuantan and at you, sometimes, but never said like this. nanami looks at you like you’ve the breeze of the beach and the sunset that dips below the horizon.

you had the privilege of seeing that everyday, yet nanami choses to look at you each time, even if you’re always fixated on the scene. today you get the chance to see the love he has stored for you within his irises, and before you can retaliate, you feel his lips on you. nanami moans into the kiss, the need to feel you again taking over him as he deepens it, kissing down your jaw and neck and chest until you remember the abandoned pancake batter you were mixing.

“kento, honey,” he hums into your chest, acting like a child dreading school. “we can’t leave the batter out in the open.”

nanami grunts, “just leave it. i’ll cook eggs and have some kaya on toast or something later.”

“but that’s exactly why we decided to cook pancakes!” you laugh softly, hands running through his blonde hair. it’s starting to whiten a bit, too, but you don’t mind. if anything, he makes getting old look good, “to have a change from our normal breakfast.”

nanami sighs, blinking tiredly at you as he lifts his head to look at you, and every time he fails to resist your expression. you’re not even doing anything, sitting there looking pretty and your husband simply can’t fathom the action of saying ‘no’. he doesn’t want to move from his place — because your profile against the endless stretch of the ocean is a vision he never thought would come true.

nanami gives in, like he always does.

“fine, you win.”

you cheer with a big grin that escalates into giggles as nanami sweeps you off the sheets, placing a kiss against your temple. he smiles at you, at the possibility of living here until he dies; and if that possibility is compromised, he’d fight to make it okay again. he would bring them to hell himself if he could.

nanami kento never liked killing curses, but for you, he would spill blood again just to keep you safe.

✶ TOJI

toji never gave up the chance to fuck you stupid, always propped up in some dingy motel while the money from his sorcerer missions are left on the bedside table. he has yet to splurge it, the need to gamble getting less and less the more and more he sees you. he grunts into your hair behind as your hands make a mess of the vanity table — both too needy today to use the bed — one hand under your leg and the other on your waist as he spills into you.

“that’s a good girl,” your pupils are blown wide at the unexpected orgasm as his cum spurts into you, hitting you like a truck that you’re begging for toji to slow down until he pulls out and his cum drips to the floor. but you notice he doesn’t scoop it up and tease you like always, he doesn’t tell his little insults while slipping on his pants, nor does he avoid aftercare like the lazy and non-chivalrous man he was — no, you notice the silent movements of toji. he was never this quiet, surprising you even more when he sits on the bed.

“what the hell are you starin’ at?” his eyes are locked on the floor, the distance from your to the bed a few mere steps yet it felt like crossing the globe.

you swallow. after all, he was still a large, bulking man, and while his gruff voice did wonders, it always made you a little terrified out of sex. “oh— uhm, nothing.” with another sigh from him, your curiosity gets the better of you, inching towards him with cautious steps. “toji-san?”

his hands are hesitant to reach out towards you, but they make haste to grip onto your waist and although they’re nothing like the rough ones earlier, you still get a flutter in your heart at how big his hands seem to be. they wrap around your waist before his head falls onto your stomach. too scared to ask, you just settle for playing with his hair, content with the warmness of the embrace.

“you’re making me confused.”

frowning, you raise his head from his safe place, “how so?”

you’re careful, because you know about toji’s past through rumours, you know about his hesitancy to show vulnerability. you’re holding his heart, and you’re hoping the words you mutter out don’t shatter and make him bleed again. toji grunts, yanking you down to sit beside him before staring into space as the night winds down. you can both hear the rooms quietening down and the world going to sleep.

“i don’t like this.”

and your heart breaks, because of how toji hates love and how every experience has never ended positively. we fuck and i leave, got it? if you tell me you like me or something, i’m breaking this off. so you lean forward to hold his cheek, offering a small smile. ironic that he’s told you that and yet he feels like he’s the one who broke his own rule.

“it’s okay if you don’t, i’ll be here no matter how you’re feeling; i won’t even say a word.”

toji curls his lip in disgust, but you know he doesn’t mean it when he grabs your hand, “that line was cheesy. i fuckin’ hate it.”

“it was good, i liked it.”

he only shakes his head with a sigh and lies down along with a gesture that says are you coming or what? before your smile is uncontainable and you’re moving to his side. even if you’ve only known what his body feels against you, you’re already hoping it’d happen again and toji reluctantly feels the same, wrapping an arm around your waist with lips to your hair. your heart soars when he doesn’t move away from your hand interlacing with his.

“not a word.”

you giggle at his tone, and the harshness of it. and if you read in between the lines, you’d see that there’s a bit of endearment in him, you just hoped you had the rest of your life to make him love love again.

[ausetkmt]

Three young Black girls were strangled and left in a pond last summer in east Texas, and no arrests have been made in a case that advocates and experts believe has been severely mishandled by local authorities.

Nine-year old Zi’Ariel Robinson-Oliver, 8-year-old A’Miyah Hughes, and 5-year-old Te’Mari Robinson-Oliver, known as the Oliver 3, were reported missing on July 28, 2022, in Atlanta, Texas. The girls’ cousin, Paris Propps, who was watching the three sisters and their siblings while their mother was at work, reported the girls missing around 9 p.m. Hours later, on July 29, all three bodies were found in a nearby pond.

Initially, authorities said it was a drowning. But in March, nearly eight months after the girls were last seen alive, the Cass County District Attorney’s Office said in a statement that a homicide investigation is underway.

“Autopsy reports concluded the manner of death for all three girls was homicide, indicating evidence of strangulation. The girls also suffered lacerations to their faces,” the press release obtained by Yahoo News from the Cass County District Attorney’s Office said.

Now advocates are stepping in to demand answers. On April 3, Minister Quanell X, the leader of the New Black Panther Nation, traveled four hours from Houston to hold a press conference in Cass County and demanded that the FBI and Department of Justice step in to investigate. The FBI has not responded to a request for comment from Yahoo News.

Quanell X stood beside the mother of the Oliver sisters during the press conference. “She was told that they drowned, but she always had a suspicious feeling that the girls did not drown. Well, her suspicions were confirmed by the autopsies,” Quanell told Yahoo News.

The Cass County District Attorney’s Office is currently working with the Texas Rangers and the sheriff’s office to investigate the murders. “Multiple witness statements have been obtained, DNA testing is ongoing, and the investigation will continue,” according to a statement obtained by Yahoo News from the district attorney’s office. Yahoo News contacted the office for additional information but a spokesperson declined to provide more details.

According to U.S. Census data from 2022, Cass County has a population of 28,539 people, and advocates say the town does not have enough resources to investigate three homicides.

“They were presumed drowned because of a sham investigation, a lazy investigation by investigators who obviously didn't have the resources, the training that was necessary to properly address an investigative crime scene,” Quanell said.

Investigators are still searching for suspects, but experts say the months-long time lapse could have been avoided.

“The usual time frame [for autopsies] depends, I would say within two weeks,” David Thomas, professor of forensic studies at Florida Gulf Coast University, told Yahoo News.

But for small towns, “they send those autopsies off to a whole different county, hours away from that county to do the autopsy,” Quanell said.

However, the autopsy reports are just one piece of the puzzle. Thomas says more could have been done at the time investigators found the girls in the pond.

“They sat and they made an assumption that they had drowned, which would be unusual for three people to drown at the same place, at roughly the same time — [it] doesn’t make any sense,” Thomas told Yahoo News. “If it was Gabby Petito, the world would have come to a stop.”

Revolt Black News weekly recently reported that authorities were aware that a crime had occurred soon after the incident, but just recently released the information to the public last month. “However, they didn���t say why they delayed sharing the info,” the article stated.

“At the end of the day, any seasoned investigators when they retrieved the bodies from the [pond] would have been able to see that this was more than some accidental drowning by the bruising on the faces and the necks of the girls,” Quanell said.

Quanell believes the investigation is not a priority because the young girls are all Black. “I think Cass County is doing what Cass County historically does when it comes to investigating injustice and murder involving Black people as victims. They’re not taking this case seriously in my eyes, because it’s not three young white children,” he said.

“National statistics tell us that over 60,000 Black women are missing, and Black women are twice as likely than they appear to be victims of homicide,” Brittany Lewis, co-founder of Research in Action, told Yahoo News in March.

Now experts say the investigation will be much harder because of the lengthy time lapse. “That eight month time gap is devastating,” David Carter, professor of criminal justice at Michigan State University and a former Kansas City, Mo., police officer, told Yahoo News.

“The longer time between when the bodies are found and the investigation begins, the harder it is. It’s harder to find suspects, certainly harder to find witnesses, and harder to find evidence,” Carter said.

Carter says that as a former member of the law enforcement, there’s no excuse for the delay in the investigation. “I’m really at a loss of why a criminal investigation wasn’t started immediately,” Carter said.

As authorities continue to investigate, advocates emphasize that whoever committed these crimes is still at large.

“They could be anywhere,” Thomas said. “But I would say the likelihood that they knew that pond was there would probably give you an indication that it might be somebody local or somebody that's very familiar with the area.”

“This sounds like a very, very targeted personal crime,” Carter added.

There have been no arrests in the nearly year-old case, but more people are pushing for justice. Recently, civil rights attorney Ben Crump and celebrities like Viola Davis and Niecy Nash shared a montage video on social media of the Oliver 3. The video was created by Black Girl Gone, a true crime podcast that sheds light on Black girls and women who are missing.

“A child killer. A serial killer is on the loose. One who was not afraid to murder three children. And if you kill three you will kill more. Especially when you believe you will get away with it like this perpetrator has,” Quanell said.

On April 26, Quanell and the New Black Panther Nation plan to host a town hall in Cass County, as they continue to seek justice for the Oliver sisters.

[night-dazai]

Back Home

Summary: 2 weeks and the greatest sorcerer has not seen his pretty little lover, but while he was supposed to come home she leaves for a beach trip ....or....did she.

Long missions were something Gojo had always hated. He could not see his loved ones, and boring curses to fight and- “Ugh? Really? This is a grade A …the old farts,” he grumbled while killing the cruse and sipping his drink, “And this is sour,” he thought and looked 100% dissatisfied. That's when his phone rang, and blindfolded, dead eyes sparkled with joy reading your name.

“Hello love~ “ he chirped, tossing his drink into the nearest bin, and dusting his sleeves. “Huh… what? You are… going out?” He sounded horrified. The only thing he wanted after a long mission was you, the bed, and sex and if you go out now? You wouldn't be back for three days, how could he survive? “Hmm…fine. Get ready, all nice and pretty for me. How about you wear the black dress we bought a week ago? Yeah…you like that …of course, that's why I bought it. Now get ready.” He smirks, and cuts the call before you could respond.

It has been around thirty minutes, your bag for 2 nights and 3 days was ready and so were you. Your tight, black dress had a heart neck outlining your chest perfectly. You looked once more in the mirror and checked your dress. It was a girl’s trip plan, you, Shoko and Utahime were going to the beach. You didn’t really want to go, cause the next day gojo will come home after his 2 week long mission, and you wanted to greet him, but the girls insisted and you gave in.

As you were checking your bag, the front door opened “Shoko bedroom !” You shouted, not turning or even checking as to who came in, but suddenly two strong arms around your waist made you jump “AHH!” you shouted but your face was turned by rough hands, and the rest of your screams were swallowed by a hot kiss.

Fear and worry eased when you saw no eyes, but a dark blue blindfold and white hair sticking to the forehead. “GOJO!” You exclaimed, pushing his face and creating some space between the two of you. You could hear him whine due to the loss of touch. “Don't go…please….2 weeks … I suffered, I need you …” He begged, whiny. Soft lips on your neck left a few kisses as his hands roamed your body, legs trying to push you onto the bed. “No…I told them I would go. It has been so long since the 3 of us went out,” you said, trying to get him off you but it was of no use.

His lips found yours again while both of your hands got pinned above your head, his free hand removed his blindfold. “It is not long, but it will do,” he said. In an instant, the material was ripped and was tied perfectly like a bow on your wrists. “There, all better...my cute present is all ready for me.” He smiled like a kid who just got his birthday present.

Soft-looking rough hands roamed your hands massaging your breasts for a solid nine seconds, before ripping the martial into shreds. “GOJO NO!!” Your shouts fell on deaf ears “Please y/n …please.” He begged, pouting on your breasts while hands were on your inner thighs near your core but not touching you...yet.

You loved the dress, gojo picked it for you and it was really pretty but it's gone, you know he would buy you another one, why even the same one but…

“Fine. At least untie me,” you said, giving up. It had been 2 weeks and it was a lie if you said you also did not miss him and your fingers were not as good as his. “Ah… slow..slow down,” you said, while his long fingers abused your cunt, pace fast and harsh. “Come on, I am not in any mood for slow stuff,” he said. His voice was different and the glint in his eyes was definitely scary, but something made you more wet. “Oh..why is my sweet fucktoy clenching so hard?” He asked . One hand thrust in and out while the other abused your clit roughly and soon he pressed on that spot, making you see stars and having your first proper orgasm in two weeks.

With half-closed eyes and quivering legs, you tried to capture your breath. “Now now, don't pass out here,” he said, tapping his dick on your puffy clit. “Time to go in,” he said and before you could talk he was in. One thrust knocked all the air out of your lungs and your eyes rolled back. “Go-gojo….” you mumbled, trying anything to get him to slow down but now-

SLAP!

Had you screaming and freezing. “Behave,” he said. This was not the whiny cute gojo but the one who needs what he wants. As you tried to talk again.

SLAP ! SLAP !SLAP!

Your thighs which were red now had his sky-blue eyes going dark. “You look so lovely with my marks, '' he said, kissing the red handprints, and not stopping. From the start ,the pace was rough. His balls were slapping your ass, and while one hand pulled and twisted your nipple the other played with your clit from time to time.

“Look here …” hands pulled your chin to look at him.

Tears streamed down your face, the pleasure was overwhelming after the long break and nothing could leave your mouth other than porn-worthy moans, which just made him go harder. “I said look here “ he pressed your cheeks roughly when you did not open your eyes. Slowly, you opened your wet eyes, mascara running down, red lipstick smeared all over your mouth “Pretty..my pretty “ he mumbled before entering your mouth.

The kiss was hot, wet, and messy. His pace got a bit faster when you yelled into the kiss, sculpted hips thrusting into you at a faster pace, and the dick inside you was twitching for sure and suddenly he made sure to hit that one spot again and again, making you see stars… or heaven. You have no idea which it was.

Low grunts made you open your eyes to see your pretty boyfriend, sweat dripping down his face and model body, with white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes closed, and chasing his high while hands holding your hips to ensure you don't run or move away in force. Hips rutting into your bruising, soon you could feel your second knot in the stomach and soon after you came he followed.

“Three seconds…break ???” you thought and opened your eyes to see him looking at your cunt, you could not move but you were sure he was watching his cum drip out of your hole “Go..gojo ?” You called out in a feeble voice. A childish smile formed on his face as he peeled his eyes from below and looked into your eyes, he adjusted his hips a little, hitting your spot again. “Ah..noo.. stop “ you whined while he leaned to kiss your forehead. “No? Love, we haven't even started for the night.” He said, still smiling and removed the knot on your hands.

You clasped your hands on his neck. “Please… I am dead tired,” you said, while he rose and sat you down on his lap, his dick going a little deeper. You hissed.

“But I am not,” he said, kissing your neck and leaving a hickey. With you on his lap he turned and leaned on the headboard, “Now just shut up and take it like a good girl,” he said through gritted teeth, thrusting you on his dick, biting your neck and leaving angry, red marks, while your manicured hands left marks on his pale, gold shoulders.

It was a very long ……… night and Utahime was sure to shout at Gojo the next day for spoiling your plans.

This is the results of the poll.

[bunniekittiee]

(MK1) Bi-Han Headcanons

I was listening to Jar of Flies and it came into my head that I never did separate Bi-Han headcanons about himself. So this is what I think he would be like. This is also very music-based but yk its all good.

Bi-Han is known as the goth man of Mortal Kombat because of Noob but I think he would be a bit more grungey.

He loved dark and haunting music even before he became a wraith.

Alice In Chains was his first listen to Earthrealm music as he had never interacted with it before. Johnny had to tell him about them.

“I think it’s up your alley.” Johnny told him as he handed him a CD player with a few CDs.

Bi-Han did not trust his judgement at first and even put it off for a little bit, but he soon regretted putting it off as soon as he listened to Jar of Flies.

Absolutely loved AIC after this.

Related Jar of Flies to his own trauma with losing his mother and his father’s harsh treatment.

That’s another can of worms that cannot be opened in great detail today.

Would also like Narrow Head, Superheaven (duh i headcanon every character to like them), Mareux, Basement, Nine Inch Nails, but that’s just to name a few.

Associates “Hole in the Ground” by Superheaven with Kuai Liang and tries to not listen to it too much.

This is much worse after his betrayal. Bi-Han hardly touches the song after because of this.

It would only make him feel horrible and guilty.

Also associates “Necrosis” by Narrow Head with his father because of his hurtful treatment as a kid.

Bi-Han was trained a pushed a lot harder than Kuai Liang and even Tomas who was not their blood kin, so Bi-Han held a lot of resentment for his father.

He treated Tomas more like a son than he did Bi-Han.

Bi-Han wondered if this was so he could become a tough Grandmaster, and that’s how he reasoned it in his head, but it still messed with him.

When he lost his mother, it was devastating. She was the only one who supported him and took care of him after suffering from bouts of hypothermia from his father testing his might in the Arctika.

She was there for everything and always made sure Bi-Han was well.

When she passed, he did not have that support system anymore. That is when he knew it was time to become a man and move on.

He never moved on, but he did become a man.

His exterior was already cold, but it became much more worse after the death of his mother.

That is the Bi-Han we know today.

He never held much warmth despite his brothers telling him he should.

He hardly wanted to give his father a funeral, but he knew he could not go in that direction. He needed to honor him despite his dishonorable acts against the Lin Kuei.

He was a weak, senile Grandmaster. He was not fit to rule.

But Bi-Han was, he was ready to reform the clan and change the weaker policies his father implemented after the death of his mother.

Kuai Liang always tried to reason with Bi-Han, but he never changed his mind. Once Bi-Han was set, he was ready.

It didn’t matter what Kuai said or did, Bi-Han would never budge.

He was very stubborn to the dismay of his brothers.

Late at night if Bi-Han could not sleep, he would listen to music to help him.

Bi-Han could not sleep well because of the creeping thoughts of his childhood/adulthood that caused him great pain.

It often seeped into his dreams which caused him to not be able to go back to sleep.

That’s why he looks so tired, he just has a hard time sleeping. His mind is too occupied and the gears are always turning about.

“Blank” by Glare also makes Bi-Han reflect on his life. He listens to that when he can’t sleep.

Sometimes, it’s able to lull him to sleep.

Tomas and Kuai do worry about Bi-Han.Tomas suspects that Bi-Han is depressed, maybe anxiety-ridden.

But they’ll never know. Bi-Han is super against vulnerability and he hates to feel that way.

He also does not like to be forced to talk about his feelings or what’s bothering him. It makes him feel like he’s trapped in a corner like a wild animal.

After Bi-Han’s betrayal, Sektor and Cyrax are the ‘replacements’ for his siblings.

But they never are interested in what Bi-Han’s mental stability is. They are not that close to be aquatinted like that.

All they care about is having a Grandmaster that is ready to conquer and give them orders. They are warriors, they are ready for anything Bi-Han throws their way.

When Bi-Han was younger, his father did everything to make his life difficult. This lead to Bi-Han being very angry often.

He trained alone in the temple, his knuckles bloody from the amount of punching he did. His knuckles would be raw and cut open badly.

His mother would coax him away from the training room to let her wrap his hands up. She did this very often as Bi-Han was the main target of his father’s wrath.

He hardly cried in front of her, but every once in a while he broke. But she picked up his pieces.

Bi-Han loved his mother greatly, her death pained him the most out of everyone.

So when he looks in the mirror, all he sees reflecting back at him is his mother.

Her eyes, her facial features, her caring demeanor.

But Bi-Han was hardened, extremely rough around the edges.

He could never be as caring and loving like her. It wasn’t in his DNA to be that way. That was more Kuai Liang’s personality.

Sometimes if he stared for too long, he would see her in the mirror. But only for a mere moment.

He blamed it on lack of sleep and never told anyone.

Bi-Han is extremely troubled, and he requires a lot of patience and understanding. He will not open up right away to anyone.

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (47)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none

A/N NOT BETA READ. We have only two more chapters left of this arc! After that I might be taking a break for a bit. Not only to focus on some original novels I have planned but to also have a few chapters ready for you all to read. Cause this having to write chapters the day of updating--hate it lol.

It was a quick affair for when someone had come in to take away Hendricks. He struggled for a moment but after Wooyoung got annoyed with the man’s shouting and fighting, he was quick to shove a rag into the man’s mouth. Seeing as he was cuffed, Hendricks was only able to huff and puff into the fabric. 

When you turned back around to face Klein you watched as he was looking over the papers once more. He had a somber look on his face, one of regret as he sighed at each word that seemed to process into his head. 

“I'd like to thank you for bringing this to my attention.” Klein said, not meeting any of your eyes. 

“You don't seem like it.” Hongjoong raised his brows, crossing his arms as he stood in front of the man. 

“You're still criminals in the eyes of the public.” Klein finally looked up, sighing to himself as his eyes skimmed over all nine of you. 

“We understand.” You spoke up. “You're a respectable man who has a city to protect.”

You watched as Klein suddenly thought about the entire town, going back to clenching his jaw as he began to think lowly of himself. It was a tough job to take on, especially for a town that was the second most populated. You were never going to be able to make everyone happy, but you were able to make the world a better place. At least in your own image.

Your family had always supported Klein–a vast majority of the town did–so he must have felt a heavy pressure on his shoulders knowing that he was close to putting all of them in danger. There aren't many people you are able to trust when it comes to positions in office, especially not with times growing more and more. People were getting greedy as things began to change, which led to problems. But that shouldn’t stop the few who were trying to keep things at peace from doing what they must. 

While Klein had the right intentions–wanting to see Cromer grow into a modern city–he didn’t realize he would fall into a pit of snakes. Human era was inevitable. You were just glad to have stopped everything before it got too far. 

“Will you leave soon?” Klein asked. 

“We have a mission to finish.” Yunho explained. “This was only a side quest.” He chuckled.

Klein huffed a little laugh, pressing his lips together. “This drug.” He asked, tapping on the papers and envelopes. “What happens if it gets out?”

“The world falls.” Seonghwa answered. “It becomes baron of the joys we see everyday.”

“We've seen what it could do.” Jongho called from the back of the group. “It's not something this world should suffer from.”

“Why hasn't Aurora done anything then?” Klein shook his head, not understanding the whole thing. 

“They don't have evidence to prove corruption yet.” Hongjoong told the mayor. “That's what we've been trying to do for the past couple of years.”

The man took a moment to gather his thoughts before moving to grab the things from his desk. “Here.” Klein began to gather all the papers between Quaid and Hendricks, handing them over to you. “Take these then.” He told you.

“What about Quaid?” Mingi asked.

“I've already sent people after him.” Klein answered the boy. “We'll take care of him here in Cromer seeing as it's my jurisdiction.” He turned to look at you, giving you a thankful bow of his head. “Should anything else come to light though, I'll be sure to send word to you.”

“Thank you, Mayor Klein.” You smiled in thanks. 

You watched as he suddenly clapped his hands, rubbing them together. He gave you all a raise of his brow, pursing his lips. “You've all committed crimes that should be punishable but it seems to me you're all hard to catch.”

All of you suddenly looked at him oddly, frowning a bit at his words. You were a bit worried that Klein would somehow punish the boys for all they had done, but as you registered the rest of his sentence you concluded that wasn’t going to be the case. 

“You're letting us go?” You said, being the first to realize what it was he meant. 

“If what you say is true about this drug, then it seems we have a common enemy.” Klein nodded to himself. “I have a city full of people to keep safe. It's what I signed up for as mayor of Cromer.” He took a breath, coming to a stand. “I'll tell the city it wasn't you who stole the money.”

“Tell them you had money left over.” Hongjoong suggested. “You'll be seen as the hero again.”

“As much as one would love to take credit for that, I could not.” Klein shook his head. “I was going to send that money somewhere terrible. I could never live with myself had you not taken it.”

Your shoulders dropped at the man’s convention. He was right in thinking a majority of people would have loved to take the glory and credit for saving the town, but Klein wasn’t a majority of people. He was someone selfless who took care of others first. It was something each of the boys were quick to realize after speaking with him more. 

At least by what you could tell from the looks on their faces. 

“What will you say then?” Wooyoung asked. 

“The truth.” Klein spoke up, smiling as he thought it over. “ATEEZ were the ones who took the money.” He smiled, watching as the boys all gave him skeptical looks. 

“They have never seen your faces.” The mayor added. “I don’t believe they will suspect 8 handsome, young men who work for one of Cromer’s hotels. Unless you have warranted for people to think that.” Klein joked. 

The boys all looked at each other for a moment, humming in thought as they pondered on what they had all done so far in your town. “They haven’t.” You answered for them, sending them looks that called for them to behave. 

You turned back to Klein, bowing your head and giving him a smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Klein nodded his head, giving you a kind smile as well. 

Just as the boys all turned one by one to leave the office, you suddenly gasped, stopping to turn back around. “One more thing!” You called back.

“Yes?” Klein answered. 

“My father.” You began. “He's kind of in jail at the moment.”

Klein laughed, nodding in understandment. “I'll have him released, don't worry.”

“Thank you, Mayor.” You bowed one more time, turning to Hongjoong who waited closer to you.

“Be careful on your mission.” Klein called out before you all left the door. “It doesn't seem easy.” He added. 

You watched as the boys gave each other knowing looks again, Hongjoong sighing as he bowed his head. “It never is.”

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @detectivedoodle , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a , @loveforred , @drunken-deitence , @0325tiny , @the-ghostest-with-the-mostest , @atinyreads , @atinytinaa , @lexiigom , @smilingtokki , @mismatchfluffysocks , @brain-empty-only-draken , @sousydive , @alex-tinyy , @h3arteyes4mingi , @onedumbho3 , @popcatx0 , @blue1amory , @mommahwa1117 , @sunnyhokyu , @cloudieclair , @puppyminnnie

[silverzoomies]

Cunning Linguist

pietro maximoff x reader smut

warnings: cunnilingus, porn with (slight) plot, blow jobs, dissociative identity disorder, dissociation, existential crisis, smut, shameless smut, halloween, canon divergence

word count: 3,990

a/n: i meant to finish this ages ago. but i always overthink shit. i rewrote this several times, and it still doesn't feel worth posting. oh well !! just meaningless filth - same old story, different clothing. i wanted to play with the concept of pietro as an alter in ralph's head. again. lol

he's a little ooc here. but i'm blaming the brain fog. i'm running on three hours of sleep every night. fuck it, we ball. also, not including a tag list because tumblr's system kinda sucks for it. sorry !!

Pietro recalled the moment his consciousness came to light.

Agnes waved her spooky hands in his face, as though she were taunting him. She muttered incantations under her breath. The words of which Pietro didn’t recognize as English. After implanting sentimental memories in his mind - based on stories of Wanda’s childhood - she sent him off on his own. Like letting a dog loose, free to roam. 

Pietro’s mission? Find Wanda, have a gabfest or two, extract information. Or something along those lines. Pietro hadn’t paid much attention while Agnes yapped about it. Why focus on that, when the mystery of his own sentience piqued his interest instead?

He was given an easy enough job to do. No problem-o. Pietro had a talent for pestering people til’ they cracked. That’s what Agnes told him, anyway. He wasn’t too sure why she wanted him to play undercover rat. It had something to do with magic. Pietro knew that much. There was some kinda witch-on-witch rivalry in the works. But unfortunately for Agnes - and maybe fortunately for Wanda - she might have to take a raincheck on her duel of the sorceresses.  

Pietro could be a bit of a dipshit. Was he stupid? Not so much. He had brains where it counted. He could be crafty. Even sneaky. But his expert level slyness didn’t make him any less of an idiot. Pietro couldn’t refute that factoid about himself. Around Wanda, he forgot how to function like a normal person. Which he blamed on the fact that he wasn’t a normal person. Being brutally honest with himself; Pietro technically wasn’t even a person at all.

More like a conceptual incarnation of human sentience, really. Simple enough.

No ifs, ands, or buts about it, though - Pietro carried the irksome flaws of a human. Often, he acted thoughtless when he didn’t mean to. Without filtering himself first, Pietro unapologetically spoke his mind. He’d drop fourth-wall breaking quips here or there. Sometimes, his careless habits made for entertaining slip ups. Perfect for sitcom shenanigans. Other times, his blunders resulted in pain. Lotsa pain.

Halloween night, Pietro found himself whisked away by a forceful wave. Conjured by Wanda’s potent magic. The same power Agnes wanted her wiggly witch fingers on. After going aerial in a wild whoosh, Pietro got up close and friendly with some Halloween decorations. But, hey, what’re a few broken bones between pseudo siblings, eh?

Wanda sure had a helluva temper. She quickly banished Pietro from ever setting foot in her house again. Talk about a major bummer. Pietro suffered a huge loss on that front. One part because he’d have no choice but to crash with Agnes again. Ninety nine parts because he’d miss his troublemaking nephews. Those fun, lil scamps.

Tough luck, Quickie. Try and do better next time.

Honestly, he’d prefer if there wasn’t a next time.  If Agnes wanted to make small talk so bad, she could do it on her own. Calling it quits for the night, Pietro wandered off to a Westview bar. To his surprise, he found the place still in operation. And despite Pietro’s memories - vague imagery of Busch beer cans crushed under his fist - he hadn’t had a beer since his consciousness manifested. Shit. Did he even like beer? Whether he cared for it or not, a subconscious instinct drew him to it.

He assumed that instinct was none other than Ralph himself. The poor dude wanted to drown his terror in alcohol. And after all the twisted shit Agnes put Ralph through; who was Pietro to deny him one of life's simplest pleasures?

The mellow atmosphere of the bar oozed Halloween spirit. Kinda unnecessary, in retrospect. Considering Wanda never stopped by for a drink. Why bother sprucing the place up with her wispy magic, if it never saw any use?

The bartender’s clever quips reminded Pietro of Cheers. Another totally bonkers concept. Pietro had memories of watching Cheers, sure. But he couldn’t decipher if they were Ralph’s or not. For all Pietro knew, they might be a part of the ‘dead brother’ package deal. False memories, meant to give Wanda someone to relate to. Making him liable to tear down her defenses when she least expected it. 

But why did Pietro get the sense he was more of a Frasier guy anyway?

Sitting at the bar on a rickety stool, Pietro spun around to satiate his boredom. He cradled a beer, inhaling all of it in a single beat. Superspeed really did have its ups and downs. Consider quick consumption a positive. As far as negatives go…well…inebriation was completely unattainable. Sucks for Ralph. As Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer, he tuned his ears to a radio broadcast. On a shelf amidst dollar store Halloween decor; a radio droned old fashioned tales of wicked witches. Subtle.

Outside interference interrupted the broadcast. Voices intermingled between buzzes of static. Whispering soft, but panicked mantras of 'Wanda? Wanda, are you there?' Pietro narrowed his beady eyes. His ignorance of the world outside Westview should’ve stayed intact. But whatever the reason, he knew exactly where those voices came from. Why he carried such knowledge was anyone’s guess. Maybe Agnes let too much her own insight slip into his psyche. Whoopsies. Oh well. Shrugging, Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer. Deja vu.

Bored outta his mind, his thoughts explored elsewhere.

Pietro dreamt of something a little more down to earth. He remembered a cutie-pie neighbor new to Westview. A ‘next door’ kinda type, with a quirky sorta charm. They had no idea why they were in the city to begin with. Pietro knew these details, only because he gathered the what’s what on just about every person in town. It took him all of two seconds to do so. Zip around. Observe. Make mental notes. Report back to Agnes. Spill the deets.

Anyway, about you…

Call it a crush, loneliness, or even instinctive lust; whatever the case, Pietro thought you were cute as could be. You didn’t remember how you got to Westview, or where you even came from. One day, you woke up in town, and found yourself wearing unfamiliar clothes. Threads evocative of decades long past. But hey, it happens to the best of us. Pietro was well-acquainted with feelings of confusion and alienation. That mingled sense of being both lost, and born anew.

For crying out loud, he was the very materialization of sapient awareness itself. Agnes forbade him from that knowledge as well. But again, Pietro credited his oopsies and ding-dongs to her shoddy miracle work.

Whenever you questioned the reality around you, the world only stifled you into silence. The everyday citizens of Westview seemed so content with life as it was. Acting as if you had nothing to worry about. Wanda’s sitcom setup was nothing beyond sunshine, rainbows, and television tropes. But Pietro could see the unspoken terror hidden deep in their eyes. The truth Wanda kept hush hush.

Just thinking about it was enough to give Pietro the heebie jeebies. And if his intuition was anything to go by - it never proved him wrong yet - you had a bad feeling about Westview too. Way to go! You caught on even quicker than he did. Which was kinda nuts, if he thought about it. Wasn’t he supposed to be the fastest at everything? ‘Cuz speed was his middle name or something. Or…well, it wasn’t. But it could be. Who’s to stop him from seizing his own destiny at this point?

Pietro Speed Maximoff.

Eh, maybe not.

In Westview, you had no friends or family. And much like Pietro, on Halloween night; you found yourself at the bar. He caught your curious gaze from down the counter. You were dolled up in a scanty, witch's dress, leaving Pietro to wonder why witches were such a recurring theme in his life. Looking too much like a manchild goober, he spun around a few more times in his seat. His sneakers kicked against the stool’s railing. No matter what, he couldn’t sit still. He thought he might be embarrassing himself. But his antics appeared to make you smile even brighter.

Tilting your head, you shot him a look of familiarity.

You weren’t familiar with him, though. But there was a chance you saw him appearing and disappearing around town. During his impromptu stake outs, more than likely.

Bringing your drink to the seam of your lips, you stifled a playful giggle. It was obvious you were gawking at his costume. Arching a brow, Pietro grinned into the rim of his beer bottle. To be fair, he looked supremely ridiculous. The blue tights under his cut-off jean shorts rode up in the crotch a little too much. He dipped his head, staring at the frayed edges of his shorts. Yeah. It was clear he did the job cutting them himself. A hasty one too. Since he was too eager to pull pranks with his nephews.

Damn. Pietro missed those kids like hell already.

The dirty blond hair/ear-things atop his head bounced every time he knocked his neck back. As Pietro downed yet another beer, he lost track of how many he drank. A dribble of it plummeted into silver. Creating a sheen against the lightning bolt duct taped diagonally down his shirt. Pietro sighed and pursed his lips. 

His outfit was an all blue ensemble. Garnished with a spritz of silver here or there. Quicksilver. His hero name, apparently. Pietro knew he’d never live up to it.

A bit of friendly conversation later, and the air between the two of you shifted. Your playful look morphed into something a little wanton, the more Pietro acted in silly ways. Holy shit. Seriously? He hoped he wasn't misreading your signals. Because really, your attraction was too good to be true. If you honestly wanted him, where should he proceed from here? How much freedom had Agnes even allowed him? And furthermore - if Wanda’s happy, dream town ran on a curated schedule; what if credits rolled just as the two of you finally got handsy?

Maybe sitcom rules didn’t apply to conscious manifestations of witch hocus pocus? Wishful thinking on his part.

Outside the bar - in an alleyway too uncannily clean, like a set straight out of Hollywood - Pietro beckoned you in with kisses. Technically, he played the role of Agnes’s deadbeat husband. And if that were the case, did kissing you count as cheating? Shit…was Pietro committing adultery right now?? In the midst of macking on your sweet lips, he pressed a palm to the wall next to your head. Pietro pretended to do so for balance, as he devoured you with his mouth and tongue. 

But unbeknownst to you, he cracked an eye open. Just to double check for a wedding band.

Nothing there to prove he ever got hitched. Go figure.

You giggled coyly into his lips, letting a soft moan ease through your teeth. Bringing your hands up to the hair/ear-things on his head, you toyed with them. Your pretty voice teased him, as you played with his hair in gentle strokes of your thumbs.

“Ooooh…such a good boy, huh? Fast too.” You cooed, the same way one might praise a puppy.

Oh. Fuck yeah. To hell with sitcom tropes and bogus wives. Agnes scared the ever-loving shit out of Pietro anyway. He had no semblance of a domestic connection to her. Not that she gave much of a damn herself. With how often she threw insults his way. Agnes always used Ralph as her little punching bag, before hijacking his body for her own gain.

No wonder your simple praises got his proverbial tail wagging.

A chuckle hummed in the back of his throat, as Pietro purred into your lips, “Speed’s kinda my middle name, y’know?”

You snorted one of the dorkiest laughs he’d heard since cognisant birth. And with a sudden spark of primal urgency; Pietro felt something else spring into transcendence down below. 

Sifting through Ralph’s sidelined psyche, Pietro came to realize how much of a recluse he was. The guy never seemed to get out much. In fact, Agnes might’ve even been his first partner. If one could classify her as such. So, really, Pietro was doing him a major favor. If Ralph knew he planned on using their body for some frisky fun - on an otherwise lonely Hallow’s eve - surely, he’d give his brain roomie some thanks.

Pietro’s hands were vascular like a wired-up machine, clad in arm-warmer paws. Grabbing hard onto your curvy hips with them, he pulled you in closer. He sought the friction of your crotch against his. And after some seriously sloppy making out, Pietro dropped you an invite to his place.

Or…Agnes’s place.

Uh…or…was it technically Ralph’s? Shit, this sitcom roleplay sure gave way to some mental gymnastics.

You didn’t expect Pietro to zip you off at superspeed. Moving abruptly fast, he brought you straight to his disaster of a man cave. Laying you back on the futon, he gave you little time to adjust over the blankets. The wrinkled fabrics reeked of pot, in desperate need of a wash. You got as comfy as you could on the skunky sheets. Blinking your needy gaze up at him, you tugged his white belt, pulling the band undone. Pietro grinned lazily, colliding his swollen lips into yours. His primal instincts left him wreckless with want. 

Burying his tongue in the cavern of your mouth, he brought with him the flavor of cheap booze. As you tasted him, you moaned, shucking his dumb jorts down his hips. A sizable swelling twitched in his tights, squirming under muted blue. Your eyes bulged in their sockets, cartoonishly wide. The way you whirled your tongue across your lip gave off a vibe of animalistic hunger. As though you were eager for an all dick dinner. With Pietro as the appetizer.

And the main course. And the dessert. He hoped you'd rate him five stars.

Restaurant metaphors aside; this was the very first test of his capabilities as a lover, after all. If he couldn’t live up to his superhero name, maybe he could make a name for himself in other ways.

Pietro Speed Maximoff. Quicksilver. Cunning Linguist.

But first…he really should satiate your hunger.

One, generous tug downward, and Pietro’s - or Ralph’s - slightly above average length sprang out. Bouncing in your face in mesmerizing oscillation, his cock appeared pulsating and roused. Thick veins weaved like threads through his shaft, akin to his vascular hands. His balls bulged in his tights, his jorts hanging halfway down his thighs. Pietro took his blistering cock in hand. Aching for the kind of stimulation Ralph never got, his desire painted him so flush and ruby red. 

Since you looked so delighted at the sight before you; Pietro gave his cock a few strokes. He played with himself for your viewing pleasure. And as his firm grip tugged his shaft, the world pulled suddenly back. It was as though Pietro viewed life through a third person perspective. Metaphorical cameras fixed their lenses on the two of you, in an all too human position of closeness. 

The weight of a cock in Pietro’s hand felt both familiar, yet weirdly foreign. Combine that with the sight of another living, breathing body below him; and his nerves buzzed uncomfortably. Frenzied in such a way that matched the quick pulsing of his heart. Focusing instead on your fluttering eyes, Pietro weaned himself out of dissociation. Your hands braced his hips, thumbs circling the fabric of his tights. The gentle gesture brought chills throughout his body. Inching forward, you teased his bobbing cock with a flick of your tongue.

Wet heat grounded him in reality. Upon racing to the forefront of his own mind; Pietro’s breath hitched with a husky groan. He held your head, massaging his fingers in your soft hair. Cute mewls spilled from your lips as you flitted your eyes shut. Swirling your tongue over his cock’s puffy head, you lapped any tearful pearls of precum. His thickness sank between your plush lips, and Pietro’s own lips parted for breath.

Of all things to happen on Halloween night, getting his dick sucked wasn’t on the docket.

Not that Pietro had any reason to complain. This? Wicked awesome. Ralph was really missing out.

You drew lazily back just to lap his balls over his tights, staining fabric with slick saliva. Rolling the tip of your tongue up the underside of his dick, you giggled in that dorkish way again. Pietro’s teeth pulled his lip as he tilted his head back. His dick twitched, throbbing while the heat of your mouth embraced him fully. He moaned, smiling wide enough to show off his dimples. You pumped his cock at the base, teasing his veins with your tongue.

Pietro’s brows turned inward. You suckled his head like you longed to guzzle anything he could give. He sank his fingers deeper through your hair, holding on tightly as he rutted his hips. With each slam of his weeping tip into your throat; he hoarsely grunted. You really did try your best, just for him. Even as tears spilled down your cheeks and your lips began to swell. Plush and puffy, circling his slick length. Pietro kicked up the speed at which he rutted.

Fighting his instincts, he was cautious enough not to choke you. Or, he wanted to be cautious. He braced his hands on both sides of your tear stained face, his arm warmer paws soft against your cheeks. Sinking his dick even deeper between your lips, he accidentally went balls deep. The wet fabric of his tights smothered your chin. You sputtered on his cock, which made your throat wring him so tight. As your tongue curled, sliding under the thrum of his veins; Pietro cursed. Playful chuckles and shameful apologies fell from his lips.

Bitter heat coated your tongue in sweltering jets, thick and explosive down your throat. Pietro’s groin twisted in a blossoming surge of pleasure. And as he ruptured your esophagus with his sticky load, he found himself that much more grounded. As if such a bombastic nut somehow tethered him to reality - securing Pietro from any further derealization. 

Righteous. His first big O since Agnes blessed him with the gift of consciousness. Significantly more electrifying than any sad, jerk sesh Ralph had in the past. And since you so humbly took him like a champ - giving Pietro a most euphoric experience; he saw it fit to return the favor ASAP.

Neither Pietro - nor Ralph, it seemed - had any experience toying around with partners. But he did have a vague knowledge of how to do so. Thanks to the backlog of not-so-safe-for-work memories deep in his subconscious. Raunchy porn, mostly. Magazines. Tapes. Jesus, Ralph…why’s there so much dirty stuff in there, huh? Lots and lots of it. Pietro would have to do his own research later.

He gave you no time to prep for his oncoming nose dive. Perched on your knees, coughing and clearing your throat - you found yourself abruptly resting on your elbows. Your upper back pressed into the futon. Pietro lifted your hips, using his strength to hike your thighs over his broad shoulders. As you parted your swollen lips to protest, blinking your reddened eyes; Pietro pulled your panties to the side. He kept the soaked lace pinned under a thick thumb. Burying his lips in your cunt, he lapped up your honeyed heat.

A sudden addiction, triggered by something carnal, overtook him instantly. Pietro became hooked on your fragrant flavor, swirling your cute bud in high-speed circles. He worked your stiff clit like a microscopic joystick, flicking wet heat in a spastic whirlwind. Alternating between drawing patterns, and sucking your precious pearl hard. Pietro so easily made you squeal - even without any prior experience - until you scratched your fingernails deep into Ralph’s sheets. Kissing your cunt, he let his thirst take over, and dove deeper.

The tune of his name melting through your moans made him wish the night would last forever. A small fraction of him hoped Ralph would never take over again. If consciousness offered rewards this scrumptious, Pietro wanted to stay sentient into eternity. Not to be selfish or whatever, but he almost considered playing minion for Agnes again - if only to secure the lifespan of his psyche.

Your supple, pussy lips parted as he wormed his tongue through your slick walls. Smooth, bumpy heat squeezed the fuzzy ridges of his tongue. In milliseconds, your fluttery love gushed over his taste buds and leaked down his chin. Tears teased the edges of your eyes. You cried whines of sugary bliss. Pietro’s thumb kept your panties pinned, his other hand locked around your thigh.

He smirked into your pussy, deep chuckles burning hot on your mound. And since the position wasn’t exactly the most comfortable; he allowed you some reprieve. Pushing you past your breaking point at light speed, Pietro bashed the sopping slickness of his tongue into your clit. You trembled, shuddering through powerful waves of orgasmic intensity. White-hot flashes of light flooded your vision. Under Pietro’s zippy tongue, your sweet pussy quivered.

Totes mcgoats. If he learned anything tonight - aside from the obvious lessons in subtlety; Pietro now understood why the everyday man lost his doggone marbles over puss.

After your first release, he eased your tired body into the futon. Your back met cozy blankets, engulfed in that skunk weed scent. Before you relaxed, he edged you even longer, drawing out your pleasurable suffering. Pietro sank his fingers deep into your heat, pumping the length of them inside you. His digits curled perfectly, finding every spongy spot that made your core burst with a desire to cum again. His tongue teased your swollen nub until you grabbed at his hair. You mussed the funny looking ear things atop his head, pressing your palm into his forehead to try and push him back.

You begged him to stop. Pleading in disoriented whimpers, your noises went straight to his limp dick. A few more hot, wrathful waves of pleasure later - he finally stopped. Only after your cunt erupted in one more, wet burst. You leaked like a fountain into his lips, soaking his chin, even making a mess of his makeshift costume. More than worth it. Pietro sat up on the futon, admiring his handiwork. He wiped his mouth with one of his arm warmer paws. Your mouth fell agape as your lungs begged for air. More tears sparkled on your flushed cheeks, mirroring the twinkle of your pussy. Pretty as a rose in a rainshower.

With your sluggish arms, you gestured for Pietro to climb over you. And once he did, you pulled him into a lazy kiss without a single care. You paid no mind to the taste of your sweetness on his lips, or the scent of your musk on his chin. Sleepily blinking, you bravely asked if you could stay the night. Too tuckered out to even consider a long walk back home.

Pietro could just as easily speed you over to your place. But even at the risk of his not-wife catching him in bed with someone else - he felt too adverse to loneliness. Besides...your company brought him more delight than he ever expected of anyone. Settling into the futon, he popped on Ralph’s old TV set.

Cheers was on. Pietro snickered to himself, rolling his dark eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, snuggled up against Pietro’s strong form. He’d changed clothes at some point in the night, finally foregoing the tights. Oh, and he lended you one of Ralph’s shirts too. A Grateful Dead t-shirt, of which you were very grateful. Hah, “You don’t like Cheers?”

Pietro shrugged, sipping a beer. A Busch beer. He scowled at the taste, curling his lip.

“Eh. More of a Frasier kinda guy.”

[dd-is-my-guiltypleasure]

Everyone’s gone UFO crazy. Maybe The X-Files should come back

Chrissy Iley

MARCH 2, 2024

Starring in a poignant new film adapted from his own novel, David Duchovny reveals the heartache of almost losing his daughter... and why his most famous show could yet return

No wonder David Duchovny has written, directed and stars in his latest movie Bucky F***ing Dent... it’s based on his own bestselling 2016 novel of the same name. Poignant and funny, it examines a father-son relationship via baseball, with X-Files star David playing Marty the dad, who’s dying of lung cancer, and Logan Marshall-Green from Spider-Man: Homecoming as his estranged son Ted.

The real Bucky Dent went down in history for scoring an unlikely home run for the New York Yankees in a 1978 tie-breaker against arch rivals the Boston Red Sox, and the film’s title is how generations of Boston fans have referred to him ever since, a metaphor for heartbreak. Set in that same year, the film follows struggling writer Ted as he moves back into his childhood home when he hears his father is dying, prompting a whirlwind of dark revelations from the past. Meanwhile, Boston fan Marty’s health dips whenever his beloved Red Sox lose, so New York fan Ted orchestrates the illusion of a Boston winning streak...

Marty has transferred his feelings for an old flame (the secret love of his life, not his wife) to the Red Sox. ‘The intensity of fandom has always puzzled me,’ says David. ‘It has to be a kind of sublimation. My father and I liked playing baseball; my best childhood memory is playing it with him and enjoying the simple communication you can have through a game, but we didn’t share the fandom thing.

‘Marty’s transposed his feelings for this woman to the Red Sox, and the movie is really about the idea of losing. In America there’s a sick addiction to winning and winners, but most of us have to lose every day. Suffering makes us human - it unites us all.’

There’s a moment in the film when Marty is talking about a chest infection that almost killed Ted as a child. Marty says he begged God or whoever to take his lungs instead and let Ted live. ‘One thing I’ve never told anyone is that when my daughter was nine months old she got really ill,’ reveals David. ‘Her mother [actress Tea Leoni] and I had to face the fact we might lose her and I remember feeling so devastated, I didn’t think I could love anything again if she died.’

His daughter West, now 24, has since become a successful actress who seems to have inherited her mother’s stunning blonde looks and her father’s charisma. ‘I think she has a greater passion for acting than either of her parents ever did,’ he says. They also have a son Kyd, 21, and David says the hardest moment of his life was telling them he and Tea were divorcing ten years ago, as his own parents had done when he was 12. ‘It was far worse telling them than actually experiencing it. When you’re a child you just try to get through it, you don’t feel responsible. As a parent I felt at least 50 per cent responsible.’

Tall and thin with good skin and an easy charm, David seems untouched by the ageing process, although this role is a huge shift from the Lotharios he usually plays, such as bed-hopping writer Hank in comedy-drama series Californication. Does getting older bother him? ‘Of course, and as an actor you have to think of the different roles you’ll be offered. When I was writing this script I was thinking I’d play Ted, the son. We tried to make it four or five years ago and I was still going to play Ted, but then when it came to doing it I realised it just wouldn’t work, so I thought I’d play Marty. And that was exciting because it was very different.’

Californication won two Emmys and a Golden Globe, but was notorious for its portrayal of LA’s seedier side. Does he think it could be made now? ‘Certainly they would insist on intimacy coaches, but I don’t think it would be made now, for the wrong reasons. There was a misunderstanding about what it was about. It was meant to be funny, and it was meant to be about family and love. But what everybody got excited about was not that,’ he says, referring to the furore over the sex scenes. ‘In my mind the show was misperceived.’

Another of David’s roles that would spark a row today was a transgender FBI agent in Twin Peaks in the early 90s, when almost no transgender women were on TV. Again it was groundbreaking. ‘But if you’re playing a murderer no one asks you, “Have you murdered people?”’ he says. ‘It was just being an actor.’

David is, of course, best known for The X-Files, in which he played UFO-obsessed FBI agent Mulder opposite Gillian Anderson’s sceptical Scully. The series finally bowed out in 2018 after 11 series, but could there ever be another? ‘Maybe - it might even be more current now,’ he says, referring to the recent release of top-secret UFO files in the US. ‘I’m not personally interested in UFOs so it doesn’t make it more exciting for me to revisit The X-Files. It was a role I played but I wasn’t passionate about the subject. Maybe I’m the only one who isn’t.’

There was a brouhaha at the time about the huge pay discrepancy between David and Gillian, and I wonder if it would be difficult for him to work with her again. ‘As far as I know, by the end there was no difference at all between us, but Hollywood salaries are very weird,’ he says. ‘I’m going to London soon and I’ll see Gillian because she lives there now. I saw her in the West End doing All About Eve and I enjoyed it. She wished me luck with Bucky too.’

In recent years David has explored his passion for music, releasing a couple of folk-rock albums. So does he see himself as an actor, a director or a musician? ‘All of them, I’m an artist,’ he says. ‘I can filter stuff through a song, a novel, a performance or through directing. There are all kinds of ways of being an artist. I write best about dramatic things. There’s a way to deal with suffering to create art.’

Bucky F***ing Dent, Glasgow Film Festival, Wednesday. Visit glasgowfilm.org

[mommyclaws]

Opinions on Leopardstar? I haven't read leopardstar's Honor yet, not sure what happens there, but I've heard it's somewhat disappointing.

I was always somewhat angry that she never really mentioned Tigerstar after the whole Tigerclan thing, and we never really got to see how she felt about the whole thing, just that the people she sent to die really didn't like her.

A Shadow in Riverclan also kinda did the same thing where she gave a little pep talk and suddenly everything was ok for Feathertail, after she had horrible ptsd from Leopardstar

I want to like her but she's such a nothing character imo to actually have an opinion on because I think she was done pretty dirty, as Riverclan and her weren't really the focus of the series for so long

I consider myself a Leopardstar fan. I’ve been wanting to talking about my feelings/view on her for a while so i’ll put all my thoughts here!

The direction they took with her in canon is dissatisfying but she has alot of groundwork that gives her interesting potential. Her father is a medic- formerly warrior- who changed his position because he is against violence. She turns into everything Mudfur wanted to escape from. Too proud, itching for a battle, apathetic to the suffering of the other clans. And even if it was a let down, I can appreciate the authors at least tried to do more with her character than let her off the hook as easily as Blackfoot.

I like her mostly in comparison to my dislike for Blackstar's character. He teamed with Brokenstar and Tigerstar, committed murders and didn’t protest to the abuse of his own clan. He does nothing to atone and doesn't even seem particularly remorseful but he's still rewarded by being made leader. Leopardstar was already in power when she made the decisions that cost cats their lives. Cats trusted her to protect them and her neglect threw them into savagery and death. Standing by to allow kits and her own deputy be slaughtered is GRUESOME. I read her as someone blinded by ambition, just another product of the code. She misjudged then got in over her head with Tigerclan and was willing to toss others aside to save her own tail. Maybe she truly is remorseful, but it doesn't change what she did. Nothing can.

Crookedstar's leadership was very relaxed and she considered him weak. He gave up land to Shadowclan, he could never keep Sunningrocks, he allowed Thunderclan to take refugee on multiple occasions, and all of the half clan cats he accepts are seemingly only because they're his kin. She had thoughts of making Riverclan powerful and feared once he was out of the picture, it's why she completely disregarded his dying wishes- She couldn't bring herself to respect him.

The politics of Riverclan change drastically with her nine lives. Closed borders and no tolerance for Thunderclan, not even Graystripe, who only wanted to be with his kits. Riverclan is strong. But it could be stronger, couldn't it? She and Tigerclaw served as deputies together, even if he was the enemy, she thought well of him. He is a fierce and respected Thunderclan warrior. Or so he was. While she initially thought it a red flag he was now serving Shadowclan, she couldn't disagree with him for leaving Thunderclan when she already had so much resentment for them and ruling Shadowclan, it was true. They had been weaken for many moons, it was Tigerstar who reunited them and made them powerful. So when he promises to make her clan just as powerful, together, she doesnt refuse.

She very consistently and vocally had a dislike for half-clan cats. She exiled Graystripe. She calls Featherpaw and Stormpaw liabilities. She banishes Stormfur and Brook. I think she has very genuine hateful beliefs but at the same time she’s horrified at what happened to Stonefur. That was a cat she was trusting to become the next leader of Riverclan. And he was killed for defending innocent lives. She knows she was wrong, she regrets it, she has nightmares about the bonehill. (<- This was confirmed by an author apparently!) but her attempts to “atone” are surface level and shallow at best. She wants to be forgiven without changing. She makes Mistyfoot deputy to show she’s better now, but what meaning does that position have after Stonefur was slaughtered? She apologizes to Feathertail and Stormfur, but they still feel like complete outcasts. They’re more friendly with their former clanmates in Thunderclan and Leopardstar later exiles Stormfur over a faked sign. I think her attempts were never to better herself or right her victims, but to relieve her own guilt. She’s always prioritized herself above others.

[cat-mentality]

PLS ELABORATE ON THIS [the theory on which eggs fit which sins]

OKAY BUCKLE UP ANON!!!! This is straight up tin foil hat territory, i'm just like manifesting from nothing because it is incredibly fun in my mind

For this to make a little of sense i'm going to consider Purgatory as my catholic school taught me- A place where the sinners go to repent to their sins, either for all of eternity, if the sins are too big or too terrible, or until they have been forgiven and i'm taking Dante's inferno as my guideline on how this whole thing operates.

I'm also going with the theory that Black Cucurucho was the one responsible for taking the eggs/scaring them away, maybe to make them vulnerable and fall on his trap, is my personal theory that the Black Cucurucho is literally the anti-Federation, as in order versus chaos and as such he is looking to destroy everything the Federation is building and using the egg's to do so (and also Cellbit!!! If it's not the Rebels giving him the information i bet on Black Cucurucho more than the Feds themselves).

So, basically: The eggs get kidnapped by this new strange force (not evil per say, not more than the Federation itself, but less interested in pretending not to be, like the Anfitrião in Ordem Paranormal) and they get stuck in Purgatory, who is made by 9th circles, divided by the type of sinners they are set to punish. The tickets are the passage to get into the circles, Virgil acted as Dante's guide in this case the train will be responsible for taking them from one circle (island) to the next IF they manage to complete whatever task will be set in their way.

I believe the placement of each egg (in my delulu head) has less to do with their own sins, as the Black Cucurucho is not really interested in them but rather in the suffering he can inflict on the parents using them, but in the mortal flaw he sees on their parents.

Chayenne i would put being stuck in the 1st circle, Limbo. It's the less worse of the nine as it is the place where the unbaptized and virtuous pagan stay, endlessly walking in eternal darkness.

Why you ask me?

Well Chayenne IS the son of the Angel of Death. His other father is also a being blessed by death (or cursed with life, your pick). He worships the Blood God. He is dear to the Goddess of Death herself.

What's more pagan than that?

Besides Chayenne IS virtuous himself, he is a warrior, devout to the Blood God however not for bloodlust, but for the desire of protecting those he loves and cherishes. Little Chayenne, walking endlessly searching for his siblings, praying to his fathers' goddesses to shine a light, to show him the way, to protect his siblings, but receiving nothing back as the goddesses is forbidden from interfering with the living, even the ones toying the line into her realm.

I actually changed my mind and we are putting Tallulah in the 2nd circle, Luxury. Now, we about to play loose with the definition of luxury here as this is the circle where the damned are tormented with strong winds that drag them through hell, i'm focusing not on Luxury as a carnal sin, but rather the element of desire.

And for this we are going to consider Wilbur as the parent being punished, not Philza.

Wilbur who left for fame.

Wilbur who left for months and months and months. Who lusted for the world, who wanted to be known, who wanted to be adored, who lusted after a life of his dreams.

Wilbur who in his lust for the world forgot the one person who always considered him her whole world.

Tallulah lusting after safety, lusting for a place to belong, lusting to leave a mark in the world so that it doesn't forget her, trying to grab onto anything to prove her worth and her value but now being stuck in those winds. dragged without a destination, powerless and alone.

Pomme is then in the 3rd circle, Gluttony. The 3rd circle is the circle for those who were gluttons, who over indulged, are now stuck in pits of dirty, freezing mud, tormented by Cerberus and also a storm of snow, hail and thunder.

Etoiles, always hungry for the next fight, for the next dungeon, for the next opponent.

Baghera always hungry for answers, for things she cannot have, cannot do (she wants an explanation about what happened to her, she wants to save her friends when she cannot even save herself, she desires for the world to be good and kind).

Antoine, always hungry for power, selling his soul, his family, to achieve it. Devouring faces, devouring stories, devouring lives, swallowing everything whole until he doesn't even know who he was supposed to really be.

Pierre always hungry for connection, for warmth, hungry for those he meets, trying to fill the void in his heart with the temporary warmth of another body.

Pomme hungry for adventures, hungry to prove that she is worth of love (she remembers, those first days, the distrusts, the coldness, the way they considered not taking her and she never wants to feel that cold), Pomme being stuck, helpless when she knows so very well that helplessness gets you killed, that it makes you weak and unworthy.

The 4th circle, Avarice is empty, of the eggs at least. A respite, as much as they can have in that place.

They find Ramon in the 5th circle, Wrath. Localized on the Styx, the river that cuts through the Purgatory, made of boiling water and blood, that is the place where the wrathful are locked on eternal fights on the surface of the river, on the bottom the sullen are forever stuck drowning on the things they never got to say.

Fit who lived his whole life in a desolate wasteland where fighting was the only thing he could do. Fit who knew no rest, no peace, no sound of those fighting and those dying.

Fit who fought his whole life, who is still fighting, who doesn't know how to rest, who doesn't know how to forgive, who chokes on his wrath, who forces it down his throat because he wants to be better but anger was all that he knew during most of his life.

Fit who looks at those people in their eternal battle, bleeding and making others bleed for no reason, with no end in sight, with no real purpose but to cause harm, and feels at home.

Ramon who tries so hard to be light, to support and help his father in whatever he needs, who drowns his own feelings because he doesn't want to bother others, because he wants to be the rock they can lean on, drowning at the bottom of the Styx.

Leonarda is on the 6th circle, Heresy. This is the circle where the sinners had the intention of sinning, the one destined to those who denied the existence of god, who went against the beliefs of their time, and now they lay on open graves as fire burns them.

And what is Foolish if not a non believer?

He believes in no god, no authority, no deity. He believes in himself, he believes in his family, he believes in what he thinks is right.

Oh he plays pretend of course, he smiles at the Federation, he works for them, he joins the Ordo, he participates in their reunions, but do he believe in any of them? Does he commit to one dogma over the other?

Of course not.

Foolish is a non believer. He will join the side that offers him the most, he will betray them as easily as he joined, he will jump from a place to another as long as that keeps his family safe, as long as that is what is better for them.

Foolish who sins and smiles as he does so.

Little Leonarda who believes in her Pa above everything and anything else, burning in a never ending fire. Little Leonarda who doesn't give a fuck about anything else as long as he is okay, as long as he is by her side, who would follow him into whatever mess he got himself into, who couldn't care less about other's morals or expectations, who would gladly sin as long as they are together.

Richarlyson is on the 7th circle, Violence. This circle is actually divided in three parts but i think only two would be used the Valley of the Phlegethon where the ones who were violent against others were submerged on a river of the blood of those they hurt, and the valley of the suicidal, where those who were violent against themselves became either trees, eaten by harpies or chased by hungry dogs.

And well, it's self explanatory isn't it?

Who has spilled more blood than Cellbit? Between the war, the prison and not the Island he has enough blood on his account to drown them all.

Forever? Oh there are bloodbaths in his past too. There is rage that blinds, that takes hold of him and only leaves when he is standing in the aftermath of a carnage.

Mike does not mind blood. Never has, never will.

And who hurts Pac more than he does himself? Who hates Cellbit more than he hates himself? Who blames Forever for things, more than himself?

They may turn their rage against the world, may bath it into blood, may spill it until rivers form but they drown themselves in it too.

And Richarlyson? Little boy who saw too much, who knew death and suffering too early, who lives at war with a part of himself who wants nothing but to hurt and destroy.

Finally, Dapper is on the 8th circle, Fraud. This circle has ten pits in it, each designated to a type of sinner with their own punishment, raking from being whipped by demons to being submerged into boiling tar or being dressed into shiny clothes who were as heavy as lead.

And what is BadboyHalo if not a fraud?

Who even knows who he truly is, what he truly thinks? Probably not even himself.

This is a man of many layers and many masks, a man who presents himself in any way he thinks is right regardless of what he truly feels or thinks, this is a man who will lie to anyone, including himself.

This is a man who embodies every single sin punished, who could easily be put into any of the pits. Is he not a seducer? Is he not a liar and a thief? Corrupted by his own darkness? A hypocrite, to others and to himself? Does he not sow discord, does he not give bad advice?

And isn't Dapper too much like their father? Little Dapper who lies and lies and lies, who hides behind her own masks, who is now being punished because they do not know who they truly are underneath all the masks.

And the 9th circle, the last one?

Betrayal.

Sometimes the only way to leave hell, to leave Purgatory, is to be worse than the devils.

[here2bbtstrash]

look down on me like that - 8 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst that is no longer eventual 👀)

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: *deep breath in* 15.3k

contains: explicit sexual content and discussion of some dark themes .....yyyyyep 🤐 includes past-tense discussions of the d3ath of a parent (reader's) and su1c1dal ideation (yoongi's) so please tread carefully loves 💜 some references to alcohol per usual, and plenty of confusing feelings and piss-poor communication..... i'll leave the rest as a surprise 👀 but here are your smut-specific warnings: kissing (‼️), nipple play, clit stim, a single pussy slap lol, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting (🤭), unprotected sex and pulling out (💀), orgasm denial of sorts, but it's cool bc reader has multiple orgasms, ok byeeeee~

A/N: welp..... i'm off to enter witness protection in case you all decide you hate this chapter 💀 not really but heuhjkghkfjgdsf dear god am i nervous to post this lmfao. hope you're ready for some ~answers to questions~ and a whole lotta callbacks to earlier chapters idk why i shoved them all in ch8 specifically but here you go. the scene at yoongi's apartment was one of the very first things i dreamt up in regards to this story and it's nuts to me that we're all the way here now 💜 hope you're ready for a little more insight into these two! also baby goth fans don't come for me..... i promise we'll get a better resolution there..... reader and yoongi just have to survive LA first 😩

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for being wonderful betas, and to @nabiolive for the dead parent sensitivity read lmfao I LOVE Y'ALL

read on AO3!

chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine

~*~

In the morning, you wake up well before your alarm with an inexplicable uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. When it’s clear sleep is a lost cause, you decide to just get up, and you move through your routine slowly. Everything feels distant, not quite real, like it’s happening to someone else.

On the bus ride to the office, you let your eyes drop closed and try desperately not to replay the events of last night back. You should feel bad about the sex on the conference room table, and you do, a little. But your mind is stuck somewhere else.

Rain streaking down Yoongi’s windshield. The silence as he drove, disturbed only by the low rumble of his voice. The way he’d looked at you, and the heavy pause that hung in the air between you, for just a moment, until you’d fumbled open the door of his car and had practically ran back to the safety of your apartment. And his story— he’d told you something personal, with no malice or hidden agenda that you can manage to find, no matter how much you search for one. Something from when he was just a kid, growing up in Daegu.

You’re embarrassed to admit that it never even occurred to you that Min Yoongi might be a person with a past and a hometown and stories to tell. As long as you’ve known him, he’s always just felt like… a menace. A life-ruiner. An inescapable force.

The thoughts follow you as you step off the bus and make your way into the building and onto the elevator. You can’t figure it out. Yoongi could’ve easily left you to suffer in the rain, but instead he did something nice for you, without asking for anything in return. He’d related to you. He’d let you in, barely, but it’s something.

And you have no idea what to make of it.

Polite small talk with Jungkook as you unlock the front doors is a decent distraction, but you wonder if he can tell that you’re not all the way there today. You set your bag on your desk, then circle around to take a seat, only half-listening as he continues to talk.

“Did you stay late last night?”

You swear your heart stops beating. “What?”

He shrugs, like it’s an obvious question. “There’s the big overseas thing today. I’m sure you had a bunch of stuff to prep. Hopefully it wasn’t too late of a night?”

“No.” The word comes out harsher than you mean it to. You’re not quite sure why your body is suddenly doing emotional alchemy, taking your fear of being caught and somehow turning it into anger. “It wasn’t,” you say firmly.

Jungkook makes a face, like he knows he’s touched a nerve but can’t figure out why. “Okay. That’s good.”

You don’t respond— you just try to control your breathing, try to will your heart to quit racing as you start up your laptop and pretend to suddenly be engrossed in it.

“Well,” he tries again after a moment’s pause. “I guess I’ll see you at the presentation thing.”

“Okay,” you answer, your voice a little softer this time, but you’re still too scared to look away from your screen. When you do eventually work up the courage, he’s already gone.

Before you even have the chance to glance back down, like some universal joke at your expense, the front door of the office is pushed open, and Yoongi steps through. Annoyed as you are, you can only be grateful that his entrance didn’t overlap with Jungkook’s question. You probably would have died of embarrassment on the spot.

Yoongi’s usual dark sunglasses are nowhere to be found today, and he’s in nice clothes for the presentation, a button-down and dress pants, his hair styled. He does still have a death grip on a large iced coffee, but that’s to be expected, especially given the fact that he’s in a lot earlier than is typical for him.

It’s only when his eyes snap over to you for the briefest of seconds that you see the dark shadows sunken deep beneath them, weighing heavy on his face.

Yoongi’s gaze moves back to the hallway in front of him as quickly as it alighted on you. You open your mouth before you even understand why you’re doing it.

“Yoongi?”

He stops dead in his tracks and blinks at you a few times, clearly tired, clearly not expecting the interruption. “Yeah?”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

His mouth pulls into a flat line as he shakes his head. “Nerves. It’s why I don’t do stuff like this. Unless forced.”

You nod, unsure of what to say— or why you even asked. “Oh. Well, uh. Good luck.”

Yoongi lifts his coffee in a parting gesture, then disappears toward his lab without another word.

You try to focus on your work, to shove the interaction to the back of your mind with everything else you’re avoiding, but the screen seems to blur in front of you, until you finally push back from your desk with an exasperated sigh. The emails can wait.

Maybe, you consider, it would be good to stretch your legs. You can head into the presentation room early to set up before everyone arrives, and make sure everything is working for the several hours of agenda lined up for the morning.

Setting your shoulders back, you grab your things and make your way down the hallway. The thought feels like a good idea until you push the door open and encounter a severe case of deja vu.

Yoongi glances up from his laptop at the front of the room, blearily rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. “Is it time already?”

You hover in the threshold, unsure. “Uh— I mean, not quite. I’m early. I can go, if you want.”

He shrugs, busying himself with something on his computer screen. “You’ll have to hear it anyway. Can I just run through it one more time?”

You take a few tentative steps forward, dropping your bag and laptop on the table, right where you sat to watch him the night before. The energy in the room feels entirely different now, and your stomach is twisted into knots that you can’t manage to breathe deep enough to untangle.

“Yeah, fine.” You pause, unable to help yourself. “Just… don’t expect the same treatment as last night.”

Yoongi huffs a dark laugh. “I wasn’t.”

Taking a seat at the table, you set about your admin duties and try to ignore the way Yoongi mumbles over his presentation as he taps through his slides at the front of the room. There’s only so much you can do without bothering him, and you fly through those tasks all-too quickly. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth as you glance back up at Yoongi, and then you inhale to steady yourself before you speak.

“Can you turn on the mic?”

His head snaps up, caught off guard. “Hmm?”

“I need to make sure the mic is working.” Yoongi’s gaze flits to the podium’s built in-microphone, then back to you as he presses the switch to turn it on. “Say something into it,” you instruct. “It doesn’t matter what.”

Yoongi’s eyes move back to the microphone, and it’s like you can see the delay in his brain from lack of sleep. You don’t know what you were expecting— maybe a half-assed ‘check, check’, at worst some sexual or smart-ass remark. Instead, he leans in far closer than is necessary, until his mouth is nearly touching the microphone as he whispers into it.

“Sugaaaaa.”

The live demo of the notorious producer tag that intros all of his tracks is so ridiculous, so unexpected, that you can’t help it. You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth a few seconds too late. “What the fuck was that?!” The question is only muffled slightly by your palm.

Yoongi’s head drops forward, his dark hair falling in his face, and you can see his shoulders shaking with laughter, too. “Sorry,” he manages with a gasp for breath, tilting back up to speak into the microphone, which you can now actually tell is working properly. “I’m so fucking tired, I think I’m going insane.”

You uncover your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief.

The sudden loud buzz of your phone against the conference room table makes you jump, and you quickly reach for it, for fear it might be an emergency text from your boss that needs immediate attention. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see it’s actually from Jungkook.

Presentation thing? Wanna sit together?

You read the words again and again, and a strange feeling rises up in your chest that you can’t quite name. As you stare down at your phone, you hear the distinct sound of Yoongi’s laptop shutting, and then his voice, no longer amplified by the microphone when he mutters to himself, “Fuck it. It’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, you glance up at Yoongi again, then back down at the text. With a final hard swallow, you turn your phone on silent and flip it over on the table, leaving Jungkook’s question unanswered.

The time is close enough now that you get to your feet to prop open the presentation room door, and then your colleagues quickly start to file into the space, filling in the seats around the large U-shaped arrangement of tables. It’s everything you can do to keep your expression neutral as your brain unhelpfully reminds you that Yoongi fucked you on one of these tables last night.

You try to manage something close to a smile when your boss enters with the team from the American office in tow, and you proceed to exchange pleasantries with them and fake laugh at their jokes when he introduces you.

As you’re listening diplomatically to one of them drone on about the flight to Seoul, you spot Jungkook slip in the door out of the corner of your eye, and it takes extra effort to keep the smile plastered on your face. The seats on either side of yours have long since been taken, and you glance over to see his eyes sweep the room before he moves to take an open spot at the far end. 

You watch unabashedly now as he leans back in his chair, tilting to one side to pull his phone out of his pocket, and you can only pray he’s watching TikToks with the sound off rather than checking for a text that’s never coming.

When your manager repeats a question meant for you, your attention snaps back to the group. Sure your smile is nearly a grimace now, you apologize and blame the distraction on needing more coffee, which is enough to earn you a polite chuckle.

Eventually the room takes their seats as your manager moves to the front to start the presentation. You stay focused on copying down minutes as various speakers go through the company’s financials for the previous four quarters, the roadmap for the coming years, and a summary of top-level talent that the label has signed or directly worked with.

The discussion of talent leads smoothly into a quick review of achievements and nominations, and then Yoongi steps to the front of the room.

As he launches in, you can’t get over the stark difference between the Yoongi you’re used to and the one standing behind the podium in front of you. The man with the easy, confident, cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found, replaced with someone who barely looks up from his slides and speaks at a rushed pace, like he’s trying to get the words out as fast as possible. You bite down firmly on your bottom lip and try not to react at all.

He’s nearly halfway done now, and just as you’re thinking he might make it through the whole thing unscathed, Yoongi stumbles slightly over his words. It’s not a lot, a little slip-up that the rest of the room probably didn’t even notice, but you see a momentary flash of panic in his dark eyes. And then those eyes snap up to meet yours, and your stomach drops.

The memory of the two of you in this room, the thought of what you’d be doing to him if you were alone again, the way you could so easily make his voice shake and his knees threaten to buckle with just your mouth— it’s all too much.

You can’t help yourself as the smile you’ve been desperately trying to hide starts to spread across your face, equal parts supportive and indecent.

There’s a beat of silence, not long enough for anyone to think anything of it, and then Yoongi drops your gaze as quickly as he found it. He squints back down at his computer screen, and though he leans away from the microphone, you don’t miss the unmistakable sound of him clearing his throat.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs, and then he picks up where he left off, managing to get back on track without further issue.

You desperately try to ignore the warm flush of heat that creeps up your neck as Yoongi goes through the rest of his slides.

Time seems to speed by in a rush after his presentation, and you barely manage to keep up with the barrage of content. You’re more than grateful when your manager inevitably wraps up the session, reminding everyone to head to a nearby restaurant for a team lunch immediately following.

As the room begins to empty, you take your time finishing up the notes and firing them off to the broader audience. When you finally close your laptop and look up, you realize nearly everyone has left now, though as fate would have it, Yoongi has also lagged behind. He’s standing hunched over the conference room table as he types something into his own laptop.

You try not to overthink it as you hug your computer to your chest and take a few steps toward him. “Yoongi?”

He hums a response, and when he glances up at you, the bags under his eyes are just as prominent as before.

“Are you, uh— coming to lunch?”

He rolls his eyes, like the question is ridiculous. “I can’t. I’m drowning in shit I put off for the last two days.”

His words make you take a step back, and you immediately feel stupid for asking. Why do you even care what he does? “Right. Got it.”

You don’t wait around for him to say anything else, you just shove your laptop into your purse and pull the strap over your shoulder as you head for the exit.

Largely preoccupied with getting away from Yoongi, you don’t pay much attention to your surroundings as you slip out of the room, and you only get a few steps down the hall before a voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “There you are.”

“Jesus!” you gasp, whipping around to find Jungkook leaning up against the glass wall of the conference room, his arms crossed over his chest. “You fucking scared me, Baby Goth.”

“Sorry.” He gives a shy smile, nose scrunching slightly like he’s embarrassed. “I wasn’t gonna let you ditch me again. Lunch?”

You do your best to match his smile. “Let’s go. I’m starving.” 

The two of you meet up with the rest of the team at a restaurant well out of your price range, and Jungkook babbles freely as he stuffs his face, seemingly unbothered by how little you have to say in return. The chatter of so many people at the long table is a white noise that you can’t focus on any part of, and Jungkook’s usual comforting presence feels overwhelming today, nearly stifling. You push food back and forth on your plate but barely eat, your stomach uneasy for reasons you don’t want to dwell on.

“Min Suga seemed like he didn’t even want to be up there.” The mention of Yoongi’s pseudonym is enough to snap you out of your haze.

“Huh?” You glance up at Jungkook, your eyes widening slightly, and you force yourself to eat another bite of pasta as he continues.

“I don’t know, he went through it so fast. Guess it makes sense. He hates anything that drags him out of his lab, right?”

You aimlessly twirl your fork against your plate, around and around. When you first started this job, you would have agreed with Jungkook without a second thought. Laughed about it, even. Now you’re not so sure. You don’t want to add to this growing sense of friction, the weird energy in the air, but the words come out anyway.

“He was nervous, Jungkook.”

When you meet his gaze again, Jungkook looks confused, and you instantly regret saying anything at all.

“What, did he tell you that?”

You nod as you take another bite of food to avoid having to explain yourself.

Jungkook’s eyes drift down to the table between you, distant, his brow furrowed like he’s suddenly doing some complex mental math. “When?”

“Last night,” you murmur through your mouthful. “We both worked late. I helped him practice a little.” The explanation was meant to make the situation sound less incriminating, but somehow you feel like it only makes it worse. You hope Jungkook can’t tell how warm your face is starting to get.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, his gaze still not meeting yours. “I thought you said you didn’t stay late. When I asked you this morning.”

A rush of adrenaline hits your bloodstream so hard it makes you dizzy. “I—I didn’t. It wasn’t that late. Like an hour max. Didn’t seem worth mentioning.” You set your fork down, quickly hiding your hands in your lap so Jungkook can’t see the way they’ve started to tremble.

His only response is a slow nod, and then he goes quiet in a way that’s rare for him. It feels like an eternity of sitting and eating in silence before either of you says another word.

The conversation eventually picks back up again, and when it does, you try to tell yourself you’re just imagining that it’s slightly more stilted than before.

As you and Jungkook trail after the rest of your coworkers on the walk back to the office, you trade a few more polite questions about work-related projects, and then you fall quiet again, seemingly out of things to say. It’s a few stretches of city blocks, and then you see Jungkook’s head tip up, and he outright sniffs the air.

You can’t help but laugh a little, mostly because he looks like a dog, and then you smell it too. The unmistakable aroma coming from the street cart up ahead. You smile softly to yourself as you both slow to pass it, ogling rice cakes and fish cakes simmering in a pan of spicy sauce.

“God,” Jungkook groans appreciatively. “I would absolutely destroy some tteokbokki right now if I didn’t think I’d literally explode.”

“This is what happens when you help yourself to thirds every time you eat,” you chide him with a giggle, and the two of you nod to the vendor before you continue on toward the office. You only take a few more steps before you falter, and Jungkook turns back when he notices you’ve stopped.

“What’s up? Did you want to get some?”

You don’t know what makes you lie. “Uh, no. I, uh— I just realized, I think I left my scarf back at the restaurant. I’m gonna run back, but don’t worry about waiting for me. You’ve got work stuff.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “It’s cool, I can go with you.”

“No, that’s okay,” you say, firmly enough to make it very obvious you don’t want company. Maybe a little too firm, because Jungkook blinks, like he’s taken aback. Your stomach twists with a feeling that you imagine must be similar to having just kicked a puppy.

“Oh. Alright, well. I’ll see you later, then.” He pauses for a moment, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and then he turns on his heel and keeps walking in the direction of the office. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch Jungkook’s retreating form until he disappears down the city block.

You try not to overthink the interaction as you retrace your steps to the cart, then head back to the office with a takeout bag gripped in one hand. Thankfully you don’t have to fumble for another lie of an excuse, because you don’t run into Jungkook or anyone else in your straight shot from the entrance to the door of Yoongi’s lab. Quick as you can, you punch in the lock code, then push the handle down and slip inside.

It takes you a minute to process what you’re seeing as you shut the door behind you. Yoongi’s arms are folded on the desk in front of him, and he’s slumped forward, head buried in the crook of his elbow. For a brief moment your heart drops, and then you take a tentative step closer and realize there’s no shake or shudder to his shoulders, only the smooth rise and fall of deep, steady breathing.

He’s asleep.

You close the remaining distance until you can reach out and gently place a hand on his back. “Yoongi?”

He inhales sharply, and you quickly pull your hand away like you’ve just been burned. Tilting his head to one side, he cracks an eye open, mumbling something that sounds like a question but is otherwise fully incoherent.

“You fell asleep,” you say dumbly, and Yoongi slowly sits up with a grunt, his eyes squinting, clearly readjusting to the room around him. He leans back to stretch, and several places in his back and shoulders crack impressively loudly.

“Fuck,” he sighs, voice strained, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Why are you in here?”

“I brought you lunch,” you murmur, lifting the takeout bag for him to witness. He frowns at it, then up at you, like he can’t quite figure out what’s happening.

“Thanks,” he eventually manages. “You can just leave it. I’m nowhere near done with all my—”

You cut him off before he can finish. “Go home, Yoongi.”

The look of slack-jawed confusion on his face is enough to nearly make you laugh. “What?”

“I said go home.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not my boss.”

“I’m not saying it as your boss,” you sigh. “But you need to eat, and sleep. This isn’t healthy.”

Yoongi huffs a little, exasperated. “That’s easy for you to say, but I have so much stupid admin stuff to get caught up on.” He gestures halfheartedly to a massive to-do list pulled up on his monitor, one he’s barely a quarter of the way through.

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you hum, feigning thought. “If only you had someone who could help with that. Some kind of… Admin Bitch.”

The comment must catch him off-guard, because he outright laughs. “You know, I still haven’t changed your contact name.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Then you should go before I question why I’m being nice to you. I’ll leave a note for tomorrow with anything I can’t figure out for myself. Assuming you trust my ability to do my job.” As if to indicate that you are no longer open to discussing the subject, you shove the takeout bag into Yoongi’s chest, and he wraps both arms around it, still looking entirely dazed.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t fight you, just slowly rolls his desk chair back and gets to his feet. You watch carefully as he shifts the bag of food to one arm, then grabs his work bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I, uh— thanks.”

You wave a hand as if to tell him not to mention it, and then you plop down into his chair and get to work, barely phased by the sound of the door clicking shut when he leaves.

~*~

As you settle in at your desk the next morning, it dawns on you how close the Grammys have started to loom, made abundantly clear by the overwhelming amount of prep you find yourself launched into. You don’t think you look up from your screen once, not even bothering to greet coworkers as they push through the doors, until the muted tap of something being placed on your desk startles you.

You see the cup of coffee first, and when you glance up expecting a pair of Baby Star Candy eyes, you instead find Yoongi hovering at the edge of your desk, like he’s not sure what he’s doing there. You make zero attempts to hide your total shock at whatever the fuck is going on in this moment.

He looks— good. Fresh-faced, like he managed to actually get some sleep, a little less gaunt. Even his expression seems weirdly pleasant, something you might mistake for happiness if you thought that he was capable of such an emotion.

There’s a crinkling sound, and when he gently sets a small wax paper pastry bag on your desk next to the coffee, you’re sure that you’ve overslept your alarm and are in the depths of a wild, ridiculous dream. It’s the only way any of this can be happening.

You blink up at him as you hesitantly reach for the bag, like you’re scared it might bite you.

“It’s maple,” he says as you slowly pick it up and investigate the contents. It’s still warm. “I asked for the most disgustingly sweet thing they had.”

Too overwhelmed, you set the pastry bag back down wordlessly. As you do, it’s only now that your eyes focus on the letters “AB” sketched in black marker on the side of the coffee cup, where a barista would typically write your name.

Yoongi’s eyes must be watching yours carefully, because he huffs a laugh as he sees realization dawn over your face. “Making them actually write Admin Bitch seemed a bit much.”

You can’t manage to find a laugh to match his, can only sit there, shell-shocked. When you look up again, he’s already walking backwards in the direction of his lab, but his eyes are still on you. “I’d tell you not to tell anyone, but I don’t think they’d believe you even if you did.”

And just like that, he’s gone again.

You remain unconvinced that both of his gifts aren’t secretly poisoned, but your desperate need for a fresh hit of caffeine overwhelms any other emotion. Carefully, you lift the cup to your lips and take a sip— it’s not scalding, but still perfectly hot, and your eyes widen as the flavor hits your tongue.

Two cream, three sugar. Exactly how you like it.

Before you’ve even had time to swallow, Jungkook is suddenly rounding the corner from the opposite direction, and you have to make a conscious effort not to choke.

He slows to a stop, and you watch him take in the coffee cup clutched between your hands like a lifeline. “Hey! You seriously snuck out for coffee without me?” His tone is mock-hurt, but you can’t help wondering whether it’s entirely put on.

Your gaze drops back down to the cup. “Sorry, JK. Someone else picked this up for me.”

Jungkook doesn’t pry into your vague statement, but a sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that maybe he doesn’t have to.

~*~

It’s Saturday night by the time your schedule aligns with Jimin’s for a night out, and given that it’s the last time you’ll see him before you leave for Los Angeles, you manage to guilt him into driving. The bar you choose is a shitty dive nowhere near your office, where you’re certain you won’t have to worry about any accidental encounters.

Or any encounters at all, as it turns out. The place is dead.

“I think we’re single-handedly keeping them open tonight,” Jimin murmurs with a grimace as you grab a pair of stools.

The bartender pours you each two shots and two beers, then returns to their side work at the far end of the bar in an apparent attempt to give the two of you some privacy.

It’s only once you’ve had your first shot and are halfway through the accompanying beer that you’re able to speak the words aloud: “I had sex in the office again.”

Jimin glances up at the ceiling, as if asking for strength, and you recount the full story mostly to the wood grain in front of you, unable to look your best friend in the face while you catch him up on everything.

When you fill in the final details, Jimin nearly spits his drink out. “Suga really hatefucked you on a conference table?! I need to go buy some lottery tickets.” He throws back his second shot, and there’s a smug smile on his face as he swallows it down. “God, I love being psychic.”

You shove an elbow into his ribs. “Listen. I don’t know what’s fucking happening anymore, Mochi. Sometimes he’s insufferable but now sometimes we apparently mildly tolerate and are even nice to each other. Like, coffee and a pastry nice.” You smack your hand on the bar for emphasis as you repeat the words. “Coffee. And. A. Pastry.”

“So,” Jimin clasps his hands together as he surveys you. There’s a look on his face like he’s clearly expecting you to draw some conclusion from all of this, but it seems to have entirely escaped you. “What have we learned?”

You drop your head down on the bar with a resounding thud. “We’ve learned that Min Yoongi is ruining my life.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Voice muffled slightly, you groan. “Don’t make me say it louder.”

“No, what did you just say?” You lift your head up to look at him, and his expression is deadly serious, his eyes sharp and focused. “Min Yoongi? I know Min Yoongi.”

You give him the same look right back. “You what?”

“We were trainees together. I— wait, Min Yoongi is Suga the producer? Really?!” He scrambles for his phone and you just sit there, dumbfounded.

“How are you only now telling me that you know him?”

Jimin glances up, incredulous. “Um, hi, because you literally never fucking told me Suga is Min Yoongi?”

You roll your eyes. “Please, surely I have said his name to you at least once.”

It’s Jimin’s turn to smack the bar, and he does so loudly. “Run those tapes back, ma’am! We have always called him Suga.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never even Googled him?!”

He makes a face like the mere suggestion is ridiculous. “I am an adult, with a job and a very needy boyfriend. Your chaos already monopolizes too much of my time.”

The search on his phone loads, and you watch Jimin tap and scroll slowly, mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Min Yoongi is Suga. Wow. I think I need a minute.”

Jimin’s earlier words finally catch up to you, and you finish the last of your first beer before you dare ask the question. “Yoongi was really a trainee?”

“He was,” Jimin confirms, gaze still locked on his phone. “Obviously he didn’t debut either. He left a few months before I did. I always wondered what happened to him.”

“What was he like?” Your voice comes out soft, a little unsure.

His eyes widen, staring off unfocused as he searches through his memory. “I mean, we weren’t super close, he’s a few years older than me. But it doesn’t sound like that much has changed if I think about what you’ve told me. He was quiet, not too personable. Worked hard. Didn’t really seem that close to anybody. I think maybe he had a difficult home life?”

Your stomach drops a little as Jimin pauses, choosing his words. “Like I guess his parents weren’t very supportive. So I think he felt like he had a lot to prove, and had really high standards for himself. But he obviously loved music. Makes sense that he ended up a producer. It’s like me and dance, right?” He picks up his beer with a shrug, staring thoughtfully down at the amber liquid. “Man. Those years were tough.”

As Jimin takes a sip of his drink and then continues on about his trainee days, your head starts to spin. You throw back your second shot in hopes that it might help.

You wish you could go back and unlearn this information, unsay the name Min Yoongi. Because you don’t want to think about him. You don’t want to know that Min Yoongi gets nervous about public speaking, that he likes his coffee iced, that he can’t say no to street cart tteokbokki, that he used to be a trainee, that he worked an unpaid job in Daegu, that he had a disapproving family and never felt good enough and maybe still doesn’t.

Min Yoongi was so simple when you first met him, back when he was a two-dimensional character, the antagonist of your TV show life, your enemy. But now he’s none of those things. He’s a real, flawed, complicated person, and your feelings for him are confusing and overwhelming. And you deeply do not want to think about your feelings. You don’t want to examine them, don’t want to hold them up to the light for fear of what you might find. It occurs to you in this moment that you don’t want to think about anything at all.

With a sigh, you scoot your chair back from the bar, then get to your feet.

“What are you doing?” Jimin interrupts himself to ask as you dig your phone out of your purse.

You’re doing the only thing that makes sense. “I’m gonna go fuck him,” you say, resigned, and then you make your way out the front door of the bar as you pull up Yoongi’s contact in your phone.

It’s only as the line starts to ring that you realize you don’t exactly have a location in mind. Sex in a bar bathroom is an experience you have no desire to repeat, and the thought of Yoongi seeing your shithole apartment makes your drinks threaten a return appearance.

You’re starting to consider that maybe you should just hang up and forget the idea entirely when Yoongi’s voice startles you.

“Uh, hi?”

“Hi.”

There’s a pause as you realize you didn’t actually plan how to have this conversation, and then you and Yoongi speak in tandem.

“I was just wondering—”

“Is there a reason you—”

“Shut up,” you snap, agitated by your own awkwardness. “What are you doing right now?”

Yoongi laughs darkly into the phone. “I’m sorry, is this a booty call?”

“Answer the question, asshole.”

There’s a slight shifting sound, like he’s making himself comfortable. “Nothing. Drinking.”

“Great, same here.”

Another pause, and you swear you can hear Yoongi slow blinking, can see the stupid smirk on his face when you close your eyes. “Would you like to come over, then?”

“Yes,” you answer, trying to sound more confident than you feel, and then you falter slightly. You’re not about to ask Jimin to drive you— you don’t trust him enough to stay in the car and behave, not when he’s been drinking. “Uh, are you by any chance near a bus stop?”

Yoongi doesn’t even try to suppress his snort of laughter. “I’m not. But I can send a car.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you say quickly, trying to think. “I can figure something—”

“Please,” Yoongi cuts you off. “If you’re really calling me begging to get fucked, the least I can do is provide the transportation. Just send me your location.”

“Fine,” you concede, and your voice comes out harsh. “But to be clear, I am not begging.”

He hums a low note, like he’s thinking it over. “Not yet,” he ultimately responds. “See you soon.”

You swallow hard as the call disconnects.

The time it takes for the car to arrive is just enough for you to slip back inside and finish your beer, and Jimin’s eyes narrow with frustration when you’re unable to explain yourself.

“Didn’t you just complain that this man was ruining your life?”

“Yes,” you retort. “And then I thought it over, and I decided that’s my job.” Your phone buzzes with the notification that the car is outside, and you quickly swig the last of your drink. “Bye.”

Jimin’s face twists like he’s holding further commentary back, which you didn’t think he was capable of doing without combusting. “Alright, babygirl,” he finally sighs, defeated. “Call me if you need saving.”

“I always do,” you deadpan as you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.

~*~

Yoongi doesn’t say anything when he opens the door for you, just nods his head to the interior of his apartment to gesture you inside, letting the door swing wider so you can step past him. He shuts it again as you slip your heels off, and it takes you a second to adjust to your true height difference, the fact that you have to look a little further up to meet his gaze now.

“Want a drink?” is his delayed greeting, and you shrug.

“Yeah, okay. Just whatever you’re having.”

Without another word, he turns and heads down the hallway, and you follow after him, taking in your surroundings as you move further inside. It’s only now that it occurs to you how rich he must be. His place is identical to any one of the swanky, million-dollar Hannam apartments of which you’ve spent thousands of hours watching YouTube tours. You try to keep your expression neutral as you follow him into the living room, but it’s hard not to be impressed.

Yoongi crosses the room to a mini-bar, built into the far wall and softly backlit with inset LEDs. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth as you hover nervously for a second, then finally choose to drop down onto the large, L-shaped couch, setting your purse on the floor next to you.

“Thoughts—” When Yoongi’s voice breaks the silence, you start a little, not expecting it. “—on single malt whiskey?” He turns over his shoulder, and you shrug back at him.

“Never met one I didn’t like.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up, just barely. “Alright.” You watch as he grabs a dark green bottle off the shelf, coating the bottom of a glass with the amber liquid inside, then just barely topping up what must be his own drink. He crosses back to the couch, hands you yours, then drops down a respectable distance away from you with a sigh of effort.

The atmosphere is certainly different from what you’d expected, and Yoongi must be able to tell you’re a little on edge, not sure what to do or why you thought coming here was a good idea.

He glances over at you as he swirls the contents of his glass. “Not feeling up for much small talk tonight. Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” you say quickly. “We don’t have to talk.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you grit your teeth in anticipation of the smug smile, the cocky smirk at your unintended double meaning, but it never comes. Yoongi stays just as he is, slouched forward, his eyes unfocused, like he’s got a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once.

You turn sideways on the couch so you can look over the back of it and out of the large picture window behind you, where the city is alive in a blur of light and color, bracketed by the dark swath of the Han River.

Yoongi’s whiskey is strong but smooth, tastes like the bottle probably cost more than the entire bar-tab you and Jimin rang up tonight, and you sip it slowly. The thought of your best friend sparks something in your mind— you find yourself speaking again in spite of your previous statement.

“I just found out that you know my best friend. Park Jimin.”

At this, Yoongi looks up, clearly stunned. “No shit?” You nod, taking another pull from your drink, and he shakes his head. “I haven’t heard that name in years. How is he?”

“He’s good,” you murmur, the sharp taste of alcohol lingering on the back of your tongue. “He’s really good. He actually just performed in the concert I took Jungkook to.”

Yoongi pauses, glass halfway to his lips. “What group is he in? For someone in the industry I am atrocious at keeping up with this shit.”

“Oh, he’s not, he’s just a back-up dancer now. He never debuted.” 

Yoongi nods slowly. “Well. Makes two of us.”

Your chest starts to tighten a little— you’re weirdly nervous to talk to him about this. It feels like uncharted territory. “I can’t believe you were a trainee.”

He leans back, resting his free arm over the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly. “I can’t either, most days. It was a long time ago. Feels like it happened to somebody else.”

Torn between deep curiosity and not wanting to pry, you stare down at the liquid swirling in your glass and leave it up to Yoongi. To your surprise, he keeps talking.

“So what did Jimin tell you about me?”

The unexpected question makes you laugh a little. “Uh… I don’t know. Said you sound like you’re still the same as you were back then. Keeping to yourself and working a lot.”

You don’t know if you should repeat everything, but the liquor loosens your tongue. “He said your parents weren’t very supportive.”

You glance up to see Yoongi shake his head, matter-of-fact. “They were not. So you can imagine how well they took it when I quit.” Your heart sinks at the thought. “Probably put a chip on my shoulder, if I want to be introspective about it. Explains the workaholic tendencies, maybe.”

He takes a longer sip of his drink this time, chasing his swallow with a grimace as he stares at the floor. “It’s funny. I always feel like I have to do better, even now. I get obsessed with work because it’s better than being depressed. And most of the time it feels like there’s nothing else to do anyway. I just work myself to death because it’s my only reason to stay alive.”

Your stomach drops sharply, and you can’t help but look over at him as he continues, feeling thoroughly unprepared for this sudden insight into the inner workings of Min Yoongi.

“It doesn’t even matter what milestones I hit, the fame, the fortune, whatever. I’m going to the fucking Grammys next week and it still doesn’t feel good enough.” His eyes flicker up to find yours, and his voice is quieter now. “Even if I win, I know it won’t. How sad is that?”

“You sound like my dad,” you mutter into your glass, and then your gaze snaps back to Yoongi as you realize what you’ve just said.

He looks as surprised as you feel, and you steady yourself as you take a swig of your drink and swallow it down. Fuck it. If he can overshare, so can you. “Work always came first, before family, before everything. And you know what happened? He dropped dead in his office before he even turned fifty. They said it was probably stress.”

There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes, but he doesn’t try to interrupt you.

“It makes me so mad,” you say, and you will yourself not to get emotional, your grip on your drink tightening slightly. “Because he worked so fucking hard thinking that once he got to a certain place, he’d be happy. Just a little more, then he could relax. But he never got there. He worked non-stop his whole life and then he fucking died. That’s it.

“And you know what’s really fucked up?” You don’t wait for Yoongi to respond— you can’t stop it all from coming out now, like a tap turned on high.

“People say grief makes you resilient, that it makes you stronger, or kinder, that we go through these things and they’re hard but you learn from them and grow or whatever the fuck. And I don’t feel like any of that shit is true for me. My dad died, and I just got worse.” A self-deprecating laugh flutters out around your words. “I’m selfish. I’m lazy. I make terrible choices. I deeply cannot fucking stand myself, if I’m honest with you. Jimin is like the one friend I still keep in touch with who knew me when my dad was alive, because everyone else just… didn’t know what to do with me. And I don’t blame them.

“And it makes me feel like such a fucking asshole, because he died, and I’m sitting here complaining about me. It’s like I don’t even miss him as much as I just miss… the way things used to be. The person I used to be.” You let yourself take a breath, but the final thought, the part you don’t usually say out loud, slips out with it. “It’s like she died, too.”

There’s a long pause that feels like an eternity, and you realize your heart is racing in your chest. You lean back against the couch with a sigh of frustration, too embarrassed at your own word vomit to do anything but stare at the stupidly high ceiling. You’re so wrapped up in the rush of saying it all— it’s been a while since you’ve gone this deep with anyone— that it takes you a second to notice that Yoongi is laughing softly.

“Wow. And here I thought you were just a slacker.”

The words make you glance over at him. You haven’t divulged these feelings to many people, but nearly everyone you’ve told has responded the same: awkward apologies, shitty words of affirmation you didn’t ask for, waxing poetic bullshit lies about how you’re not a bad person. A road paved with good intentions, things meant to console you that only make you want to scream. 

But Yoongi gives you none of that. He just nods, like he understands.

“Well,” you counter, trying not to let the shock read on your face. “I thought you were just an asshole.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am an asshole. I’ll own that.” He smirks into his glass as he takes another sip of his drink. “Do you want to know something?”

“What?”

He suddenly pauses, like he’s not sure how to word it, like he maybe regrets asking the question at all. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so hesitant before. “You have to not make a big deal about it.”

“Okay,” you say simply. You’re willing to return the favor.

“The night I left the studio door unlocked, and there was the break-in,” Yoongi starts, his thumb fiddling with the ring on his index finger. Something twists in your stomach, an intuition you can’t explain that makes it immediately clear to you what he’s about to say. “I wasn’t thinking about locking up that night because I... was planning to kill myself.”

It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room, and you will yourself not to react, gripping your glass until your knuckles blanch. Your eyes drop to the floor as you try to process the weight of his words.

“But you didn’t,” you reply dumbly.

“No, I didn’t. I walked up and down the bridge over the river for a long time. Probably an hour, maybe more, I don’t know.” You look up to the window again, tracing the inkblot snake of the river in the distance.

“I thought about it, and then I decided to go home. I thought that maybe I could give it just one more day and see what happened. And then when I got to work the next day, I was in such deep shit about the break-in, I felt like everyone would blame themselves if I did it after that. Like they’d think they were too hard on me.” He laughs bitterly to himself. “Like I’m not always the one who is hardest on myself.”

“Yoongi,” you breathe. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to say anything. It just feels nice to tell someone.”

There’s a heavy silence between you, and heat rushes to your face as the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

He glances over at you, brows pinched together like he doesn’t believe you. “You hate me.”

“I do not!” The insistence in your voice surprises even you. In an attempt to ground yourself, you press your palm to the side of your drink and try to focus on the feeling, the cool surface against your flushed skin. “I mean, I definitely did. But now, I don’t know. Would I really be wasting my Saturday night here if I hated you?”

Yoongi pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth, and you can see him fighting to keep a smile off his face. “Look at me, you came over here to fuck and I turned it into a therapy session. Christ.”

With a final shake of his head, he downs the last of his drink in one swallow. “You want a tour?”

You follow Yoongi as he takes a winding path through the various rooms of his apartment, and you continue to sip at your drink, barely processing any of what he shows you. Your mind is still spinning from the conversation, and that paired with the cotton fuzz of strong liquor makes everything feel muted and far away.

As anticipated, the tour ends in his bedroom, which matches the rest of the place: sleek, minimally decorated, and bathed in the soft glow of inset strip lighting that runs the length of the ceiling.

When Yoongi sets his empty glass down on the dresser, you mirror him, then watch as he steps in to close the distance between you. As your eyes search his, you realize you’re once again caught between conflicting versions of Min Yoongi, still trying to reconcile the one you thought you knew with the person who just spilled his guts all over the living room floor. It feels impossible to hold the two of them together in your mind.

Up close, his smirk seems to soften. “You’re a lot shorter without those heels.”

Before you even understand what you’re doing, or why, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. It’s only a split second, your lips barely brushing over his, and then you quickly pull away, struck by the reality of what you’ve just done.

“Shit,” you breathe, dropping your hands and taking a step back. You stumble slightly as a hot wave of shame rushes up in your chest. “Sorry, I just—”

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Yoongi’s touch is sliding over the curve of your waist, and then he’s dragging you back toward him until his mouth finds yours again. The taste of whiskey lingers on his soft lips as they move against yours— you can’t help but whimper a little at how hungrily he kisses you. Like he’s wanted to do it for a long time.

The idea overwhelms you, and you pull away from him again, your lips still ghosting over his. “Yoongi.” You try your best to sound firm when you say his name, pressing one hand against his chest as you look up at him. “This… can’t mean anything.”

You can feel the heat of his breath when he laughs softly. “It doesn’t have to. I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

Too desperate for his mouth to want to argue, you decide to let him win. “Okay,” you sigh. Your hand is already tangled in his long, dark hair by the time his lips meet yours again.

“Get on the bed,” Yoongi murmurs between kisses, and you do as he says.

Moving backwards, you crawl up toward the pillows while Yoongi crosses the room to hit a panel on the wall, dimming the soft lights overhead until they’re barely there. He comes back to join you, strong hands wordlessly guiding you to lay down beneath him.

It’s weird to not be rushing through this: to feel like you can take your time as he kisses you again, as you lick into his mouth to roll your tongue over his, as one of his hands starts to creep under your skirt to gently rub up and down the length of your thigh.

The motions of his hand push the fabric higher and higher, until it’s as far up as it can go, and he leans back, clearly not satisfied.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, and you nod, sitting up to help as he pulls your dress up over your head.

It occurs to you a beat too late that you’ve never been this naked in front of him before, and your heartbeat flutters. “You too,” you murmur, pinching gently at the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt, and he smirks as he reaches one hand between his shoulder blades to tug it off entirely.

You take him in as he drops the shirt to his bedroom floor: he’s broad-shouldered in a way you’ve never noticed under all his baggy clothes, with firm definition in the muscles of his chest and arms, and there’s a flush of warm glow to his pale skin.

As you blink up at Yoongi, more than dazed, you realize his eyes are roaming over your body, too. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath, and you resist the sudden urge to hide from his surveying gaze. “You have great tits.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that, and the surprise of it makes you laugh.

“Just for that, I’ll let you see them,” you say, unable to keep the teasing edge out of your voice as you lean forward to reach behind your back. Your hands shake a little more than you’d like as you fumble to undo your bra and toss it off the side of the bed to join everything else.

Your nipples stiffen quickly in the cool air of his room, and when you lay back again, Yoongi covers your body with his, the movement paired with a groan that’s nearly a growl. You can’t hold back your own soft sounds as his lips and tongue move down your neck, and it occurs to you now that there’s so much that the two of you have never done before. So many steps you skipped.

Like the way Yoongi cups one of your breasts in his hand, rolling his thumb over your nipple to earn a louder whine from you. “Shit,” you gasp as he does it again, his mouth still trailing kisses between the valley of your breasts.

“God,” Yoongi hisses against your skin. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

With his thumb continuing to work at one nipple, he takes the other into his mouth, and you can feel the way your arousal is starting to soak through your panties as he sucks firmly at the stiff peak. You arch up into him, and then he’s shifting to roll your nipple between his teeth and tug, and you can’t help it— you flinch and yelp beneath him, overwhelmed.

He quickly pulls his mouth off of you, eyes flashing up to find yours. “Sensitive?”

You nod, face flushing, embarrassed. “A little bit of teeth is okay. Too much hurts.”

“Okay,” Yoongi answers softly. He licks up the underside of your breast to pull the bud of it back into his mouth, and the swirl of his tongue there soothes like an apology. When he just barely grazes his teeth across the sensitive peak, it’s enough to make you keen, your eyes rolling back as they flutter closed.

“Oh, fuck, just like that.”

With a wet noise, he pulls off to switch sides, repeating the firm suction, the drag of his tongue, the slightest brush of teeth. His fingers pinch gently at your other nipple, made slick with his spit, and he keeps working you lazily, unhurried, until your body writhes underneath his.

“Yoongi—” You try to catch your breath, and you run a hand through his hair to pull his mouth off of you. His jaw is still dropped open slightly when he meets your gaze. “Touch me.”

His lips pull into a smug smile. “Told you you’d beg.”

Your grip on his hair tightens in response. “Not begging. Ordering.”

Yoongi tuts gently, like he’s disappointed. “I don’t follow orders, sweetheart.”

As much as his teasing irritates you, a twin smile to his spreads across your face. “I’ll kill you,” you murmur, releasing your grip as he shifts back onto his knees.

It gets harder to focus on your bloodlust when his palms run over the curve of your hips, then press between your legs to part your thighs. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he deadpans as his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties and he starts to drag the lace down your legs.

“That’s fucking dark,” you can’t help but laugh as you kick your underwear the rest of the way off.

Yoongi licks his lips, clearly distracted, and you spread yourself wider for him. “This pussy,” he grunts hoarsely, like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gets so puffy when you want it. All tight inside, too.” He unexpectedly slaps the whole of his hand over your center, and you gasp, your hips jolting up.

You don’t even have time to respond before he’s pressing a finger into you, your cunt squeezing tight enough to reward him with an audible noise as he fucks it in and out. “Fuck,” you groan.

“You get this wet just from having your tits played with, huh?”

The thorough analysis makes you huff a laugh, because he’s not wrong, and it stutters into a moan when his thumb gently starts to circle your clit.

“God,” you manage to choke out, “you’re fucking chatty tonight.”

Yoongi smirks, and you’re not sure why until he speaks again, his voice now pinched in a clear imitation as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, is there somewhere you’d rather I put my mouth?”

Your jaw drops in disbelief as he repeats your own stupid tease from weeks ago back to you. “I’ve changed my mind,” you snap, sitting up a little, and Yoongi glances at you, already in the midst of settling between your spread thighs. “I do still hate you.”

“That’s fine,” he says with a shrug, and then he leans in to lick a thick, wet stripe up your slit. His mouth is immediately dizzying, and you drop your head back against the pillow, overwhelmed.

It’s another thing you’ve never done before, at least not with Min Yoongi. As he repeats the motion over and over, lazy long strokes where he drags his tongue from your entrance all the way up to circle your clit, you mentally kick yourself for every missed chance, every opportunity to have his mouth that you didn’t take.

“What the fuck,” you breathe.

Yoongi just barely pulls off of you, close enough that a string of your arousal is still joined to his lower lip when he speaks. “You’re not the only one with good head game here.”

He dives in again like he’s determined to immediately prove his point, and you shove your legs open wider as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

As much as you’d like to bruise his ego, it’s impossible to keep yourself from moaning when he pairs the firm suction with the press of his index finger back into your tight heat. As wet as he’s made you, he’s easily able to slide a second in beside it now, and your nails scratch helplessly over the sheets beneath you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp as he curls his digits to beckon inside you, stroking over your front wall and easily finding the spot that makes you gush. He does it again and again, like a button press, working up more and more arousal until you’re dripping down his wrist.

Even the way he hums against your pussy sounds like a smirk, but you’re too far gone to care. Yoongi starts to flick his tongue steadily over your clit, matching the rhythm of his fingers pumping into your g-spot, and you can feel the pressure in your core building, a band pulled tight enough to snap.

Your hips buck up toward his mouth in an overwhelmed reflex, and Yoongi’s free hand is immediately there like he was expecting it. His palm presses firmly to your lower abdomen to hold you down and keep you there, and even that feels good too, renders you entirely helpless to his mouth and his hands as he takes you apart.

“Fuck,” you moan, loud and unabashed now. “Fuck, yes, I’m—”

The feeling overtakes you before you can get another word out, and you nearly sob as your orgasm rips through you, your whole body straining hard against Yoongi’s strong hand as he pins you to the bed. The extra pressure on your core pushes a rush of fluid out of your cunt, enough to soak the sheets beneath you as your muscles contract around Yoongi’s fingers.

“Oh my god,” he doesn’t even pull away to groan, and the low vibration of the words against your throbbing clit makes your thighs tremble.

There’s a wet smack of his lips and tongue as he finally relents, the pace of his fingers slowing as he continues to work you through the aftershocks. You desperately try to remember how to breathe as you start to come down.

Yoongi is a fucking sight when he leans back to look up at you: long hair falling in his face, eyes dark with lust, lips and chin slick with your arousal. “Did you seriously just squirt?”

It’s been a long time since anyone has managed to make it happen, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed in a different way. Still recovering, you can barely get the words out. “Shut up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘shut up’? It was hot,” Yoongi grunts, and you’re at least grateful that you don’t have to have the ‘it’s not pee’ conversation right now. He ducks his head down again as he withdraws his fingers, and his tongue drags up the crux of your thighs to chase a few stray droplets. You squirm, oversensitive, your legs nearly snapping shut around his neck, and he takes the cue to back off with a soft laugh.

You’re too spent to fight it when he starts to manhandle you a little, palms slipping under your ass to drag you further down the bed until your hips are flush with his, then encouraging your knees to pull up toward your chest. “Think you can do that on my cock?”

The question sparks something in your core, the first lick of a freshly lit flame, and you prop yourself up on your forearms to better meet his gaze. “Make me.”

Yoongi’s appreciative smile is nearly a snarl, and he shifts lower on the bed to quickly strip out of his pants and boxers. You watch as he starts to crawl back up your body, anticipation tightening in your core, and then a flash of realization crosses his face and he freezes.

“Fuck,” he swears, and your stomach drops.

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot I’m out of condoms.” Your eyes widen as his gaze meets yours. “Do you have any?”

You shake your head. “Not with me.”

A muscle in his jaw works as he exhales a resigned sigh, and you reach out, one hand finding his bicep to stop him before he leaves. You want it too much, bad idea or not. “Just… fuck me anyway.”

His expression goes deadly serious, and there’s a long moment before he responds. “You’re sure?”

You swallow hard as you nod, your eyes searching his. “Just pull out, okay?” You hate yourself for saying the final word before it even leaves your lips. “Please.”

“Okay,” Yoongi repeats back to you, and his hands press to your thighs again to encourage your knees up as he positions himself between your legs. There’s a feeling humming in the space between your bodies, like the reality of the situation has settled over the both of you. The reckless abandon of the previous moment is gone, replaced with something slower, more hesitant. Heavier.

With your eyes fixed on his face, you feel it first: the weight and warmth of his cock grinding over your slit, sliding easily with how soaked you are. You look down to see it for yourself, flushed dark and hard enough to leak precum, trailing a glossy sheen over your folds as Yoongi guides it against you, one hand gripped firmly to the base. He teases the head of his dick over your clit and keeps it there, and you’re still sensitive enough to whimper at the feeling.

“Please,” you repeat, and he’s too focused to be smug about it. He just nods as he drags his cock back down to your entrance, then braces one hand against your thigh and starts to push in.

You exhale softly at the welcome stretch, familiar made new at the lack of anything between you. You can feel it all: the thick swell of the head of his cock as he eases you open, how he throbs gently as your walls squeeze around him, so tight that you can even feel the prominent veins that trace down his shaft.

You’re still wet and getting wetter from the way he fills you up entirely, your arousal drenching the length of him when he bottoms out with an audible slick sound. His cock twitches, buried to the hilt, and even that barely-there motion is enough to coax a breathy moan from you.

“Shit,” Yoongi laughs softly, and the tinge of humility to his voice makes you glance up at him again. “Not gonna be able to go that fast. Feels too good.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just…”

The words won’t come. It would mean too much to say what you want, and this isn’t supposed to mean anything at all.

So you don’t say them: you just hook your arms over his shoulders and pull his mouth down to yours. “Just fuck me,” you murmur against his lips. He grunts a low note of appreciation as he kisses you, as he starts to drag his cock out of you just to fuck it back in again.

It’s shallow, it’s slow, it’s nothing like what you’re used to with Yoongi, but it’s good. Good enough to make your kisses sloppy when you trade open-mouthed breaths, good enough to make you tilt your head and slide the flat of your tongue over Yoongi’s unabashedly, like an earned reward.

He pushes your knees up a little more, thrusting deeper this time, and the new angle drags the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You whine at the heavy weight of him, the shudder that ripples through you in response, and he stays there, stroking steadily to rub that spot again and again until your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh my god, Yoongi,” you gasp into his mouth.

“Shit,” he groans shakily, reaching one hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes. A few dark strands stick to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Squeezing me so fucking tight.”

Your arousal coils hot and fast inside of you as he keeps thrusting, and you have to break away from kissing him to tip your head back on the pillow and moan. “Fuck, please don’t stop, I’m—”

It feels like the final second before your climax when Yoongi pulls out, sitting back on his knees between your spread legs with a low groan. The sudden loss of his cock makes your walls clench at nothing, and you whine, petulant. “Yoongi!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, breathless. “Almost came.” You glance up to see him squeezing at the base of his cock with one hand, his chest heaving with effort. Your hips tilt up toward him, jealous.

“I miss your cock,” you whine, fucked close enough to be shameless.

“You’ll get it,” he retorts, and then you feel three of his fingers press in to fill the space he left behind inside of you. “Want to make you come again first.”

You keen as he starts to pump them, wrist angled just right to meet your g-spot each time. ��Oh fuck, Yoongi.” The arousal in your core aches as he fucks you open on his fingers, and you can hear how wet you are in the soaked squelch of your needy pussy, can feel it leaking down your thighs.

His thumb brushes over your clit with every upstroke of his hand, and it makes you gasp, your moans starting to pitch higher. “Harder, baby, please, I’m so close.”

Too lost in the feeling, you barely notice when Yoongi laughs a little, but he does as you ask, and the way he pounds into you is just enough to work you over the edge. Waves of pleasure rip through your body as you come for a second time, squirting a little on his sheets again, your thighs shaking violently.

“That’s it, there you go, fuck,” Yoongi groans appreciatively at the sight.

You’ve just barely made it past your peak, still shuddering all over, when Yoongi withdraws his fingers to shove his cock back in again, and you keen.

He thrusts like a man close to his own end, fast and hard, his breath coming in ragged pants of effort and pleasure. Your pussy pulses around him, squeezing like a vice, so swollen with sensitivity that it really does feel like he’s splitting you open every time he fucks into you.

You moan unabashedly now and cling to him all over, legs bracketing his snapping hips, nails of one hand digging into his shoulder, the other hand tangled in his hair. Your cunt throbs and gushes around him as he strokes, and it still feels like you’re coming: you can’t tell if it’s an intensely drawn-out second orgasm or if the hot stretch of his cock worked you seamlessly into a third.

When he finally pulls out, you drop back against the bed with an exhausted groan, every inch of you fucked into oblivion. You can barely focus your eyes to watch as Yoongi shoves his hips up to straddle yours, one hand working his cock until his release overtakes him.

He flattens both palms to the mattress as he starts to come, groaning softly and rocking his hips so that his cock grinds against your stomach. The head of his dick twitches visibly, leaking pulse after pulse of sticky gloss over your skin, and he smears his cock through it as he ruts against you. He keeps going, rolling his hips and rubbing the mess across your stomach until he’s thoroughly spent, until you’re both flushed and sticky all over.

“Holy fucking shit,” is all he can manage when he finally collapses down on the bed next to you.

You glance over at him and nod, trying to imply without speaking that the feeling is mutual. He meets your gaze, and you lay like that for several long minutes of silence as your breathing slows, eyes fixed on each other as your heartbeats race through the comedown.

It’s hard to believe that any part of tonight has been real, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

As the post-orgasm glow starts to settle, exhaustion hits you like a train. You groan, breaking the prolonged eye contact to throw an arm over your face, blocking out Yoongi’s bedroom with the crook of your elbow.

You’re not expecting it when he softly says your name, and something in your gut tells you that whatever’s coming isn’t good. You will yourself not to look back again, to stay as still as a statue when you answer him. “Hmm?”

“You know Jungkook is in love with you, right?”

The plan to not move goes out the window at his words. Your pulse spikes, and you drop your arm to look at him, your face twisted in confusion. “What?!”

Yoongi studies your expression for a second, then makes a small hum of surprise. “Interesting. I figured you were just trying to let him down easy.”

“I— what?”

“You really didn’t know?” He scoffs, and his tone is enough to instantly make you set your jaw. “It’s pretty obvious. It’s funny, I guess he’s sort of inadvertently responsible for all of this.”

That takes a second to sink in, and you blink. “How?”

Yoongi stares up at the ceiling, seemingly nonplussed. “Well, when he asked me for the code to my office, I figured he wanted to take you in there and fuck you.”

Hot blood rushes to your chest, and you sit up a little. “You talked to Jungkook about fucking me?”

“No.” Yoongi blinks. “This was before anything happened. I haven’t told him anything. It was just clear he liked you, even back then, because I have eyes. So I was trying to do him a favor. He’s a good kid.”

You squint, still trying to catch up. “Why would Jungkook fuck me in your office?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s the only door that locks. Sometimes you get desperate.” You swallow the immediate urge to argue when your brain unhelpfully reminds you that you have in fact fucked Yoongi at the office. Twice.

“But you know, I figured he’d wine you, dine you, all that romantic crap first. I’m sure he’s a very respectable sex on the third date kind of guy.” That all-too-familiar smirk is back when he glances over at you again. “I guess neither of us realized who we were dealing with.”

You open and close your mouth a few times before you can remember how to speak. “I’m not having this conversation with you. Particularly not with your cum still on my stomach.”

Yoongi nods toward the en-suite. “There’s towels in there. Or you can shower if you want.”

Your head spins as you silently slip out of his bed, and you shut the bathroom door firmly behind you, wishing you could leave that entire conversation on the other side of it. Maybe his fancy shower will get hot enough to blast all the thoughts out of your brain, you reason, and it only takes a bit of fumbling with the knobs before you figure it out.

The water pressure is so much better than what you’re used to that you groan a little when you step under the spray. You turn in a semicircle, letting it beat down on your neck and shoulders as you close your eyes, willing the tension to melt out of your body. You really are exhausted, practically asleep on your feet, despite the way your mind is still racing.

You don’t know why you came here tonight. You don’t know what you thought would happen. You don’t know what makes you keep coming back to Yoongi, over and over, like a moth to a flame, like the definition of insanity. You don’t know why he opened up to you tonight, or why you decided to do the same— or what the fuck compelled him to say that Jungkook is in love with you. You don’t know if things are supposed to stay the same after tonight, or if they will be irrevocably different, and you don’t know which you’d even want.

You have no idea what you want, actually. Another drink would be nice.

The sound of the shower door opening startles you, pulling you up from your thought spiral, and your eyes snap open to see Yoongi shutting the door behind him. Without a word, he steps in to crowd you under the water, and you hate the way your heartbeat flutters when he’s close to you.

“What are you—” you try to ask, but you don’t get to finish the sentence before his hand cups your jaw and his mouth finds yours.

His kiss blots everything else from your brain, and in this moment, you’re grateful for it. You lean into him, letting him in deeper when his tongue traces your bottom lip, whimpering softly as his other hand presses to the small of your back to pull you closer.

You don’t know what he wants, either. Why he came in here. But you have a guess.

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips. “I can’t again. I’m so tired.”

“It’s okay,” he answers softly, and then his mouth drags you back in like a riptide.

You don’t know how long you stay there like that, kissing him under the steam and the spray, but you’re breathless when you finally pull away to look up at him. Water droplets are twined through his long, dark hair, collecting delicately on his eyelashes, trailing down his neck and over the muscles of his chest.

“You can sleep here tonight, if you want,” Yoongi offers, and before you can even process the words, he’s stepping back to push the shower door open behind him, and then he’s gone.

With the glass fogged over completely from the heat of the water, and the white noise of the fan overhead, you have no concept of when he leaves the bathroom, or what else he might be doing. You just know you feel entirely alone.

After scrubbing yourself thoroughly with a washcloth that you lather in Yoongi’s soap, you emerge from the shower, grabbing a towel from the linen cabinet to wrap up in. It’s weird to smell like him, sandalwood and musk, somehow both comforting and alienating.

When you nudge open the door to his room again, it’s empty, and the inset lighting has been turned off entirely, the room bathed only in the glow of the bedside lamp that’s been switched on.

He’s left out one of his t-shirts for you, and you recognize it as one you’ve seen him in often at work. You remember Googling the label once out of curiosity and nearly passing out at your desk when you saw the three hundred dollar price tag. You pull it on over your head, then return to the bathroom to hang your towel up.

As you slip back into the bedroom, you can’t help but wonder where Yoongi’s disappeared off to, but you’re too exhausted to go looking for him.

Though you figure he’ll be in eventually, your heart still sinks a little as you pull back the covers and crawl into his bed. It feels so much bigger when you’re the only one in it. You decide to leave the lamp on, then turn over to press your cheek to the pillow, and the waves of sleep almost immediately pull you under.

You’re still alone when you wake up in the morning, the other side of the bed entirely undisturbed. 

Blinking slowly, it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and then the night comes back to you piece by piece. The lamp on the nightstand is still on when you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

Yawning and rubbing sleep from your eyes, you push open Yoongi’s bedroom door and pad down the hallway, trying to make sense of things. You have to retrace your steps all the way back to the living room before you find him, curled up on his side on the couch with one arm tucked under his head, still sleeping soundly.

He looks smaller like this. More vulnerable, maybe.

You wonder if you should’ve asked him to join you in his bed, and you wonder why he didn’t. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you decide to let him rest.

You move through his apartment aimlessly, like a patron in a museum. Something cracks open inside of you as you allow yourself to take in his place undisturbed, and with it, what could be. The idea that a night spent here could feel normal. The two of you in the clearly well-used kitchen, how you might sit on the counter with a glass of wine while he cooks dinner. Talking about your days, about the past and the future. Sharing a life. Fucking and showering and falling asleep in his bed, tangled up together.

For something so close, it feels impossibly far away in the harsh light of morning. It feels like something meant for a much better person than you.

When you make it all the way back to his room, you peel your borrowed shirt off and drape it across his bed like you found it. You retrieve your clothes from last night off the floor and pull them back on.

Thankfully Yoongi chose to fall asleep on the far side of the couch, so when you re-enter the living room, you’re easily able to grab your purse where you set it down the night before without waking him. You slip your heels on in his entryway, then open the front door and shut it as quietly as you can behind you.

You fish your phone out of your bag and scroll until you find Jimin’s contact, then press it to your ear as the line starts to ring.

~*~

You don’t hear from Yoongi at all on Sunday, and you barely see him at work the next few days. You don’t know why it surprises you. It makes sense. You said that night had to mean nothing, you left in the morning without another word, and it’s not like you’ve made any effort to reach out since.

But nevertheless, hurt feelings sit heavy in the pit of your stomach, stinging like salt in an open wound. You’re angry that Yoongi seems to be acting like nothing even happened. You’re annoyed that you have to spend an entire weekend alone with him in Los Angeles. And you’re pissed off that you have so much fucking work to do in preparation for a trip that’s all about him.

You keep your head down and just try to fucking survive. You stay silent in your meetings unless directly asked a question. You type furiously at your desk, forever behind on emails and late on promised deliverables.

The week passes by in a blur, and it doesn’t even occur to you what day it is until you find Jungkook waiting for you at your desk when you return from an afternoon meeting.

“Hi, Jungkook.” You try to say it gently, to not take your frustrations out on someone who didn’t even do anything. While you’ve made polite small talk all week, things certainly haven’t felt normal, and you can’t tell if he senses it too, or if you’re just letting Yoongi’s cryptic words plant imaginary strange vibes in your head.

To his credit, Jungkook seems unfazed. “It’s the last day before your trip!” he says brightly, and your eyes widen as you realize he’s right. “What’s the rest of your day look like?”

You take a seat at your desk and pull up your calendar to check, and he circles around to look with you. “That was thankfully my last meeting,” you respond. “Just getting back to my never-ending to-do list now.”

“Or…” Jungkook prompts, and you glance up to see him leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of your desk chair, his chin propped cutely in his hands. “You could not do that.”

You blink up at him. “And what would I be doing instead?”

“I was thinking, it’s been a while since we’ve had a walking meeting. Plus it’s actually nice out. So you should take a break.”

Glancing back at your to-do list sends a fresh wave of dread through you, and then you snap your laptop shut with a resigned sigh. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Not only could you use the break, but you want things with Jungkook to feel normal again, even if the weirdness is only in your head. Maybe this is what you need.

Down in the lobby, Jungkook holds the door for you, and when you step outside, you realize he’s right. It’s one of those clear-sky early spring days, warm enough out that it feels like the world is starting over, like everything is coming back to life. You can’t help but feel like you could use a fresh start, too.

Though you expect to be led somewhere with food, Jungkook takes a different route instead, and you follow him a few blocks over to the entrance of a nearby park. You end up side by side on a paved pedestrian path, the length of which is lined with trees that have only just begun to bud.

It’s quiet, save for the distant noise of the city, the rustle of nature, and the rush of the occasional cyclist whizzing past. You walk slowly as you chat about nothing of importance: work, music, his dogs.

Jungkook glances over at you during a moment’s pause, with a look on his face like there’s a question he’s been waiting to ask. “So how are you feeling about your trip?”

You can’t quite manage to keep your expression neutral, your eyes rolling like a reflex. “Whatever. I just want to get it over with.”

“Ah.” Jungkook nods, and you can see he’s biting back some reaction. “For some reason I thought you might be excited.”

“What do you mean?”

He just shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ve been… different lately. About Suga. I thought maybe something was going on.” An uneasy feeling starts to wash over you.

“Nothing is going on with me and Yoongi,” you say, far too quickly. Jungkook glances at you, his brows pinched together slightly as if he’s unsure what to believe.

“Okay,” he says simply. You hope that’s the end of it, but then he keeps going. “That’s good. I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.”

Heat rushes into your face, caught somewhere between shame and anger. “Um, what does that mean?”

You grit your teeth when he just shrugs again. “I don’t know. He was such a jerk to you, and then suddenly it’s like you guys are hanging out and getting close and stuff—”

“We are not close,” you interject, and you hate how unsteady your voice sounds when you say it.

“Good,” Jungkook responds. “Because I thought maybe you might be, and it didn’t make any sense to me.”

Overwhelmed by his words, you come to a standstill on the pavement, and he makes it a few steps further before he realizes. As he turns back to face you, the words rush out before you can stop them. “I mean, I don’t see how it’s any of your business either way.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows again. “It’s my business because I care about you. He made you so miserable when you first started, so I don’t see how you could just forget about that and be into him, especially when you could…” He trails off and looks down, unwilling to finish the sentence.

“When I could what?” Another fucking shrug, and you can feel the rage inside you simmering now, threatening to boil over. Yoongi’s question comes back to haunt you— you know Jungkook is in love with you, right?— and the pieces start to slot together in front of you.

“When I could be into you?” you press him, taking an accusatory step closer. “Is that what you want to say?”

His gaze flits up to the trees above you, like he’s willing to look anywhere but your face. “No. I don’t know.”

The birdsong in the air has suddenly started to sound a lot more like screaming, and you have to suppress the urge to do the same. Instead, your voice comes out low and deadly serious. “You and I are friends, Jungkook. Just friends.”

“I know we are,” he says softly.

“Do you?” you snap back, vicious now. “Because it sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he responds automatically, in the same tone, and you scoff.

“Look me in my face and say it.” You take another step toward him, and his eyes meet yours. He’s silent long enough for you to understand the truth, and all at once, you feel like a fucking idiot.

“Let me make this clear to you,” you hiss. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and making my own decisions. And I do not have to explain or justify them to anyone, including you, because you are not my fucking boyfriend.”

When you spit the final word, Jungkook flinches like you’ve slapped him, but you can’t stop now. You’re so angry, it feels like it’s eating you alive. “When I want your opinion, as my friend, I’ll ask for it. Understood?”

You’ve never seen him look at you the way he does now, his eyes dark, his face twisted into a near grimace. There’s a long pause, and his voice is stilted when he finally speaks. “Yeah. Sorry I brought it up.”

The two of you walk back to the office in total silence, and Jungkook doesn’t try to talk to you again.

~*~

It’s early enough to still be pitch black outside when Jimin pulls up to the curb of your terminal at Incheon Airport.

“Thanks again for driving.” You yawn around the words as you reach down to unbuckle your seatbelt. When Jimin suddenly pulls you in for a hug, you groan at the affection, but he pays it no mind, dotting kisses over your hair that make you squirm.

“Love you, have fun. And be a slut!”

You roll your eyes as you manage to peel him off of you. “Bye, Baby Mochi.”

Slipping on a face mask, you push the door of his car open and climb out of the passenger seat. You swing open the trunk to grab your suitcase, then slam it shut again and step up onto the curb.

Making your way into the terminal, you dig your phone out of your bag to double-check the text from Yoongi, and then you glance up at the sign overhead to confirm you’re right where he said he’d be.

It takes a second for you to realize the person walking in your direction is Min Yoongi. The black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes is certainly not a bad look, but when paired with his black face mask, it makes him almost impossible to identify, or get a good read on. Rolling your suitcase ahead of you, you move toward him, and the two of you meet in the middle.

You wore sneakers today, so he still seems tall.

“Hi,” you say simply, a thousand different emotions swirling in your gut. You do your best to ignore them all.

Yoongi hums a wordless grunt back in response, then turns to face the already bustling security line. You mirror him, and for a moment the two of you just stay like that, like you’re standing firmly in the present and unsure of what might be waiting on the other side.

He gives a tired sigh. “Ready?” You’re surprised to learn he can speak this early in the morning. 

“I guess so,” you answer.

Perfectly in sync, you both push your bags forward, stepping carefully toward a weekend that feels impossible to imagine.

chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine

[borathae]

“He hates the days where his hours are long.”

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: Slice of Life

Warnings: Koo is a lil grumpy from working late, but he is also cute 

Wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: just a lil something about our cutie’s day at the office. I had this scene in my mind and I wanted to write it. Have fun besties! ❤

Jungkook has been up since four. He didn’t choose to be up that early, but work made him do it. He crawled out of bed, wishing for more sleep and washed himself, regretting ever becoming a CEO. Not that this had been his choice, but goddamn, he cursed his parents for putting all of that on his shoulders as he took the warmest shower ever to fight the sleepy shivers. He let you sleep because waking you up just to kiss you goodbye seemed beyond cruel in his eyes. You didn’t have to suffer with him. So he kissed your sleeping form – one kiss on the cheek and another on your forehead – and then left the bedroom to get dressed. He drove to the office himself, not wanting his driver to crawl out of bed for him. He arrived at the company building at five forty and despite the early hours, the building was buzzing with life.

“Good morning Sir!” his employees all greeted him as he passed them on his way to the office.

He greeted them all, despite wanting to curse at them. They didn’t do anything wrong, but he is always terribly moody when he has to get up early.

His assistant wasn’t present yet as he starts work at nine. Jungkook was envious of him. He can still sleep for so many hours. Jungkook huffed out air and then kicked an imaginary stone. He really wanted to be back in bed with you in his arms and sleep keeping him hostage.

But he couldn’t. Not today. He had too many meetings today and his schedule was way too tightly packed lately. The company’s associates from Osaka flew in early today and he promised to welcome them at six ten. That is why he had to get up early.

Jungkook prepared each of them a cup of coffee and makes one for himself as well. He stores a coffee machine in his booze cabinet these days. It came in handy on many occasions and Jungkook not once misses what was once waiting for him in there.

Jungkook also laid out some chocolate cookies in case they were hungry and then he waited whilst almost falling asleep on his chair.

They stayed until nine, discussing the plans of the newest camera model the Osaka branch was responsible for developing. The meeting was very successful and lots of progress was made. They thanked him for his hospitality once they left and agreed on going for a round of karaoke later tonight and while Jungkook was excited to go, he was also very much not in the mood for it. He really wanted to spend the evening with you at home and not sing with his employees. He knew better to deny them however. His father always tells him that as the CEO he often has to do things he doesn’t want to do and that he shouldn’t whine about them and do them like a man. Jungkook doesn’t agree with this statement. He will most definitely whine about them to you later when he’s on your lap. He feels much more like a man that way then when he bottles up his frustrations like an idiot.

By ten after nine his assistant showed himself in Jungkook’s office, asking him if he needed anything to which Jungkook told him to prepare the big meeting room for ten o’clock. His assistant left after cleaning up the empty coffee cups. Jungkook spent the time making two phone calls and going through five documents. He then checked his calendar and groaned for twenty whole seconds. Six more meetings, one telephone conference and a stupid zoom meeting with Mister Johnson in New York. Jungkook hated today. It’s the worst day ever. Stupid work.

Jungkook doesn’t have lunch that day. Given that he didn’t have breakfast either because he felt nauseous in the morning, by the time the clock struck three, Jungkook could honestly murder people. He was tired, hungry and stressed and every single thing annoyed him. When Miss Park set her water glass down just a little too hard during his twelve AM meeting, he almost yelled at her. When Mister Lee asked him a question with the most obvious answer ever, Jungkook almost called him a fucking idiot. And when his assistant dared to tell him that he was going on lunch break at around two thirty, Jungkook almost considered firing him.

He would never really go through with all those urges as he knew that his employees weren’t responsible for his bad mood, but he really, really wanted to. He did proceed to send you a very angry message however, reading as followed.

-        Jungkook: Today sucks so much :( stupid work I hate it so much…

-        My Love ♡: oh noo poor baby :/ what happened?

Jungkook already felt better reading your name on his display. He loved knowing that in this short second of his day, you and him were doing the same thing and thinking of each other. He typed his answer with a slightly fluttering heart.

-        Jungkook: Yamasaki wants to go to karaoke after work and I don’t wanna :(

-        My Love ♡: nooo my poor baby. sending you lots of hugs ❤❤❤

Jungkook felt better instantly, kicking his feet under the table and giggling because you just send him hugs. You proceeded to send him one more message, asking him if he had already had something to eat to which he said he hadn’t. Jungkook had to leave it for another meeting before he could read your answer to it and by the time he came back, his brain was so scrambled from the meeting that he totally forgot to check what you texted him.

Jungkook still didn’t eat anything by the time the stupid zoom meeting with Mister Johnston was over and during the last meeting of his day – it was around seven thirty by now – Jungkook almost wanted to break down and cry. He was so hungry. He just wants to eat and not listen to Park Hyungsik from production talk about the millionth battery model. He still pretended to be highly interested however.

Hyungsik was very excited to be in the big boss’ office this evening. He was never in here before and he thinks that it is even cooler than he imagined it to be. He also always thought that Mister Jeon was a very strict boss, and while he was very strict, he wasn’t mean. Hyungsik was very scared that he would be yelled at for something, but Mister Jeon listens to him and gives good answers. He also never raises his voice at him. Hyungsik had to admit that he hadn’t expected Mister Jeon to have such a voice. It was very deep and he spoke very slowly. He liked the way he talked because he was a little bad of hearing, but Mister Jeon made it easy to understand him. He wonders if Mister Jeon knew about his hearing imparity and therefore talked slower. He was very grateful for it and felt very comfortable in his presence.

Hyungsik thought that Mister Jeon was very cool and he knew why someone like him became the CEO.

Mister Jeon was just in the middle of talking when someone opened the door. Hyungsik turned, watching a woman strut in. She wore jeans and a t-shirt and didn’t seem to be working here. She also carried containers of what seemed like food.

“Oh”, she lets out and stops abruptly.

“___!”

Hyungsik turns in shock upon hearing the high-pitched exclaim. Mister Jeon made that sound, currently standing up to beam at the woman with sparkly eyes. He giggles, scrunching his nose up before jumping into full sprint to get to her.

“Hello my love. What are you doing here?” he speaks with his voice totally changed. It’s all high and squeaky now and not at all like the deep, calm voice from before.

“You didn’t answer my text if you were planning to come home before karaoke. So I’m bringing dinner to you. I didn’t know you had guests. I’m sorry”, the woman answers him, tilting her head as Mister Jeon leans in for a big smooch. He even makes a little “mwuah” sound for it.

Hyungsik was highly confused by Mister Jeon’s cute public display of affection.

“That’s okay my love, waah I’m already so hungry. What did you get me?”

“Jjajangmyeon with beef. I made it myself. Also kimchi for your tummy”, she rubs his tummy as she says that, “and some pickled radish too.”

“Woow you’re the best, thank you so much”, Mister Jeon gasps, voice even higher than before.

Hyungsik feels as if he is witnessing a moment he was never supposed to witness. He clears his throat, calling his boss’ attention back to him.

Hyungsik looks at Mister Jeon’s hands around the woman’s waist. She must be Mister Jeon’s wife. He heard that Mister Jeon got married two years ago. It was all over the news. But this is the first time he sees her. She is a very beautiful woman. Hyungsik knew why Mister Jeon liked her.

“Mister Park please excuse me. This is my wife”, Mister Jeon speaks to him in the deep voice again.

“No worries. Uhm, good evening Misses Jeon.”

“Good evening to you too Mister Park”, she smiled at him then looked at her husband, “I’ll wait outside, yeah?”

“Mhm yeah. The meeting should be over soon.”

“No, I was finished either way. Thank you for your time Mister Jeon Sir, I will go over the changes with my team and then report back to you”, Hyungsik says, scrambling to his feet to hurry out of the office. He doesn’t want to intrude any longer.

“Of course, thank you for working hard Mister Park”, Mister Jeon says his goodbyes and then turns to his wife, “I missed you so much, my love. Oh my god, today sucked so much. I could cry. I’m so hungry and tired and my lower back hurts too and it’s just the worst”, he whines.

“Yeah? Poor baby, tell me all about it. Come let’s sit down and eat something and you tell me everything.”

“Yeah but I wanna sit on your lap for it. Like okay, listen. First of all…”

Hyungsik leaves the room before he can hear any more of the conversation. He won’t ever forget this evening. How can someone as cool and powerful as Mister Jeon act so cute?

[analogwriting]

Star-Crossed

Chapter 9: Cor

Donquixote Rosinante x gn!reader word count: 2.9k a/n: got another 241 for y'all next

When you awoke the next morning, you felt awful. You could barely open your eyes as they were all puffy and swollen from crying as much as you did. You had cottonmouth with a sore throat that felt raw. You must’ve thrown up. Your entire body just ached, head pounding. The light peeking in from the curtain felt far too bright, the fan in the corner - far too loud, the blanket you were under even felt heavy.

You don’t really recall the events of yesterday, but you could guess what happened. It happened every time you lost someone at the hospital. The blacking out and the stupid decisions. Man, you wished you could just cope like a normal fucking person just one time.

As your senses slowly stabilized, you covered your face with your hands and groaned. You assumed you were at Marco's house. Marco was probably at work and Pops was currently in the kitchen making breakfast for you. Again, it was the same every time. Clockwork. 

You took a moment to gather yourself before slowly sitting up. Your entire body felt like it was full of sand. Man, did you run a marathon yesterday? Cause it sure as shit felt like it. Though, it was probably from throwing up; doing such tore up your body in so many ways in the first place. That always took it out of you - it's also why you hated being sick. 

Luckily, you weren’t really sick perse. Just suffering the consequences of your actions.

You slowly made your way out of bed, standing and stretching. You made sure not to move too fast. You knew you’d probably end up throwing up if you shocked yourself with too much movement. 

It took a little while, but you did make your way to the kitchen. You were right. You were currently in Pops’ house, Marco was at work, and Pops was making breakfast. Well, lunch. It was well past noon right now. The smell of eggs and sausage filled the air, making your stomach growl.

“Well, look who decided to grace me with their presence,” Pops mused, setting a plate of food in front of you once you were sitting down at the island. It was the perfect hangover cure. Eggs, sausage, hash browns, toast, the whole nine yards. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” you mumbled as you began to dig in. 

Pops just chuckled as he cleaned up everything. Then he leaned against the counter in the kitchen, folding his arms. Here it comes. The lecture. Always happened every time.

“So, the Donquixote boy, huh?” You nearly choked on your food, falling into a coughing fit as you tried to recover from that verbal bomb. Not only did he surprise you by not immediately scolding you, but to bring him up? You weren’t even sure he’d remember him. 

“Who told you that?” you finally squeaked out.

Pops just looked at you with a flat expression. “You know Marco told me everything.”

You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes. You knew that no matter what you told Marco, he’d more than likely end up telling Pops. It was just the dynamic they had. Pops didn’t do much of anything else because of his health, so he lived for whatever drama Marco found out. He was no better than the receptionists. 

“Well, there’s nothing really going to happen now,” you mumbled. “He found out who dad was, pointed a gun at me, then fucked off and I haven’t seen him since.” 

There was a glint of something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite make out. Like he knew something you didn’t. A chuckle rumbled from him and you glanced at him.

“He seemed to be quite fond of you.”

You just looked at him. What was he on about? “I mean, Marco probably made it more than it seemed.”

Pops just smiled, shaking his head. “Not from Marco.” You narrowed your eyes. What was he getting at? What were you missing?

“I saw everything I needed to last night, kiddo.”

Every part of your body froze. Last night? What the hell happened last night? You just looked at him, opening and closing your mouth as you tried to find what words to say or ask. 

Pops snorted, shaking his head. “For a doctor, you sure aren’t bright sometimes.” 

You continued to just look at him, waiting for some kind of elaboration because right now you couldn’t think of anything that could’ve possibly happened.

“I’m not sure what happened before we arrived, but I can’t deny the look in his eyes. He clearly cared about you. I thought he was going to try and kill me before he saw your reaction to me.” He snorted, laughing so loudly that it rang off of the walls.

Your face felt like it was on fire. Corazon had found you last night? Oh dear god you were going to pass out from embarrassment.

“He didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time we were there. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was going to let Marco take you.” He grinned as you were internally screaming. You couldn’t believe this happened. 

“Didn’t help that you dropped a verbal bomb on him either.”

Your eyes snapped back up. “I did what now?” 

“You know that whole secret you’ve been keeping from him?”

Your entire body went ice cold as you stared at him. Did you really tell Corazon? While drunk? Why the hell would you do that? Sure, you planned on telling him eventually, but you also had come to terms with the fact that you were probably never going to tell him because he was avoiding you like the plague. 

Holy fucking shit did you tell Corazon while drunk? 

“And before you ask, no. We didn’t stick around to see what he’d say because I didn’t want you to throw up all over my truck.” 

Your eyes narrowed at him again. Damn, you threw up in his truck one time when you were a teenager and he hasn’t let you live it down since. That was over a whole decade and a half ago and he still teased you about it. Typical dad behavior. 

You finally covered your face with your hands. “Oh my god, Pops. What am I going to do?” You started grumbling under your breath as he laughed again. He seemed to be enjoying your own demise right now. You knew Marco was probably enjoying it as well. They loved seeing you suffer in the most humane ways.

“Well, you can start by finishing your breakfast.” He turned before pausing. You felt the air shift slightly. “I heard your father came to visit you.” 

“Uh, yeah?” Pops hardly talked about your father with you. When he left the scene, it was always hinted that they had a falling out, but you never know what it was for or just how bad it was. Your father always played it off like it was no big deal, he didn’t seem to hold any bad blood towards him.

“What did he come see you for?”

You shrugged. “Asked me to come back again. He did it a couple of years ago and I told him no, but I assume he just had forgotten.”

He just nodded, eerily quiet. You couldn’t help but start to feel uneasy. “Why are you asking?”

He shook his head. “Just curious is all. You know this old man. I don’t have any excitement in my own life, so I live through the two of you.” You narrowed your eyes slightly, nodding slowly. 

“Uh huh…” You didn’t believe him in the slightest, but you also weren’t going to push. You never pushed then, you weren’t going to push now. It always seemed to be a subject that was sore to Pops but your father was unbothered by it. It was something you never had a clear answer for but something was being kept from you. There was something both men weren’t telling you. Marco didn’t know either. It was the one thing that Pops didn’t talk to him about, so he couldn’t even tell you. 

You finished up eating, standing up to wash your dishes. You felt a lot better now; a proper meal in your system and drinking water did wonders for hangovers. The nauseating feelings went away, the urge to throw up at any moment no longer with you. 

“Just be careful, alright, kiddo?” He ruffled your hair before heading off, leaving you standing there with confusion on your face. Be careful? Why? What was going on? What did you have to watch out for? 

Between you admitting to Corazon what you did for him and Pops’ cryptic warning, your head was spinning and the nauseous feeling came back. You did have an impending doom feeling, but you had chalked it off to being hungover. You groaned - why did Pops have to do that? You knew you wouldn’t get any answers either, he’ll just chalk it off to general advice. 

What time was it anyway? You should probably head to the hospital and talk to Marco.

--

After taking a shower and changing into a fresh set of clothes, you felt like a whole new person. It was so fascinating how sometimes even the most mundane tasks could feel life changing. You supposed it just depended on the situation. You were always glad that even if you did move out of Marco and Pops’ place, you kept clothes over there just in case. Or you’d have to put on your nasty clothes from the night prior on.

On your way to the hospital, you also grabbed some snacks from the store. Anything pineapple related for your pineapple-haired best friend. You also grabbed one of those cheesy apology cards from the store to add some extra humor to it. The two of you weren’t exactly good at being sentimental and you couldn’t take anything seriously.

“Doctor, I didn’t think you were going to be in today,” one of the receptionists said when you walked in the door. “Marco said you were taking the day off!” There was a giant smile plastered on her face. 

You smiled at her and shook her head. “Oh, just a late start is all. Had some things to take care of.”

You waved goodbye, heading to your office. A few people were glancing your way and whispering to each other. What the hell was going on? You knew people couldn’t have heard about what happened yesterday - everything that happened on that side of the hospital was always underwraps. So, what would be the cause for weird whispers?

You’d get your answer the moment you stepped into your office. Sitting on the desk was a large bouquet of not flowers, but chocolates. They were shaped like flowers and other cute little shapes. You stopped midstep, tilting your head to the side. You set down Marco’s gift on the small table next to the door before slowly approaching the gift for you.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” You turned, looking at Marco. You gave him a look that asked what the hell was going on and he handed you an envelope that had your name scrawled on it. “Was told to give this to you.”

You tentatively took it, carefully opening it and reading the contents.

I am so sorry. We need to talk.

Donquixote Rosinante

You stood there, stunned. It was short, sweet, to the point which you appreciated. You didn’t want to have to read some sappy letter, you preferred an in person thing for that - or just no sap in general. 

The fact that he signed his entire name - not just the codename that was given to him by his brother and the name he just largely went by - but his actual name. What the hell kind of game was he playing right now? Was this stemming from what you said last night?

“This is not what I wanted,” you mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Marco asked from his usual perch, already digging into the snacks you’d bought for him.

“I don’t want him to apologize and make amends just because I’m the one that saved Law that night. I don’t want things to happen just because of that. I want these feelings and such to be genuine, not just some hero complex related thing.” You sighed, setting the letter down.

You pinched the bridge of your nose with a sigh. Marco rolled his eyes. “I think you’re thinking too much. At least go and see what he’s got to say, yeah?” He wasn’t wrong, you were notorious for overthinking every little thing in your life.

You looked at him, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that.” You let your head fall back as you relaxed into your chair.

“So, how are you feeling?” You could hear the sly grin in his voice. It made you want to punch him. 

“Pops was weird,” you said, ignoring the underlying tone in his voice. You knew he wanted to tease you for last night, but you also couldn’t stop thinking about his behavior.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. He asked about dad and got that weird look on his face like he always does. Then he told me to be careful.”

“Weird.”

“That’s what I’m fucking saying.” You ran a hand through your hair, looking once more at the large bouquet on your desk. At least he remembered you weren’t exactly a flowers person. Mostly because you could never properly enjoy them before they died.

“Well, he is old. Maybe he’s reminiscing and just worried about you.” Marco shrugged. “Again, you’re probably overthinking things like you do.”

“But what if I’m not? What if something is going to happen?”

Marco thought for a moment as he popped a treat into his mouth. “Mmm. Then we’ll deal with the punches as they come like we always do.” He shrugged, leaning back slightly. Ah, that was true. No matter what shitty things you ended up dealing with, Marco always had your back. “True.”

You sighed, plopping down in your chair, thinking for a long moment, staring off into space.

“Does Law know?” you asked, looking at Marco.

He shrugged, shaking his head. “Hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

“Suppose it’s time for me to tell him, huh?” you mused, yawning. Man, you should’ve just went back to bed and taken the day off. 

“Well, if he doesn’t know, then yeah. Rip off the bandaid and finally tell him that you’re the doctor he’s looking for.” Marco snorted, shaking his head.

“What?” A new voice rang through the room.

The way you and Marco jumped so high and turned so fast towards the door was animated enough to be in a cartoon. 

You stood up, turning to see Law standing there. His eyes were wide as he stared and you could tell he was trying to look for something to say. Hell, you didn’t even know what to say as you stood there, staring back at him. 

“Is it true?” He narrowed his eyes at you.

You nodded slowly, looking at Marco before looking back at Law. “Why would you keep that from me?”

You fidgeted for a moment before sighing. “Because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. And I wanted to see how you’d act as a doctor if you didn’t feel like you owed your life to the one who was teaching you. When your life has been saved, your view and efforts can be skewed. I just wanted you to be unbiased.”

He seemed to process your words, folding his arms. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

For some reason, hearing him say that made you feel some sort of calm. You were worried he’d start being overly nice to you and all kinds of things just because you had saved him. You hated having special treatment which is why you opted for not telling him. You wanted to just be another doctor he worked with. 

“That’s a stupid thing to tell yourself. There’s nothing wrong with basic recognition for something great you’ve done. I just wanted to be able to give you proper thanks. For my life and giving me the inspiration to also be a doctor. For helping me find my passion or whatever.” Law shrugged, looking at the two of you. “I also just happened to luck out that you’re also a genuinely good person. Sometimes, when people meet their heroes, they end up being the worst people ever. So, thanks for not being the worst either.”

His words stunned you honestly. You stood there, staring at him. What the hell were you supposed to even say to that? 

“Also, Corazon isn’t wanting to apologize just because you told him what you’d done. Guilt was already eating away at him before that. He wanted to apologize before. I guess this was just his final sign to push him to do it.” A fond smile appeared on the young man’s face. “From what he told me, he actually had a crush on you then too, so…” He shrugged, turning and walking out, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

[lovesickfoolwp]

right where you left me; part 2 — jj maybank

part 1

pairing : reader x jj maybank x kiara carrera

summary : after secretly liking kiara for several years (and leaving you to be with her), jj thought that he would be on cloud nine when he heard her saying she felt something for him. after all, he took a risk. but was it worth also risking his relationship with you? and what if they were better off as best friends than lovers?

jj and kiara were celebrating a month since they were together when they came to the restaurant where you worked, and now, as the second month started since the two of them were a couple, things had started to get complicated because 'the honeymoon phase' has passed.

they had started arguing about little things, like that one time when jj refused to help kie to clean after they had a party at the chateau. or when she wasn't on his side when he quarreled with pope, as if she was supposed to take their childish quarrels seriously.

and all this just because kiara was still feeling guilty after finding out that you were dumped because of her, and because jj had started to realize that the spark he felt when she told him she liked him had meanwhile started to go out because you can't make a thing that's already finished continue, no matter how much you want it. it's just not the same as it used to be. not always. and unfortunately, not in this case.

with a little time before going to the party on the beach, where jj knew there would be a lot of people, probably you too, he felt uneasy. and being next to kiara, outside in the hammock, waiting for the rest to be ready, he didn't say anything. and the silence of the night and the silence between the two of them was really starting to affect kiara. she also felt that they were not suitable as a couple. this situation was not beneficial to any of them.

so... she was the one who opened the inevitable discussion.

"where would you like to go for our one year anniversary?" she asked, placing her palm over jj's hand to bring him down to earth.

it was a trick question, to see if he could see his future with her as her lover.

caught by surprise, having his mind elsewhere, he asked "do you think we'll catch the one year anniversary?"

she nodded. "don't you?" she asked gently. she cared for him, but it hurt her more to see him absent.

love cannot be forced and she understood that. feelings come and go. none of them deserved to suffer and continue, if they were not happy.

jj realized too late that his mouth spoke first and sighed, only to release his hand and turn his body towards her to get a better look at her. "kie..."

"just tell me if you still have feelings for me, jj. I promise i won't be upset if the answer is negative." she smiled at him. "we both deserve the truth."

"i—" he wanted to say something, but he stopped. then he took a second to put his thoughts in order and continued. "i was so fixated on the idea of having you, that I didn't think that things had changed in the meantime. i tried to bring to life some feelings that, unfortunately for both of us, but more so for you, had set in a long time ago. i feel so bad, kie." he stops talking and puts his hands on his head, avoiding her gaze. "i don't deserve you."

"jj..." she whispered his name and reached out to take his hands off his face. to make him look at her. "it's not about who deserves whom, j. some relationships are just not meant to work, even if the persons care about one another."

"you're not mad at me?" he asked, and her heart broke.

she didn't want to make him feel that way. she wanted to be in his life, but she didn't want to have the wrong role. and the role of being his girlfriend did not suit her.

"why would i be mad at you, fool?" she teased, making him smile. "you didn't intentionally do something to hurt me, did you?"

he shooked his head and the silence fell again, to let them put their thoughts in order.

"so, we really broke up?" he asked her as he helped her out of the hammock, after he had gotten out first.

she approved, holding out her hand so that he could help her and when she reached the ground, next to him, she raised a finger towards him. "but don't think that means you got rid of me!" she threatened him to loosen the atmosphere a bit.

"i wasn't planning on doing that." he said honestly, smiling down at her.

so, during the party, where jj saw you at topper's arm, he started to feel guilty. he had given up on you to run away towards an obsession he had a long time ago. only to see that that obsession was just an idea created in his mind and that the reality it didn't have the same charm.

he was standing away from the group and from the rest of the world, at the bonfire, looking at you as he took sips of his beer.

he did not noticed pope when he sat down beside him, until he put his hand on his shoulders. "hey." pope said and by the time jj was looking at him, he was also looking in your direction. "isn't she the girl you were seeing before?"

"who? her?" jj was acting dumb, taking one last look at you, when you were laughing at something topper had said, turning then his full attention to his friend.

"yeah." pope gave him a small smile, feeling a little bit bad for bringing it up. "what was her name? y/n?"

"yeah. y/n y/l/n." he said and set the bottle down next to him after he finished drinking it. "she's a pogue." he added and shrugged, as if he knew that mentioning this detail was not important, but he said it anyway.

seeing him so miserable, pope felt sorry for him, on the inside, but on the outside he refrained from laughing at him. how dumb must he be to not to do something about it when it was so clear that seeing you with a topper bothered him? and he knew from kiara that the relationship between them wasn't working, so they ended it a few hours ago. he had to open his eyes.

"what?" he suddenly turned towards him, with a grimace on his face, when jj saw him grinning at him.

"what do you mean?" pope hurried to defend himself, raising his hands in the air. "i didn't said or did anything!"

however, the grin was still on his face.

"well, your face sure does!" jj replied and rolled his eyes.

pope started laughing and jj hit him in the arm, making him fall from the beach chair he was sitting on.

pope continued to laugh, shouting at him "you're jealous!".

"no, i'm not."

just like pope's face earlier, his face also said otherwise.

while jj helped pope up, feeling bad that he had pushed him, you appeared in front of them. "who's jealous?" you asked looking at both of them and jj's jaw clenched when he saw you.

speaking of the devil.

"oh!" said the pope and pretended to hear something, putting his hand to his ear as he rose from his chair. "was that john b?"

"sit—" jj wanted to tell him to sit down, but he was quieter than you and he wasn't heard.

"i didn't hear anything."

you looked at him strangely, with an eyebrow raised.

"i'm sorry, bro, i've got to go." he said and put his hand on jj's shoulder again, squeezing it gently this time. "see you later, y/n!"

and with that being said, he had disappeared from the landscape, leaving you two alone. jj, cursing him in his mind, and you, being perplexed.

you wanted to sit next to him, but he got up and he tried to keep the distance between you.

"is that how it will be from now on?" you asked, speaking louder so he could hear you, and he stopped in his tracks.

a few seconds had passed, seconds in which he inhaled deeply, until he turned to look at you.

"what are you talking about?"

"what am i talking about?” you snorted, feeling yourself getting angry. "before you came to the restaurant, i hadn't seen you for about a month! you ignore me!"

he crossed his hands over his chest, looking at you intensely. "i don't want to hurt you more than i already have."

"really?" you asked him, fake laughing, and he approved. "do you think it would hurt me if you behaved like a normal person and at least said hello when i'm passing by?" you didn't give him time to answer and continued, tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes. "no, jj! it hurts me even more when you pretend you don't know me!"

and he felt miserable. he let his arms fall to his side, but his gaze was still on you so he felt countless knives being stabbed into his heart when he noticed your eyes shining with tears.

you were crying again. because of him.

"i thought i was doing us both a favor by avoiding seeing you." he whispered, not sure if he should say it out loud.

"how the hell would that do me a favor, hm?" now you were the one who crossed her arms over her chest after running a nervous hand through your hair.

"i don't know, okay?" he said harshly and rolled his eyes. "i don't know what i'm doing and standing so close to you doesn't help me at all!"

you smiled sadly, and wanted to turn to leave. "then excuse me, i will be leaving."

but he stopped you. as you had done with him.

"y/n, please." he said your name like a prayer, asking you to stay by his side. "i'm trying my best to do the right thing, but i don't know how the hell i manage to hurt the people I care about in the process. i didn't mean it to sound like that, believe me."

you stopped and sighed, "so what was that supposed to sound like, j?"

he knew that he was the one who had put an end to it. he knew that he had run away from you to run after an unreal illusion, and now, when he still felt attracted to you when you were close to him and jealous when you were around another boy, he thought he didn't deserve to even talk to you. but he wanted to. he wanted to share with someone what he was thinking because then, after hearing himself say his thoughts out loud, maybe they would make more sense.

"when kiara told me that she liked me, i let myself be led by the impression that i could feel for her what i once felt, and i made the mistake of putting an end to what we had. in that month in which i didn't look for you and i tried to avoid you, i kept lying to myself that the feelings i had for her returned. but after seeing you again, i felt what i felt the first time i saw you combined with all those times you made me feel so many things for you just by being yourself. and i couldn't get those moments out of my head." he said everything in a hurry, but you somehow managed to keep up with him. still, you didn't know if you wanted to be as far away from him as possible or to be so close to him that there wouldn't be a millimeter of distance between you. "i still feel something for you, y/n, but i don't think that i deserve a second chance after what i've put you through. i don't want to be selfish."

when you heard him admit that his feelings for you were still there, you felt both a sense of relief, but also a sense of heartbreak. how could you know that what he said was true, if he didn't seem sure of himself either?

"you know..." you started to say, being also overwhelmed by nostalgia when he mentioned the moments when you were sure of yourselves. "that night i wanted to tell you 'i love you' for the first time," you said with a sad smile, thinking what would have happened if you had told him then.

his thoughts stopped. now the only thing he was thinking about was your last sentence, especially the last three words that had slipped from your lips. he imagined that he could turn back the time to watch your lips say those words over and over again. he imagined how he would listen to you saying those words over and over again.

over and over again.

"do you still feel it?" he asked, forgetting everyone and everything. only you mattered.

being out of touch, not knowing what effect your words had on him, you asked "feel what?".

he swallowed hard and then answered you. "do you still love me?"

caught off guard by his question, you felt yourself sinking into the sand you were standing on. in fact, you wish this would happen. that way you wouldn't have had to admitted it.

"yes."

that's all he needed. in the next second, without thinking about what would happen next, he immediately covered the distance between you and pressed his lips harshly to yours. the kiss was one full of desire, the desire that will grind you both and make you forget about yourselves. he didn't want to detach himself from you anymore. he didn't want to act without thinking carefully before anymore.

he just wanted to continue wanting you, as he wanted you in that moment.

feeling the need for air, you put your head back a little, his hands squeezing your waist as close to his body as possible. you took a deep breath and asked him "did you feel anything when you kissed me?"

"anything?" he repeated, breathing hard and bringing his forehead together with yours. "i felt everything that could be felt."

you smiled and stood up on your tiptoes a bit to pull him into your second kiss of the night. and certainly, not the last.

[chasingmidnights]

A Brutal Life Series: Part Three - Just Another Manic Monday

Title: Just Another Manic Monday

Summary: With the most recent nightmares plaguing you, you nearly forgot about your lesson with Jake. 

Warnings: First, this is 18+, minors DNI!!! Warnings to look out for (but not limited too): implied previous abuse; nightmares; some mild angst; implied stalking/harassment; Jake Jensen (he’s a warning, okay!); Bucky Barnes (he’s also a warning, okay!); mild cursing; and I think that’s it. I apologize if I missed anything, but you are responsible for what you read and your own media consumption. I do not claim to be a professional writer, any and all mistakes are my own; nothing is beta read. 

Wordcount: 2,022

The rain softly beat against your window as you laid in your bed and you were wide awake. You reached for your phone and instantly groaned when you saw what time it was, four in the morning. After placing your phone back onto the bedside table, you rolled over to your side to try to get some more sleep, but you knew it would be fruitless. You were so tired though, you just wanted a good night’s sleep, was that too much to ask for? Your nightmares have been more consistent recently and in full force, you were actually starting to dread sleep. Not only did you have to go through the abuse once, but now again in your dreams. Frustrated, you decided to give up on your sleep and threw the comforter and sheets off of you and climbed out of bed. 

You tiredly made your way to the kitchen and started to make yourself some tea as quietly as you could. Once you had your tea just the way you liked it, you took a seat at the bay window and wrapped a blanket around your legs. You watched the rain trickle down the window and listened to the soft rumble of the occasional thunder. You sipped on your tea as you sat there, you had always liked the rain, it always brought you a sense of comfort. Even now as your thoughts swirled in darkness. As you sat there, your past weighed heavily on you, it consumed you most days, being able to think of nothing else and all of the horrible shit the universe put you through. Your younger and more innocent self always believed that there was some hidden reason for everything one person went through, but she was a damn fool. The older, more cynical you, now knows that sometimes you just get drawn a bad hand and there’s no rhyme or reason to it, some were just born to suffer. You let out a small sigh before lifting your tea cup up to your lips and taking a long drink of your tea. The tea warmed you up a little bit and brought you some comfort, but tea can only do so much, it’s not a cure-all. 

You’re not really sure when or how, for that matter, but you managed to drift off to sleep and for once, it wasn’t plagued by nightmares. When your vision comes to as you start to wake up, the warm morning sun was beating down on you. You started to stretch as you looked around and as you did, you saw Wanda in the kitchen making her coffee. A soft smile formed on your lips as the fresh brew filled your nostrils, you always did enjoy the smell of fresh coffee in the morning. But then it dawned on you, if Wanda was awake, then it had to be at least nine and you were going to be late to meet Jake. 

“Shit!” You tossed the blanket off of you and quickly scrambled to your feet and bolted past Wanda to get ready. 

“Well, good morning to you too!” Wanda chuckled as she saw your reaction to the time. 

You hurriedly put together an outfit and threw your hair into a messy bun. As you hobbled around to put your converses on, you called out to Wanda. “Why didn’t you wake me?!” 

As Wanda remained in the kitchen, she shook her head playfully. “Didn’t know I was supposed to! And besides, you looked so peaceful, and figured you could use the extra sleep.” 

A moment later, you came back out from your bedroom and narrowed your gaze at her. “You knew very well about my plans today.” 

“Oh yeah, your date with Jake, right?” Wanda inquired, a smirk etched on her dainty mouth. 

“It’s not a date, okay? He’s just showing me a few things to become more tech savvy, that’s all.” You explained quickly, before pausing for a moment. “But do I look alright?” 

Wanda snickered as you asked that. “Right, not a date. As for how you look, you might want to make sure that your shirt isn’t inside out or backwards.” 

You glanced down and immediately saw the tag wasn’t where it was supposed to be, causing you to groan. Even though Wanda was giving you a hard time about this whole thing, you were thankful that she had pointed that out. You rushed back towards your bedroom to fix the shirt, double checking to make sure it was the right way before leaving your room again. 

“Much better.” Wanda said, as she looked up from the paper she was reading. 

“Thanks. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ll keep you posted.” You said as you grabbed your keys and purse before walking out the door. 

Wanda playfully shook her head as she watched you leave. She knew it was only a matter of time for the two of you. 

Jake let out a heavy sigh as he stood at the counter with Bucky, who glanced over at him and shook his head. It’s been ages since he’s seen his friend act this way over a girl, let alone a girl he barely knows. 

“Jake, you’re being ridiculous, you know that, right?” Bucky commented on his friend’s attitude. 

“How so? I’m doing inventory.” Jake replied, pausing for a moment to look over at Bucky. 

Bucky scoffed at Jake’s answer as he ran his fingers through his hair and countered Jake’s statement. “That’s bullshit and you know it, that sigh wasn’t about inventory.” 

Jake arched a brow as he stopped what he was doing and crossed his arms. “You keep track of the different sighs that I have? That’s kind of weird man.” 

Bucky was about to reply when you walked into the storefront. “Saved by the bell.” Bucky muttered under his breath. 

A groan quickly followed Bucky’s mutter as Jake slapped him on the back of the head, causing Bucky to reach back and rub the spot. Upon seeing the action, you stopped in your tracks, tilting your head a bit as you made sure not to drop anything. Since you were running late, you had decided to stop and get coffee and treats as a way to apologize. 

“Did I come at a bad time?” You asked as you adjusted the box in your hands, make sure not spill any coffee. 

“Hey, girl scout, of course not. What did you bring us this time?” Bucky inquired, his eyes on the box in your hands. 

You glanced between the two of them, before you accepted Bucky’s answer. “Just some treats and coffee as a way to apologize for being late this morning.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” There was a short pause as Jake came around the counter, a huge smile on his face. “Here, let me help you with that.” Jake offered as he carefully took the box from you. 

“Oh, thank you, Jake.” You smiled at him, butterflies already starting to form. “Um, I wasn’t sure how you guys liked your coffee, so I got everything on the side.” You said, before handing Bucky and Jake their coffees. 

Bucky smiled at you before he took a drink of his coffee. “Black coffee is all I need, thanks girl scout.”

“It’s no problem, really.” You replied, before glancing over at Jake, who was putting three packets of the raw sugar into his coffee. 

“Just need a dash of sweetness in mine.” Jake said, before taking a sip. 

Once the coffee and treats were served, you and Jake went back to his office. You watched him as he got everything set up, he moved so elegantly and quickly that a part of you was almost in awe by his movements. 

“Hey, sorry I was late.” You said after a while, breaking the silence that had formed. 

Jake paused as he glanced over his shoulder to look at you. “No worries. Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, I just haven’t been sleeping well lately, but I’ll be okay. Especially when you show me all of your tricks and we figure out who’s messing with me.” You answered as honestly as you could, not wanting to reveal too much. 

Jake looked you over for a moment. He had a feeling that there was something else, but he didn’t want to push you; after all, he barely knew you. “Well, let's get started shall we? Here, have a seat.” 

You smiled as you did as Jake told you what to do, but as soon as you did, a sinking feeling started to form in your chest as you logged into your email. You froze though as you saw all of the unopened emails from your harasser, you couldn’t believe there were so many of them. 

“D-did these all just come in?” You asked, as you tore your gaze away from the screen to look at Jake.

Jake’s smile faded and his face became more serious. “Yeah, last couple of days, unfortunately. I’m trying my best, but damn, this person has it on lock down, it’s been nearly impossible to break through to get to the other side. Don’t worry though, I’m not gonna give up, I like a good challenge.” 

You couldn’t help but admire his determination as he popped his tattooed knuckles. “Well, I definitely appreciate all of the hard work. Maybe if we can find out who this is, I can actually do something about it, have them arrested or something.” There was a short pause. “I have a question.” 

“Shoot.” Jake said, gesturing for you to continue. 

“Well, I was just thinking, should we back up these emails in case something happens?” You inquired as you took a shaky breath. 

Jake started to scratch his chin, ruffling up the small, fine hair that was there. “You know, I hadn’t considered that, but if that’s something that you want me to do, I definitely can.” 

You sat and thought about it for a moment before you answered. “Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble, I think I would like that.” 

“You got it boss.” Jake said with a smile. 

You smiled back at him and as you did, you could feel those pesky butterflies starting to form again. After a moment, you cleared your throat and you turned your attention back to your laptop. 

“So, shall we get started?” You asked nervously, as you tried to focus on the laptop, while you waited for further instruction. 

“If you’re sure that you’re ready, then yes, let’s get started.” Jake said, clearing his throat as well. 

Once you left Jake’s shop for the day, you felt a little bit better. You knew a little bit more about what it was that Jake was doing and your computer skills didn’t feel so rusty. Could you do it on your own? Absolutely not, you still needed Jake. 

As you walked back to your apartment, the evening breeze felt good to you and you could still smell the rain in the air from earlier this morning. A small smile had formed on your lips as you thought about how, for once, that life might be looking up for you. You didn’t want to get your hopes up though, life had been cruel to you for the most part. You should’ve known better than to think about hope though, as your phone beeped a couple of times. You stopped walking to answer it as you pulled your phone out of your purse. Your heart started to race as you saw a text from an unknown number. You took a deep breath and with shaking hands, you unlocked your phone and tapped on the message. As you did that though, you were filled with instant regret and your stomach dropped. 

Unknown: Did you miss me, sweetheart? Because I’ve missed you. - C.B. 

After reading the text a couple of times, you finally looked up and looked all over, but nothing stood out to you. You quickly tucked your phone away before you continued your way home, picking up the pace as you did.

[alexbkrieger13]

https://www.theguardian.com/football/2024/feb/22/how-to-stop-spain-and-aitana-bonmati-moving-the-goalposts-nations-league

How to stop Spain and Aitana Bonmatí. Well, how to try at least

for my first column for Moving the Goalposts I was asked: how do you beat Spain? Well, it is easier said than done. When my Sweden team faced them in Gothenburg in September I had a moment which felt like an out-of-body experience: I could see clearly which kinds of balls they wanted to play and the patterns of their passes. They like to play diagonal passes from the No 6 up to the No 8s and, from there, switch the play. The problem, though, was reacting to it as they are just so quick.

I’ve seen them close up probably more than I’d have liked in the past year – three times, in fact, as we lost a World Cup semi-final to them and then suffered late defeats in both our Nations League group games against them.

Now it is time for the Nations League semi-finals. France face Germany and the Netherlands have the unenviable task of taking on Spain. When I think about what makes them so formidable, I’d start with two things: the amount of quality players and that winning culture, which begins with their youth national teams. They’ve won four of the last five Under-19 Euros and been to the final in seven of the last eight Under-17 Euros. In other words, just reaching a tournament is not enough – their attitude is “we’re going to be there until the end”. The same goes at club level with Barcelona.

In fairness, with Sweden we were close in both Nations League group games: we interrupted their rhythm and were close to getting a draw. We like to press high and force mistakes and, at home, I scored the opening goal and we managed to disrupt them quite well. However, we didn’t have energy to do it for the whole game and lost 3-2.

In Málaga we played a new 3-5-2 formation as we wanted to get a higher press on their centre-backs and also – with our three centre-backs – to cover the inner corridors that they are so good at exploiting. We won the ball high and led 3-1 at half-time. But after an hour a little player called Aitana Bonmatí came on and changed the game, and we ended up losing 5-3.

View image in fullscreenThis is an example with Alexia Putellas this time positioning herself in the same area, making it really difficult for us to decide who should mark her. Photograph: SvFF

Another player I’d like to mention is Salma Paralluelo, who has added a new dimension to Spain’s game. She is so quick that you can’t just have a high line against them as you might get caught out behind instead. Previously, Spain had forwards coming short so you could keep the team really compact but with Paralluelo it makes that really difficult.

Spain’s opponents in Seville on Friday, the Netherlands, have resilience and some good attacking players but the challenge will be to play the perfect game for 90 minutes. When you have the energy, you can press Spain and get the ball in good areas but they’re so good at tiring teams out, as they showed in the World Cup final against England. You retreat into a mid or low block and then you are just chasing and looking at what they are doing. And that means that when you do win the ball, it is hard to have ideas and keep hold of it – they are so quick at trying to regain it, while you are still tired.

If there is one weakness in Spain, it is the fact they do concede goals – nine in six Nations League group games. At Chelsea we always had the mantra that goals win you games but defence wins you championships and, as a defender, I like to believe that is true. That said, Spain scored 23 at the other end so maybe they have cracked the code – as long as you score an extreme amount of goals then it is OK not to be so solid. However, that could be where other teams have a chance.

As for the other semi-final between France and Germany, the French had a strong group stage, dropping just two points and conceding only one goal. They are a team with a core of experience as well as individual flair and they have Marie-Antoinette Katoto looking dangerous again after her long-term injury. However, as a Bayern Munich player I hope my German friends will go through and I do think they have grown as a team. Since moving to Bayern I have noticed that German football has a similarity with Swedish culture in that everyone is expected to work for the team. An example is Klara Bühl, my Bayern colleague, who is one of their key attacking players but still works really hard for the team. With that attitude, I fancy them to reach the final.

Credit to Spain campaigners

It is not just on the pitch that I admire Spain. As a member of FifPro’s global players’ council, I have followed their story off the pitch too and before the game in September, I managed to say, very briefly, how much I respected them for the way they have stood up and demanded changes from their FA – and got them. The week leading up to that match they had had late-night meetings, little sleep and plenty of stress yet still managed to come to Gothenburg and play a really good game. I am impressed with how, between their struggles, they have managed to stay focused on their football and win a World Cup.

Nations League format should follow men’s example

On a broader note about this first Women’s Nations League, it has been a welcome addition even if, timing-wise, it was tough from a player’s perspective to regroup and go again so soon after the World Cup. However, when I look at the fact Spain and France each play their semi-final at home, I do believe it would have been better to follow the men’s example and have a ‘final four’ event in just one place. It would have been a better spectacle and would make more sense from a commercial perspective – not to mention a sporting one as it is a huge advantage for Spain and France to each have a home semi-final.