#I genuinely think it’s a problem but I have more serious problems beyond the stress of | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myeagleexpert · 8 months ago

Text

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕳𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕬𝖜𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗 ( PT2 )

And if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go? Howl's Moving Castle x Twisted Wonderland Au (Vil x Fem!Yuu) PS: This was written before Vil's new updates in the new chapters, I'm delving deeper into Vil's character and I know he's not just "a pretty boy" but for the direction of the story, he will have to follow this personality aspect a little more to this characteristic part of it. So I'm sorry if this isn't the most faithful fic to the character he is. I promise I will edit better, so that it has better quality.

Part1 You're here Next

"Bro, if you don't come soon I swear I'll get her alone!"- Ace stood with his arms crossed outside Heartslabyul's kitchen while Deuce carried a beautiful and tasty strawberry pie that Trey just made, the smell of pie woke up all the members of the dorm leaving them in a wonderful mood, if even the tyrannical Riddle smiled with that pie it would certainly work on Yuu too right?

"Don't rush me Ace! After all that stress yesterday the least we can do is apologize to Yuu."

"And you needed to give Trey more work and make him another pie so soon?"

"Well….er….With model students we must go beyond simple apologies!"- Suddenly, Deuce's jovial face turned red but he quickly remembered that shame should not stop him from apologizing to his friend.

"Come on! She's not even that mad!" raising his arms in resignation he continued “Okay, she is angry! But this happens almost every day, she is already used to it, and besides…” the nosy man put his finger in the gelatinous broth of the pie and licked his fingers. in such an unpretentious way “It’s not like she’s going to disappear out of nowhere and we won’t be able to say goodbye, she’s our friend.”

Deuce sighed heavily and finally agreed with his friend. Trapolla, with a genuine smile, began to remember some adventures they had already had and plan new adventures with Yuu and Grim would also love the antics. And hope filled their hearts. Planning after planning. After all, Yuu would always be with them, right?

“I'm grateful that you managed to get here as quickly as possible.” With a serious voice, the old crow thanked everyone present in the mirror room, from teachers to leaders and vice-leaders, some of Yuu's colleagues were also there.

"We know it's something important Crowley, we need to discuss this as soon as possible" - it was in the middle of breakfast that Riddle heard ADeuce's desperate screams, and when he turned up his nose thinking that the morning had already started badly he couldn't imagine it would get worse.

“So what do we know so far? I only heard loud noises all morning” - the lion grumbled

“The members of my dorm, Ace and Deuce, when they went to pick Yuu up for classes early in the morning, discovered that Yuu and Grim had mysteriously disappeared.”

“Have you looked for clues in the abandoned dormitory?”

“ That's the problem: the entire Ramsharckle Dorm is gone! Not even a piece of wood on the floor, no ghosts, just a mark on the floor where he used to stand” Trey replied and while he already felt anxiety in his heart, he knew that the first boys must be feeling it more. When the two arrived screaming like maniacs in the dorm asking them to follow Trey knew something was strange, due to the fact that his precious pie was dropped on the floor. Not even in an overblot had Deuce dropped a cupcake, but a pie on the floor must have been quite a problem.

“Oh, now that’s a problem.” putting his hand over his mouth Jade whispered discreetly in Azul's ear

“There are rumors all over the school. How could an ENTIRE dorm disappear out of nowhere? What about our protection field?” Leona had had his precious 9am post-sleep nap interrupted when conversations from all kinds of beastmen started to get very loud and his sensitive ears picked up some things.

“I heard that Yuu hasn't shown up to class yet. Did you take their notes?”

“The meteor shower was incredible yesterday! I took several photos and posted them on Magicam!”

“There is a horrible smell near the statues of the seven! A very strong smell of rotten eggs and vinegar!”

" You will not believe! You know that girl's dorm without magic? IT DISAPPEARED"

“Our protective field detected nothing, no changes.”

“What if the dorm is gone but Yuu and Grim are still somewhere in the school? Can Rook use his magic and try to look for them both?”

The hyena knew two things: Nothing disappears without a trace and that Yuu would do anything for her and Grim to survive. No wonder she survived 7 overblots. They are alive.

“Yes, Monsieur Dandelion” when reciting his unique magic, the hunter combined it with a magic from his wand so that everything he was seeing, others would also see with a projection of his magical range - an idea that came from Yuu.

i s e e y o u

Spell cast but no result, Rook searched every dormitory and every hidden corner of the school, the deserts of scarabia to the bottom of the waters of octaveinelle, in the royal school, in the noble school, in the cities they had visited before but nothing… for one good period of time….nothing.

“Je suis désolé, I didn’t find anything”

“Oh for the seven! How terrible! What do we do?" Crowley, oh so sad, exclaimed.

“Did they come home?"

“Did she run away?” “But what happened that made her run away so suddenly?”

Some voices whispered among themselves, others created more theories about what could have happened.

Malleus was in the corner of the room, absorbed by the shadows of the room, he could see how each person missed Yuu and Grim and how emotions were expressed on their faces, but Schoenheit's looked strange, it wasn't the same expression as sadness that Heartslabyul's dorm leader,it was Silver's expression when he was a child doing something wrong and Lillia caught him in the act… oh yes… guilt.

“Let’s split up, if the dogs just whine, it won’t help anything!” with authority determined to find the two, Crewel spoke out -“The two first year pups, Trey, Riddle, Blue, Rook and Jack go to the Ramsharckle to inspect for any clues in the dorm, any smell, footprint, anything.

Ruggie, Jamil, Jade and Carter, I need you to interrogate the students and find out how the rumors came about and if we have any useful information. Kalim and Epel, stay in this group too.

For the rest, check the library to see if there is any phenomenon linking last night to Ramscharkle's disappearance and calm down the dorms.”

“Any information must be said immediately. Stay calm, we will find them.” concluded Trey and they were soon dismissed

"Child of man, how did you know that Grim would precisely knock down that vase?" - prince in all his wisdom, asks Yuu who had just picked up a vase from the shelf exactly 5 seconds before the monster cat appeared out of nowhere and knocked in the exact location of the vessel.

"Intuition." Malleus's gaze asked for more information and so she graciously gave it “It's when we have the act of perceiving, discerning or sensing things, independently of reasoning or analysis to conclude something, you know? “ “Could this be a magic that only belongs to humans?”

“I don’t think so Tsunotaro” she laughed so cutely “So when you get a feeling about something, go ahead, there’s a good chance you’re right.”

Go ahead

His eyes narrowed and followed Vil's movements, who silently took another path from the research group.

Some things were discovered in each group:

1- The dormitory is completely gone, with all the members. 2-there is a very slight smell of Yuu in a single small section 3- Sam's friends saw Yuu just before the meteor shower started 4- Yuu was upset with some people (rumors) 5- All photos of the meteor shower are blurry 6- Absolutely nothing else

The students looked disappointedly at the paper list before handing it to Crowley, just some facts with few connections between them and no matter how much they looked for some magic or some phenomenon to explain what happened but the results of their efforts yielded nothing, just hearts. sad and heavy consciences and remained that way for a few days.

Until one day, the universe decided to smile at the boys again and especially at the manliest boy in Pomefiore who was pouting on his bed after being tugged on Vil's ear.

“Umnh…hello pewpaw?” “Hello my sweet! How are you?" his grandmother's voice calmed the lilac-haired boy for the first time in days “I’m fine grandma, things have been really complicated these days, but I’m trying hard to get stronger!” “Okay, grandma knows you’ve been having a rough day, so send an extra box of apple juice for you and your friends!” “Thank you, I’m sure they’ll love it-” “And Yuu, how is she?” my crush is missing in the middle of the world and we have no idea if anyone would say we will see her again, thank you “Well, she is… fine….but something happened that-” “Yesterday she said she wasn’t feeling very well, so I gave her that apple and lemon drink and wow! She looked really pretty!”

what WHAT?

“Yesterday grandma? What? Where?” genuinely confused and stunned even more so because Rook appeared out of nowhere next to him and silently asked to turn on the speakerphone on his cell phone. “I bumped into her in the village on Sage Island when we went to make some apple juice deliveries, I even thought you would be close to her with some friends! A pretty girl is not meant to walk alone!”

“How was she, grandma? Was she ok? Where did you see her exactly? “ Exasperated and anxious, the boy tried to control himself so as not to make it too obvious how worried he was! But Crowley, in all his old bird wisdom, ordered that no one should speak of this matter outside of the NRC people.

“She was in front of a store when we bumped into each other, I don't remember the name of the store because some were already closing. I don’t know why but she feels different”

“Like what grandma?” “Like…. magical…. but isn’t she the girl without magic who studies with you?” “Yes, yes… And!… ah… How was she d-different?" - increasingly anxious he had no idea what to think and what to ask without shouting that she was missing “I didn’t see him… um…. She likes it differently, I don’t remember what”

Rook thought of a strategy while Epel pulled out his hair, the hunter wrote on a piece of paper he took from the desk the most direct questions about what everyone wanted to know!

“Grim.was. with. her.? “I didn’t see him… um…. She looked different, I don’t remember what but it was the only thing I remember.”

“Did.she.tell.where.she.was going?” Rook's handwriting looked like a drunken French monarch writing, so give Epel credit for reading that riddle while he was trying not to pass out

“If she said, I don’t remember, she had some bags in her hand and that she had to run because she was in a hurry.” “Hurry.to.what?Hurry.to.where?”

“I don’t know Epel! I don't go around meddling in people's lives! Why are you so interested in her life? It’s like you don’t see her every day at school!”

“Sorry.dear.grandma.I’m curious.ha.ha”

“Anyway, do you know what happened here? Your uncle—-” the dear, sweet old lady couldn't finish the day's gossip because Epel had nervously hung up and ran off to send messages to the first-year students while running like crazy to Crowley's office.

Rook celebrated the victory and elegantly told the evil queen the news. Meanwhile, Lady Pewpeaw looked in the mirror and thought: I already know! She changed her hair! Or is it the hair that changes people? She looked very chic and elegant. Ahh, I hope my grandson Epel can win the heart of that beautiful girl!

As Epel ran with all the strength his legs could carry, which was a lot now that he was in the Spelldrive club, he sent messages to the other first-year students excited about the possibility of Yuu being found and a certain hunter was able to smile knowing that he would have fresh news to tell the evil Queen.

After a brief meeting between the first-year students and briefly with the leaders, Crowley allowed them to investigate possible clues. The boys searched every alley and store with their hearts burning with hope, Deuce was ready to hug her while Ace was preparing a lecture on why she disappeared out of nowhere leaving them all distressed. Jack concentrated as he remembered Yuu's familiar smell, the smell so different from the bunch of men in NRC, the smell that was unique to her. Epel was looking for the address that her grandmother had given her, always looking at the clock and the port, if she could only stay until sunset, that means she would have to leave before dark.

----- The sun finally set, giving way to the moon that illuminated the boys' journey back to school. The hopeful young hearts returned broken, hopeless, shattered, and without any trace of Yuu. Each one informed their dorm leader, Leona just turned her back and tried to sleep knowing that no matter how much she closed her eyes she wouldn't have rest until she found Yuu, Riddle for the first time didn't finish the strawberry pie, and Vil…. Vil was different. Vil was “strangely strange”, when even after receiving the news about Yuu's case he couldn't sleep properly, even with a beauty campaign that was going to make his skin wasn't radiant and a pimple appeared on the corner of his chin.

“The Campaign is tomorrow. How can I let such futile emotions ruin my skin just for tomorrow”? – the poisonous king thought as he touched up his makeup looking at a small hand mirror, taking care that his facial features didn't show the makeup.

“I can't believe we didn't achieve anything Jack!” Vil heard some voices in the hallway.

“It was a good attempt Epel. One time or another we will find an answer.”

“But…but we were so so close! I went to the exact store my pewpaw said but no clue!Damn! When the fuck we gonna have a track like this?!” maybe at another time Vil would fight with Epel for letting his accent come out rougher but the conversation was getting to the queen's delicate nerves

“In Tiana’s Palace there was only the smell of food, nothing of Grim or Yuu. I’m sorry Epel.” Vil might not have seen it, but he could have sworn Jack was rubbing his neck and looking down, probably feeling guilty about for not having found the prefect.

Is he to blame, Vil?

A voice called from the mirror and Vil was so scared that he dropped his mirror on the floor, breaking it into pieces, and he could no longer hear the gossip. But that wasn't the worst, my friends. The worst was right in front of the young prodigy's face. A wrinkle in the middle of the forehead.

“In the name of Gucci this can’t be happening!”

Is he to blame, Vil?

If he hadn't been so worried about his precious skin, he would have noticed a small bat watching him in a corner of the bathroom. Quickly composing himself, he headed to the Film Club at the appointed time.

The moon was shining in the sky and all Vil could think about was the last moments he spent with Yuu, if he said sorry, would she come back? No no, he's not the problem! This is pure coincidence! He turned over the bed and looked for his beauty sleep, but only found guilt and loneliness.

“Maybe a walk will help relax my nerves?” - he put a comfortable jacket over it before opening the door

It was supposed to be just a walk, through the hall of Pomefiore's grand corridors But Vil's desperation led him to the port of Sage's Island with his broom, looking for one last hope of finding Yuu. After all, to get a proper beauty sleep he had to solve the problem of his insomnia first. Some stores were still open, parties, nightclubs, a small village but so bright! With people laughing and talking, how lovely. Every person who recognized the celebrity asked for a photo and an autograph and the question he wanted to ask everyone died in his mouth. """Have you seen this person recently?"""

Putting his acting skills to good use, he put on his best face that didn't show how terribly guilty he felt and lost in his thoughts he entered the dorm, maybe the Film Club had something that could distract him, spend some time energy and quality sleep, maybe some sleeping pills… something…. the bedroom is not the best time right now, not when he can't sleep. And here he is, in the pit of frustrations. In the place where that day happened.

“The weather is pleasant tonight, wouldn’t you agree, Schoith?” Malleus's cordial voice cut through his train of thoughts, like the brakes on a speeding train. He had just entered the club, then closed the door. The atmosphere was strange, like sticking your hand in a hornet's nest with sleeping bees. What was the great one doing here?

“Greetings, Draconia. I thought I locked the door, the club is closed now. As you can see around, everything is a mess. ”- Vil gestured his arms indicating the mess that the studio was around, with open boxes and disheveled wigs, it seems that the students who remained there after he left did not clean up the mess, much to Vil's annoyance.

“What a vulgar club this is. With such vulgar fantasies.” Malleus's repetitive voice was like a poison, the atmosphere was no longer “strange”, it was cold and heavy, the heir of the Valley of Thorns did not hesitate to hide the contempt and hatred mixed in his words “And you are the most vulgar thing from here."

The bees woke up.

“Yes, it’s messy! A few rotten potatoes didn't clean up the mess, they'll see about it tomorrow! It's none of your business.” Angry, the bees buzzed away, leaving the environment more agitated and hostile. No matter how much Vil tried to remain classy, his eyebrows showed his indignation and his fists were ready to attack.

Malleus approached, circling the leader of the Pomefiore domain, like a predator and his prey. The prince's eyes shone a bright shade of green and his pupils became increasingly thinner. Through the window, some thunder and lightning ripped through the sky, revealing Malleus' internal storm.

“I heard that there will be an important campaign tomorrow. Surely, you don't go that way, do you? Please don’t ruin the Queen’s reputation, after all, how do you want to continue her legacy if you have broken nails like any commoner?” looking directly at Vil's closed fists, Malleus smiled with disdain and a slight satisfaction seeing the oh so beautiful Vil shaking with anger.

“How dare Malleus? I don't know what you're doing here but leave immediately!” - furious, the leader of Pomefiore took a step forward and pointed to the door, his face red and with some blonde locks falling from his hairstyle irritating him even more. He dripped snake venom into every word he said, but when has a dragon died from snake venom?

“It is very bold to challenge the Prince of the Valley of Thorns, Schothein.” Stepping forward and coming directly face to face with Vil, he laughed elegantly with mischief in every note- "Don't worry, I won't spend any more time with you, I'll just hand you a gift."

With all the doors and windows closed, Malleus raises his hand and a green smoke with sharp thorns invades the Film Club, and with a simple look thorns wrap around Schoith bringing him close and totally paralyzed, the heir's malicious laugh grows ever louder. But before he recites a macabre ancient magic, in a language that not even Vil himself understood, Malleus's power was clear, shining in an electric green, with his scepter firing across the entire environment. When he finished his rush, Malleus passed his cloak over Vil's body, which was still frozen on the ground.

“You won't be able to talk to anyone about your curse. Send my regards to Yuu.” That said, he just left the club with a Machiavellian glint in his eyes.

As soon as the door closed, Vil managed to release the air he didn't know he was holding, the smoke and thorns were breaking apart and erasing the tracks as if they had never happened. When trying to get up, Vil realized how weak his beautiful and athletic body was but it was when his knee creaked that even standing up he was paralyzed. He looked at his shaking hands, recognizing the familiar hands with veins and wrinkles looking like an old, colorless raisin.

“No…no…not again!”

He ran to the mirror of a nearby dressing room, and his ugliness was so great that he broke the mirror. A fairy's gift is a dubious thing, but coming from Malleus, Vil can confirm his greatest fears in the mirror: He was old and magicless.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Every like, repost and comment is very welcome and appreciated. ♥

Want to see more? See the masterlist <3

69 notes · View notes

bisluthq · 5 months ago

Note

Do you think LOT prolonged Harry and Olivia’s relationship? I think they would’ve tried to save face for DWD’s sake either way but it’s interesting to me bc she clearly enjoyed and made the effort to be seen at his shows almost every week and the madness of everything was tied up in the tour for a while. So much of the intensity of their relationship seemed to be born out of covid restrictions limiting them to the house and her fertility causing them to speed run some decisions. I can’t picture what a tl looks for them where lot doesn’t happen so they’re at home more or jason doesn’t pick a fight with custody. It’s weird to think about now because the harry pre dwd and post dwd/olivia seem like different people to me and I can’t imagine him in that situation now. for all the genuinely traumatising scrutiny that must’ve been and I assume heartbreak over losing olivia and subsequently taylor, I think having a serious relationship that was 100x less publicised than holivia and having tour probably helped him process and made him think a lot about his choices

when I said it was a bit traumatic I didn’t even mean the public side of it lol (that too obviously and escalated the whole situation for sure), I meant like dating a woman going through what was essentially a divorce that included a very horrible custody battle that involved two kids and a really nasty ex is a WHOLE LOT for anyone but especially someone in their late 20s/early 30s imo who hasn’t had that type of experience before. Like NO ONE has fun during custody battles/divorces but at least if you’ve had your own experiences with them it’s like “okay here’s what I did” but Harry hadn’t had any experience with that beyond being a child of divorce and seeing Ann’s divorce with John and then seeing Robin really step the fuck up for Gemma and him? And I just imagine, even outside like the celebrity side of it, that that would’ve been really difficult. I’m basically his age, am a child of divorce, have seen my mum divorce twice more lol, am not in principle averse to dating someone with kids (haven’t ever but not like because it’s a rule for me) and have an older partner but ngl if my partner were going through a custody battle while with me I’d be very fucking stressed and I think pretty useless with advice and wouldn’t even be the best at the moral support side because it’s just like… quite far out of the realm of my own experience. And I do get the sense that Harry was hella overwhelmed lol and also again partly because of how much he loved/loves Robin and respected Robin, he was trying to do the right thing for Olivia and the kids but also like he’s not yk old enough per se to be in that position.

I don’t know what their whole situation would’ve been in another life where she’d left Jason in a classy fashion and had obtained a normal parenting plan and then started dating Harry. And also what it would’ve been like without LOT and all the DWD drama that was unrelated to them/this. Like that would’ve been a completely different tl and maybe it would’ve worked better because they clearly got along grand for the most part and did really love each other and if things were chill from Jason’s end like I don’t think the kids would’ve been a problem at all. I don’t think Harry would’ve tried to replace him or anything as their dad but also would’ve tried to be a good stepfather figure.

the biological clock thing would still have been an issue just because like she realistically needs to have a kid in the next few years if she wants more bio kids - she can’t really wait another 8 years or anything - but they did seem legit open to kids together idk so again without Jason drama + all the other crap then maybe it would’ve worked out. It didn’t.

and I agree the Taylor thing was healthier and probably helped him work through a few of the issues he’d built up over the past few years but clearly also didn’t work out and imo he should take it slow with the next girl and like see where things go and how they develop. Which again is why Olivia D or someone like her, who’s busy and not really in a rush to marry/have kids etc, would imo be a really good idea. He needn’t stay single but I also don’t think he should move in with someone and/or start talking rings and cradles in the next year or so lol. He should just chill for a bit.

2 notes · View notes

theodoraflowerday · 11 months ago

Text

young royals s3e4 episode reaction

okay, this is already stressful

you know what? linda makes sense. i do think they should move. they have the settlement money, i understand community is important but they're all sooooo far beyond thinking of just community. for safety reasons they really should move.

"the police can't do anything?" bro can't you? you're the goddamn crown prince???? do something??????

"had they done this to me they would've seen it as a threat to the nation" YEAH WELL I MEAN

"and you're my boyfriend, so" ok

listen I understand this is serious

but every time they call each other boyfriend my brain goes into hibernation mode and I can't focus on anything else

they're BOYFRIENDS

aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"I'll talk to the royal court" THANKS WILLE

though tbf I feel like the royal court might agree that they should probably move lol

like if i had that kinda money and I knew my kids were in danger I'd be leaving the goddamn country

of course vincent is drawing a dick in the sand. that man is just *so* predictable lmao

oh man in all this I forgot about the bitter divorce plot between felice and sara

ISN'T THERE A CONFLICT OF INTEREST oh boy vincent if you Knew

NOT SIMON SAYING HE'D PREFER A DEMOCRATICALLY ELECTED HEAD OF STATE IN FRONT OF HIS BOYFRIEND, THE FUTURE NON-DEMOCRATICALLY ELECTED HEAD OF STATE

LMFAAAAOOOOOOOFKDLFJDKFJSLFJSLFJDLFKSL

"you're so fucking pathetic" "😘" okay that was the funniest exchange in the planet

like. fuck vincent. all my homies hate vincent. but my man is so goddamn hilarious even when he's being a pathetic dick

NOT VINCENT KSKFKSKFLSKFDKJFDKKF STOP THATS HILARIOUS

I can excuse demonstrations but I draw the line at them being done by poor people

oh. oh SHIT

OH SHIT

"can you?" oh FUCK

oh this is insane I can't believe they're having this conversation

YOU SOUND LIKE JAN-OLOF AAHSKFJDKFJDKFJDKF

oh baby that is Not a real job jdkgjfkgjdkgjdkf

dya think edvin was like saying those lines thru his teeth like "yes the monarchy is good and has a place in modern society actually"

ugh I want wilmon to be endgame so fucking bad but the more this season goes on the more I'm realizing they're simply too incompatible and idk how they're gonna solve this unless one of them compromises way too fuckin much

#abdication pls tho

what kind of life is that? 😭

"it's a privilege not a punishment" ok mr kristina

tbf to simon i feel like if i was already anti monarchy and started dating the crown prince whose life problems begin and end with the monarchy I would be even MORE for abolition.

like before it was more of a general sense. now it's fuckin personal. free wille

shouldn't they exclude the literal future king of sweden from this exercise about future?? like we all already know what he's gonna end up doing lol.

god this is gonna be so bad

who's this flustered ass boy and what did he do with cunt august???

YOU NEED TO HELP SIMON - ok

that felt too easy?

oh. okay I'm sorry is ludwig not his own person? can't he attend his own son's damn birthday???

AND AUGUST????????????? YOU CAN'T BE FR

every time farima is on screen it takes another year off my life

until jan-olof pointed it out I didn't notice how genuinely unsafe the eriksson house is but damn

simon said "okay" way too easily. I don't like that.

I mean like, honestly, farima is right and he needs to lay low, but also I know simon isn't gonna do that shit and it worries me

they keep having these absurdly serious conversations and it keeps Not blowing up and I'm afraid when it blows up it's gonna be super ugly

I like simon's idea of mental health in young people tho! I get what he means re: lgbtq+ issues but I also think wille is right in that he can't represent all ~the queers just bc he's in love with a boy yk

I get them both and they both have their merits. I also think wille is making a huge change just by being out and I'd be really fuckin annoyed if I was a public figure and had to do shit for the queers just bc i was also queer like no. idk. i get them both. I'm more on wille's side on this one.

but also fuck that thing about supporting lgbtq+ issues being a political statement. I hate that he's right. it shouldn't be political.

NOT GOING ON STRIKE JSKFJDKFJDKFUDKFJ DISGUSTING

vincent is such a lil bitch

if i were simon i would literally just. take the bus back home. that's it fuck them rich kids I can't deal with the bullshit.

SO YOU CAN ONLY TAKE A STAND WHEN IT DOESN'T COST YOU ANYTHING????????

BROOIFJDLFJDKFJDKFJDK WRECK HIM SIMON

god that was delightful. it was a delight. i need simon to keep this specific energy all the time because oh my god this episode is incredible.

oh and he's also wrecking sara? can we bring the other guy back so he can, in colombian, cantarle las verdades en la cara? like simon has enough fists for everyone. bring the queen in. bring fuckin erik so he can tell him off for dying

the strike looks very cozy. i wish real strikes looked like that. rich people are so funny.

so lady from the incredibles' response is to starve a bunch of rich kids including the crown prince? is she aware of the consequences of that?

oh he gave up

JALFJSLFK FOR A LOLLIPOP?

I love rich kids. they're so funny. so stupid.

"don't you find it nice to be hungry sometimes?" FIND A GODDAMN THERAPIST AUGUST. JESUS CHRIST.

"that sounds like an eating disorder" FINALLY. MY FUCKING GOD.

they do kinda sound like a fun group of friends. that was a bit of a genuine moment. I liked that.

aaaand back at being snakes. gr8.

awww my babies who are total opposites

wilhelm could really learn more from simon actually

OH NO HE'S SO HUNGRY DKFIDIFIDU

THREE HUNDRED CROWNS SJDLSJFIDJFKSJFLSJFLSUFODJFOSKDL

STOODKGLDJGLDIG

THAT'S LIKE LORD OF THE FLIES IN THERE THEYRE GONNA MURDER AUGUST AND EAT HIM

JDKFJSKFJSKFJSKFKDKFJDLFKDK FREDRIKA

NOT DICKS OUT FOR HILLERSKA IM LOSING MY MISNFKDLFKDKFKDLFKFLGKFLFKFLFKDLFK

like a pair of lil street urchins, those two. I love them

"did you sleep well?" "no. did you?" "no" my BABY BOYS

NOT CLUTCHING THE CHIPS TO HIS CHEST SJFKDJFKSJFLSKFLDK

hm. so a group of people striking actually got what they wanted? Wonder if there's any lesson to learn.

IN A BATHROOM? are they gonna KISS???

"I'm so thankful you were my first real friend" oh. my god.

i have managed to make it fully unscathed so far but that simple sentence sent me into a sobbing spiral oh my god

oh go d

"since when do you care what the royals think?" "since I learned what it means to be with one of them" oh. ooooohohohohohoho

he's gonna write him a song isn't it

rosh and ayub are the realest. honestly. such real ones. day ones. I love them

is this gonna be couples therapy ooooooo let's GO

I mean, idk, that reveal doesn't really hit hard bc obviously if it happened to august and nils then it had to be erik's class, right?

it's the bashing that's horrifying. erik would have participated in beating someone up for the slightest inkling of being gay that is horrifying

oh my god yeah nvm that hit super hard. wille. oh no. oh god.

fuckkkkk

#yr livenats #yr s3 spoilers #young royals spoilers

5 notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

feed me, fight me.

pairing. boxer!jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!). wc. 3.5k. beta reader. @hobi-gif, always. 💖 author note. i’m really into comfort fics rn so...

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend? (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out. It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut. It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking. It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness. It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space.

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason? When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)? How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more?

“Cut it out,” he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare. A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright. It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension.

“Cut what out?” Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye.

“What’s your problem?” How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure. All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab. He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead.

(You probably are. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth. They wear you, rather than you it. A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.”

“Shut up.” It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand. He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way.

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you? When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion. You’re just mad. Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,” you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward. He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook.

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg.

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment. It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground. By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb.

“Are you serious?” You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable. (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.) “What’s your issue?” He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation. It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love. That you hate. That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst. That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out. That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary? Unbearable? Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.” It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff. It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need. (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.) Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.

You’re tired. Too tired. Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom. It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught). You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room. He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall.

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day. He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine. Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening. Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye.

“I’m sorry.” Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash. “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.” He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom. You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy. I’ve been stressed.” Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly. You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion. “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.” Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you. You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me. A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him. Never has, likely never will. He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away. He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you. Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless. Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first. Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you. It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest. Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on. There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour. He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together. “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too. His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight. Hates it, in fact. It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly. A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you. Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook. Push too hard, he’ll leave.

“Couldn’t sleep without you.” It’s true enough. Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear. (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up. That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light. “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things. What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way. You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up. Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one. He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away. It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground. Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”

“You were pissed earlier.” There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield. You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand. “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt. “But you know I hate going to bed angry.” Of course he knows. He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out.

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing. Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does. Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next.

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain. (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)

“Don’t.”

One blink. Another. Slow and confused - deliberately so. Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move. The ring might be his domain but home is yours; it’s the one place you hold the upper hand. “What?”

“Don’t leave.” It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink. It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.

“I need to shower.”

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win.

“Just wait.” Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love. He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh. The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,” he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away. Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder. “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.” Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does. (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for. You want communication, open and honest. You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering. It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.

“Do you wanna shower?” You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together. You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different. He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream. It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair.

“Babe?”

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes. You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do. When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.

“Can you wash my hair?” An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows. He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you.

It’s a sign if there ever was one.

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands. They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits. He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes.

When was the last time you’d done this? Weeks ago? Months, maybe? You honestly can’t recall. (Not that it matters now. You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night. Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you. You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation.

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands. Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise. He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.

You’d give it every single day if you could. Had, in fact.

That’s what’d brought you here, after all.

“‘m sorry,” he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad.

“For what?”

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with. Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.

You want to be let in. Need it.

“Being out of it, I guess.” It’s a lot for him - admitting this. “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“ The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.

“Forgot about me?” You don’t mean it meanly. It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would. But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller.

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.” Maybe more than some people. Maybe less than others. “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“No, I know.”

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin. He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,” he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his. “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.”

“On us,” you correct, not at all tactful.

“On us,” he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space.

“We’re a team, you know.”

(You know he knows. You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world. That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.”

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that. He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek. “Just give me some time.” For what, you’re not sure. You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair. Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.

“Is this better?” He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own.

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else. No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands. He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven. (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.)

“Yes,” you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort. It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true. Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind.

In all the ways he can, he loves you. And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out. Not if it means more of this.

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

1K notes · View notes

thehighwaytothestars · 4 years ago

Text

BRIEF PERSONALITY ANALYSIS - YEONJUN TXT

Libra Moon:

Interested in fine arts, and debates about all kinds of subjects.

But, always keep the poise and never being aggressive, or trying to make their point of view to rule over the other person.

Harmony is very important here, and usually libra moons hate fights, but they love talks where they can learn different points of views and perspectives they never thought about.

They are well cultured people.

They like to dress elegantly, and this is an expression of them, could be therapeutic, dressing according to your mood.

They hate disharmony and arrogant people.

They love when they find someone who is open minded and can talk about everything without criticizing and judging the other person.

This is a placement where the person can try to please people a lot, and sometimes just agreeing with them to stop the fight/ argument.

Loves luxury, and the fines things. They can be very good at interior design. Probably, Yeonjun will be the one decorating his house.

They care about what people think of them, and sometimes too much 🙁

Just loves the idea of being in love and being in a relationship.

Virgo Sun and Mercury:

Virgo is ruled by Mercury, so in Yeonjun’s case his Mercury is in domicile, and this makes easier to this planet to act naturally, accordingly to his virtues.

Having a Virgo Sun can make the person very demanding and hard on themselves and the others.

They can be super anxious about things, because they are always trying to reach perfection, even tho they know is not something possible to do it.

But they will try the hardest they can to achieve their goals, they will always try to give 1000% of themselves.

They know that in order to reach your dreams you Gotta work hard for it, so they often over work.

They have almost this obsession over details, and this can make them lost the big picture of things.

They are practical and problem solvers, but will appreciate when someone try to help them, to show that they care about them, and their wellbeing, because they are always the ones doing this for everyone, so is nice to change this dynamic once in a while.

In Yeonjun’s case having a Mercury Virgo just makes this energy stronger. So, you can count on he pays a lot of attention in to details, and he is always analyzing everything he can.

Owns a very logical and practical mind.

Can be an amazing writer too.

Very smart and witty.

Not super talkative, he is more the one observing people’s behavior, and yes, can be very judgmental sometimes 🙁

But, ofc he is not just serving this to people, he is the main focus of his critical mind, so he can be his worst enemy in a way.

Always thinking he is not doing enough and trying to overcompensate, always trying to do more.

Can feel sometimes, that he doesn’t deserve to be on top, if he doesn’t work hard enough and go beyond, he will second guess his own potential.

Because his Mercury and Sun are conjunct in Virgo, this can make him very aware of what he eats and his health in general; Also, how he behaves, all his gestures and how he is portraying himself.

He can be really found of reading and activities that involve patterns, and logic.

Leo Venus: It’s like...go big or go home kind of love demonstration.

Loves to spoiled and be spoiled by their loved ones. They are generous and love to buy you gifts for no reason at all, it’s because they are so in love by you, they just can’t help.

He is so genuine when he loves someone. Leo Is all about the heart, and being truly honest with your feelings, emotions, with yourself, so when he is with someone, he is for real.

He wants to show how much he loves you, so he does whatever he can to make you see that. Actually, you and the whole world.

He can even be a little clingy, he just loves being around you and feeling your presence. This makes his heart race and just fuels him with happiness.

He is truly faithful, and can be a little jealous. Will take care of you 1000%. It’s like, you are his precious little thing, and nobody can hurt you, EVER. He will defend you with his all, it doesn’t matter.

Being a Virgo Sun, and the sun being the ruler of Leo, we have here a very attentive and devoted guy. He will want try to help you with whatever he can, definitely the type to go the next mile to do something for you. But don’t fool yourself, all this love and devotion he will wanted back. He will need that you guys are connect for real, like your hearts and energies are in the same sync.

Venus talks about the pleasures in life, and in Yeonjun’s case no wonder why he loves to dress up, and fashion, and have this amazing style. He is super bold, and honest about the things he tries. That’s him, like...he is not pretending to be anyone else, you know? He does not wear the clothes to simulate or fool people, he is truly expressing himself. And, of course, he is not afraid to do it. No wonder he loves the big and all over your face, accessories, right?

He is such a romantic and passionate guy, he could even be a little be cheesy, ngl.

But, overall, will love someone with all his heart, body and soul.

He is drawn to authentic people, who are empowered, and knows their value. People who are not scare of being who they are, who can speak up. Who are passionate about what they do, and who inspire people around them, gives them courage to be brave and do what they truly want to do. Yeah...this is definitely a strong and confident person, who could totally call his attention.

He can be really confident indeed. Sagittarius Mars:

So bold and up to the challenges in life. Loves to throw himself in new experiences, especially if he is with his friends around.

Is not afraid to take risks, because this is how you learn things and gain knowledge of how things work.

He can be really competitive, and gives his all to win. He is just that guy that loves to win, and as we see above, he is totally up to the challenge. This desire to win can totally ignite his energy.

His mars is conjunct with Pluto, so this make Yeonjun puts a lot of determination in things he does. He does not stop until he gets what he wants. Could even enjoy dangerous situations.

May love to explore about the subconscious mind too, and why does he do things in the way he does. Is looking for answers there, and is not afraid of it.

Curiosity is something that definitely moves him.

He can be really energetic and doing an exercise can always help him to burn that extra energy he may have.

He can be good at sports and loves to spend the day doing things, especially outside.

I feel he loves to shop, and can’t get enough from it. This could be his favorite sport, yeah.

Can be a person who loves being around nature too, this can help him relax and get in touch with his inner self, and just to put things in his head in order, since he can overthink a lot of things, and this could lead us to a lot of tension and stress.

He can take a while to lose his patient, but when he does...OMG he can be so brutally honest, and even scary. He knows what to say in order to hurt someone, he owns a very analytical and sharp mind, so he knows how to push your buttons, he knows what is sensitive for you.

And Pluto conjunct to his Mars, can make him even more assertive with his words, and even the tone he uses can be very dark, and just terrifying. People can feel the presence of his anger, and how mad he is, even if he looks calm and collected, you’ll know by his tone of voice...it’s crazy. You can feel how serious he is, and that he is not messing around. He had enough of it.

Can lose his head when people try to boss him around, and tell what to do, or just try to take away his freedom.

Can be hard to forgive, and even if he does won’t forget what happen.

#yeonjun #yeonjun txt #yeonjun astrology #astrology #kpop #txt astrology #txt kpop

171 notes · View notes

mellowswriting · 4 years ago

Text

Mando N*S*F*W Alphabet

**I had to delete and reupload this because tumblr hates me lmao

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Mando is exhausted. Sex is always drains every bit of energy from the both of you because Mando is intense. Whether he’s giving it to you slow and deep or he’s fucking you hard over any available surface, every bit of strength is sapped from his usually strong and capable body.

That doesn’t mean he skimps on the aftercare, though. He likes to rub his palms over your heated skin - your arms, your thighs, your belly. Doesn’t matter to him, he just wants to touch.

He whispers his thanks into the air like he’s in confession, his words hushed as he tells you how good you are for him, how lucky he feels. How much he loves you.

Din loves to fall asleep with his cock still buried in you, overstimulated and twitching every now and then, even if he knows he’ll likely wake up with a sore back from the awkward position.

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Din didn’t really think about his own body that much, positively or negatively - until he met you of course. His body was just that. His body. But when you told him little things you loved about him, he couldn’t help but start to take notice.

His hands are his favorite, he supposes. They’re strong, capable. Watching his fingers disappear into your mouth or twitch over your neck where he holds you in place as he fucks you fast and hard… it really gets him going. He can’t help but love his hands with the way you talk about them, too. The first time you told him it turned you on to watch how expertly he could disassemble his blaster to clean it made him look at them in a new light, and now he can never turn back.

Din loves every single part of your body, but he’s partial to those hips. He can settle his hand on your hip while you’re standing next to him and easily stake his claim that way. Everyone around knows who you belong to like that. They’re his favorite place to grab while he fucks you, with your neck in a close second place. Whether you’re riding him, on your hands and knees, or laid out on your back, your hips sport bruises constantly from how hard his grip is when he uses them to hold you firm for him.

Din also loves your mouth, but we’ll talk about that soon...

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Holy shit does Din love seeing his cum on you, in you, anyway possible. It’s a primal thing that makes his spent cock twitch every time he sees it. It feels like he’s marking you, claiming you as his in the most base way possible.

His absolute favorite place to finish is inside of you, obviously. The idea of it taking hold and watching your belly swell with his child? Fuck. His brain short circuits at the very thought. He shoves his cum back into you when it dares leak out, his fingers slick with both of your cum. He loves the feeling of your exhausted cunt spasming around his thick fingers.

Din will cum all over your face if you assure him that you want it. It feels degrading in the most delicious way, and he would never want to make you feel like he genuinely sees you that way. Both those wide, pretty eyes staring up at him from where you’re kneeling on the floor, his cum all over your face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He scoops it all up with his fingers and lets you suck them clean, and fuck, he’s hard again.

If you let him finish anywhere else, on your thighs or belly or ass, he’s rubbing it into your skin. Yet another way for him to lay his claim to you.

D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Din wants to try consensual non-consent - specifically hunting you down like you’re some bounty. He wants to fuck you like he hates you, like you’re just a hole he paid to fuck in some sleezey brothel, not like you’re his precious, sweet little thing. Of course he would treat you like an angel afterwards, but in the moment? He wants to tie you up, haul you over his shoulder, and smack your ass when you beg him not to fuck you.

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Specifically with sex? Din is experienced. It’s canon that he fucks, okay. It was a utilitarian act, the periodical release of stress so he wouldn’t explode with pressure. Din makes sure his partner gets theirs and he gets his, and then he goes on his way.

Until you. Suddenly there’s this option to explore, broaden his horizons and try new things. Din discovers he loves missionary. He can grip your jaw and angle your face however he wants to get a good look at those kiss-swollen lips and glazed eyes.

Intimacy during and after is the new part that he’s inexperienced with, and it takes him a minute to get used to it. The first time you tangle your fingers with his and just… hold his hand while he’s viciously railing you, Din’s pace stutters because… wow, this is somehow so soft and loving while he’s rearranging your guts and yeah, he loves it. And you.

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Din has a few, he can’t pick just one.

Missionary is one of the top ones. He loves being able to look into your eyes and watch your face as you slowly lose your mind with pleasure. Watching your breasts bounce with each thrust is a plus, too.

Face down, ass up, and you’ve got one very happy Mandalorian on your hands. It feels filthy, primal even, to fuck you like this. Like he’s got ownership of your body as he lords over you, gathers your hair in one hand, and pulls to get that beautiful arch to your spine.

If you’re both exhausted but still needy, he’ll pull your back against his chest, tuck your leg over his hip, and slide into you nice and slow. It’s intimate and slow, the way he rocks into your body until you’re both sated.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Din is a serious guy and that definitely includes during sex.

I mean, he’ll chuckle if you knock heads, but that’s about it.

He takes your pleasure seriously. He doesn’t just want you to feel good, he fucking needs it like he needs air.

H - Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Din has a curly thatch of dark hair above his cock. He doesn’t let it grow out of control, but he doesn’t like shaving himself completely bare. The man already has to deal with layer upon layer of cloth and armor, he doesn't need the added discomfort of ingrown hairs and itchiness. So he keeps it neatly trimmed.

Plus he has a small happy trail, just a thin wispy bit of hair reaching towards his belly button.

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Din murmurs how much he loves you, how lucky he is that he has you. In the moment when he’s so close to breaking, so close to filling you with his cum, his words are choked off and barely understandable.

It becomes clearer once he’s come down from his high and his heart rate has gone back to normal. He murmurs between kisses to your face, shoulders, chest, anywhere he can reach.

After so many years of impersonal sex, Din relishes in the intimacy he experiences with you. Just holding your body close to his gives him such a rush, he feels like a lovesick teenager. Somehow the way you gently run your fingers down his sternum makes him blush harder than the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth.

J - Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He used to masturbate regularly. It’s an easy way to ease some of his tension and help clear his mind. It doesn’t happen as often now - when he gets the urge, he goes to you for that release.

If you aren’t around or busy or otherwise not in the mood, he has no problem taking care of himself if the ache is too much to ignore.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise, giving and receiving. He loves the way you shiver underneath him when he calls you his good girl, tells you how pretty you look underneath him. He loves the desperate glint in your eyes because he just knows you want more of that addictive praise and that you’d do practically anything for it. But it’s the tremble in your voice when you tell him how fucking big he is, how amazing he feels splitting you open, how good he makes you feel that makes him lose his absolute mind. Din feels powerful and godly in the way that he can make you tremble beneath him, but beyond that - he feels loved. Appreciated.

Degradation. A bit contrary to the praise kink, but hey. Din will growl out that you’re his cockdrunk little slut and shudder at your response of drawing his fingers into your mouth to suck on while he fucks you even harder.

Breeding & Lactation kink. His entire culture is based upon raising and caring for children, so of course Din wants to see you swollen with his child. Even if it’s just a fantasy and you don’t want kids or can’t have them, he loves filling you with his seed and imagining. The very idea of wrapping his lips around your perky nipple and drinking the milk your body made to feed his child makes Din work a thousand times harder to breed you.

Overstimulation. Those big, begging eyes you give him as he circles your clit, after already making you cum a few times lights something dark and primal inside Din.

Primal play. Again, the idea of hunting you down and fucking you wherever he finds you has him harder than his beskar in a second flat.

Cockwarming. It’s intimate and teasing at the same damn time. What is there not to love about that?

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

His favorite place is his bunk. He doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him. He can strip completely bare, feel your skin against his own, listen to your cry out his name when he buries his teeth in your neck.

That doesn’t mean he won’t drag you into a dark alleyway to fuck you against the bricks. He makes sure to cover your mouth with his gloved hand so no one hears you moaning on his cock like a desperate little slut.

The cockpit. Holy shit, the cockpit. Din loves having you on his dick while he pilots. He doesn’t even have to be actively fucking you. If he’s got you in his lap with his dick buried in your cunt, then he’s rubbing your thighs and ass with those huge, warm hands while you curl up against his chest. If he’s got you on your knees for him with your mouth around his cock, you can expect him to settle his hand at the crown of your head to hold you close. Plus he even got you a little pillow after the first time you rose to your feet with sore and bruised knees

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Watching you change clothes. There’s just something about the way you pause and smile so brightly when you see him looking at you, half dressed and offering him a kiss. It’s intimate, almost domestic. He’s got you tossed onto the bed so he can rip the rest of your clothes off before you can blink.

Din loves when you beg. Your voice gets so desperate, so needy for him.

Seeing you reject someone. Weird, I know, but hear me out. You’re fucking hot, so it’s bound to happen that someone will hit on you while you’re out and about, especially in cantinas and especially if Din has stepped away to take care of business. Without that imposing wall of beskar hovering behind you, some people are bold enough to approach and flirt with you. Most have no issue bowing out at your rejection, but there’s always the inevitable asshole who decides that you just need some more convincing. Din loves the way you eye them and then laugh in their face. It just cements the fact that you’re his.

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

No actual breathplay. Din will let his hands clamp over the sides of your neck to restrict your blood flow and give you that heady, hazy feeling, but refuses to actually press down on your windpipe. It’s too fucking dangerous.

Nothing that would cause you actual harm or scar you. Knife play is a solid maybe, but he isn’t going to cut you or anything like that. The idea of causing you pain that isn’t also pleasurable makes his stomach turn.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Din has a thing for your mouth, okay. He fucking loves everything about it, those soft lips, your talented tongue, the sharp bite of your teeth. You use it so well; your words are vivid and at times, poetic. Your kisses are all-encompassing. Din could lose himself in the flow of your lips against his. The marks you leave on his neck and chest make him shiver.

So the image of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth??? HELLO, this man is hard and ready to go. He feels like you’re going to suck his entire soul out of him, and he’s totally okay with that too.

Din never actually gave anyone else oral until you because of his Creed. He was too in his head about whoever he was with not respecting his religion and its importance, so he never gave in to the curiosity of pleasuring someone with his tongue. But don’t worry, Din is a fast learner. He listens to your instruction on what you like and pays rapt attention to the different ways your body responds to his touch, to what motions draws out those pretty little gasps and makes your hips jerk to grind against his face.

Din learns that he doesn’t just love receiving oral, but giving as well. He would spend hours between your thighs if you’d let him

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Both? Both. Both are good.

It always ends with Din going fast and rough. More often than not, it starts with slow and soft grinding and gasping against each other. The more that tension builds, though? Din’s hands grow rougher as he wraps a hand in your hair to hold you steady in whatever position he wants to keep you in. His kisses become more teeth than tongue, his gasps and moans become harsh groans and growls that make tingles dance along your skin.

After you both get yours though? He’s right back to being slow and soft and sensual. Such a precious man.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hey, sometimes you just gotta fuck and there’s not enough time to draw it out and completely exhaust your bodies. Din understands that better than anyone. So he has no problem bending you over the console in the cockpit when you grin at him with that sly fucking look on your face and say, “Ten minutes or less?”

Honestly, I see Din as the type to have a quickie a day. No lie, he loves the fast and desperate rush of it all. Besides, it’s just the preface to the way he’ll break you down to an unintelligible, fucked out mess later before going to sleep.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

God, yes. Please. Please experiment with this man.

Din wants to learn. He’s certain there are things he likes that he just has never thought about before. So Din will 100% sit you down and have a long talk about your hard and soft limits, what you want to try and what he wants to try. Is his dick hard the entire time he listens to you stutter out your fantasies? Absolutely.

Din jumps at the chance to try new things, but again - he won’t risk genuinely harming you. Ever. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Din can go for hours. What better is there to do in the endless, boring hours of flying through hyperspace? In the time it takes for him to get hard again, Din is between your thighs and pulling those heavenly sounds from you, stringing you along in the tortuous space between pleasure and overstimulation.

Din can and will edge himself just to see how many times he can make you cum on his cock. So he can last hours, if he really applies his long-honed self control.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

When you bring up toys for the first time, Din is immediately worried that he isn’t pleasing you enough, but once you reassure him that that isn’t the case at all, he’s game to try. And the first time he sees you trembling with a vibe against your clit, he’s hooked.

Din doesn’t really care for toys he would use on himself. He’d much rather bury himself in you than some silicone.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

King of Mandalore? More like the King of Teasing.

Din loves edging you, over and over again, until you’ve flown past begging and landed directly on frustrated and demanding. He loves seeing the hard edge of annoyance fall from your face into absolute bliss when he finally, finally lets you cum.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Din mostly gives these low grunts and groans. They’re all rumbly and have molten pleasure pooling in your belly.

The closer he gets to finishing, the more Din is gasping against your skin. Every sound he makes becomes breathier, lighter. Din cums with a strangled gasp, usually right in your ear because he knows how much you love it.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Din is an absolutely cocky little shit. He loves showing you off. He leaves marks in highly visible places just so that everyone knows you’re his. Honestly, he can’t help it. You’re just so pretty, he doesn’t want anyone who looks at you to think they have a chance.

He sits in booths in cantinas with his thighs spread like the drama king he is and pats his thigh for you to sit on. You always roll your eyes, but indulge him anyway.

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Din’s dick is a work of art and I refuse to believe otherwise. Uncut, eight inches long, and thick. Slightly curved upwards, perfect for grinding against your g-spot as he fucks the life out of you.

His shoulders are broad, his chest strong and toned. There’s a slight pudge to his belly that he used to be kind of insecure about until he saw how much you love it.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Din is a once a day at least kinda guy. Usually before bed because it helps both of you sleep and he loves the feeling of you cuddling up to him and slowly drifting off into a blissed out, peaceful sleep.

His max is three, though. He isn’t twenty anymore, his dick doesn’t get hard at the slightest change in the wind like it used to. But he will use his mouth and fingers on you literally whenever you want.

Z - Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Within fifteen minutes, Din is out. He gives you all of his attention for as long as he can, even when his eyes are drooping and he’s snuggling into you.

Unless you need him of course. If you need to talk about something, anything, he’s sitting up so he can be entirely sure he’s awake and listening.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin headcanons #mando x reader #mando x you #mando headcanons #din djarin smut #mando smut #the mandalorian

652 notes · View notes

bellakitse · 4 years ago

Text

Point of Comfort

“Babe, please,” Carlos tries patiently. He tugs on TK’s hair until he moves, turning on his back to look up at Carlos as he rests his head on his legs. “Talk to me.”

Escaping his parents’ latest drama, TK goes to the one person that brings him peace.

Written for Day One of Tarlos Corazonados Weekend- “Babe, please, sharing is caring.” @tarlos-valentine

Spoilers for the Owen-Gwyneth reveal of 2.04

*Mentions of TK’s canon-based childhood neglect and Owen/Gwyneth not so great parenting skills.*

Carlos Reyes has his feet up and music playing as he reads the latest paperback on his reading list when his front door is unlocked and in walks his boyfriend. He takes him in, his heart skipping a beat the way it always does when he looks at TK.

He’s dressed in his usual comfortable combo of sweats and a light-weight hoodie, and he’s absolutely gorgeous. It’s a constant source of awe for Carlos just how beautiful TK Strand is, even when he’s frowning like he is now.

“Um, hi?” he questions, both because TK had told him earlier that he was going back home for dinner with his parents, probably spending the night there, and because of the sour expression on his face.

TK grunts a hello in his direction, kicking his shoes off before he makes a beeline for him. He throws himself sideways on the couch Carlos is currently occupying, batting his hands out of the way as he wraps his arms around Carlos’ waist, pressing his face into his stomach before letting out a muffled scream.

Carlos raises an eyebrow at the action; he bends a corner of his book to mark the page he’s stopped at before placing it on the side table. “I take it dinner went well,” he says dryly as he runs his hand through TK’s hair, pressing down on that special spot behind his ear that always makes TK gasp.

TK retaliates by biting him through his shirt, and Carlos shakes with silent laughter at the childish action. Only TK can make bratty behavior cute. It’s either that, or that Carlos is so far gone on him that he finds everything he does adorable.

He keeps scratching TK’s scalp, feeling his body start to lose the tension he’s carrying. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

TK shakes his head, not bothering to move his face from Carlos’ mid-section.

“Babe, please,” Carlos tries patiently. He tugs on TK’s hair until he moves, turning on his back to look up at Carlos as he rests his head on his legs. “Talk to me. Sharing is caring after all,” he continues jokingly, pleased when TK lets out a reluctant huff of amusement at his words.

“They’re just being so annoying, bickering nonstop over the baby,” he says tiredly, and Carlos feels a wave of sympathy for his boyfriend. The news that Owen and Gwyn were expecting had been a shock to everyone, but no one more than TK. Since the moment they announced it, Carlos has watched TK carefully, seeing time and time again conflicting feelings play across his features.

“The kid isn’t even born yet, and they’re already arguing,” TK continues, the frustration in his voice loud and clear. “Which would be fine if it was just me,” he rolls his eyes. “I’m used to them, but this baby doesn’t need that shit. They’re falling into familiar patterns, and they can’t even see it. I just don’t know how to fix it,” he finishes helplessly.

Carlos stays quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to address multiple points in TK’s comments. He starts with the last one first. “Well, first of all, it’s not your job to fix it,” he tells him, giving him a serious nod to emphasize his point when TK looks up at him with wide eyes. “It’s just not, baby, I get the impulse, I do. But your parents are adults. It’s up to them to get their shit together for this baby or realize that they don’t work together and figure out how to co-parent apart.”

He frowns as he moves on to the next point that bothers him more than the first. “Second of all, it’s not fine that you are used to them being this way. They shouldn’t be better parents just for this baby that’s coming; they should be better parents for you too,” he says heatedly, realizing for the first time just how angry he is on his boyfriend’s behalf.

He hears a sniffle, it pulls him out of his thoughts, and when he looks down at the man in his lap, he startles to see tears in his pretty green eyes.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” he says anxiously, feeling gutted as the tears spill down TK’s cheeks.

“No, no,” TK says just as fast as he sits up. “Don’t apologize,” he continues with a self-conscious chuckle as he wipes his face. “I’m being ridiculous.”

Carlos frowns again. He takes TK’s hands, intertwining their fingers, tugging on them to get his attention. “You’re not, though,” he says, biting down on his lip before proceeding with caution. “It’s pretty clear that their behavior upsets you, sweetheart.”

Fresh tears spring in TK’s eyes, and Carlos hurts at the sad smile he gives him. “They’re not bad people. They love me.”

“I know that,” he reassures him, meaning it. He’s spent enough time with both TK’s parents to know they are kind and love their son beyond measure. “But they’re not perfect,” he says with a wry smile of his own, remembering a familiar conversation they had about his own parents just weeks ago. “And they don’t seem to notice how they act affects you. How I think it has always affected you?”

TK looks at him for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I hate when they fight,” he whispers, sounding small. It makes Carlos ache. “They can be great, laughing one second and then taking jabs at each other the next. Growing up, it would stress me out, not knowing which way it would go on any given day. I hate that it still makes me feel like that now. I know it’s never going to change. I should have a better handle on it by now.”

Carlos is shaking his head before TK is even done speaking. “Nope, you don’t get to take this responsibility on your shoulders,” he says, still shaking his head when TK opens his mouth. “Nope, nope, nope. You will not be blaming your valid feelings in this house.”

“Carlos,” TK says with a reluctant smile. It slowly grows more genuine when he doesn’t budge on his position. “Defending me even from myself,” he says with a resigned chuckle, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“I do know,” he answers with a grin of his own. He reaches up, tugging TK towards him. TK comes easily, shifting to place his knees on either side of Carlos’ thighs, settling on his lap. “I love you too,” he tells him softly as he runs his thumb over his cheekbone. TK leans forward, smiling as he presses his lips against his.

Carlos cups his face, holding him in place as he kisses him. Taking his time, he touches his tongue to TK’s bottom lip, slipping inside to taste him when TK parts his lips with a breathy sigh. The kiss is meant to comfort, but as usual, the heat between them quickly ignites, and he feels his stomach clench with want as TK lets out a needy moan and starts to squirm on his lap. He breaks the kiss only when breathing becomes a problem, staring in wonder at how beautiful TK looks like this, skin flushed, his eyes hazy and unfocused, lips red and slick.

He loves this man, and he doesn’t want him farther than he is right now, which is probably why the next words spill out of his mouth. “You should move in with me.”

“What?” TK questions, his expression going from lost in their moment to startled. “Did you just – “

“You should move in,” he repeats. His heart is pounding from nerves, but he realizes just how much he wants this as he speaks again. “You shouldn’t have to deal with your parents’ issues in your own home anymore.”

TK’s face goes tender as the left side of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “Carlos, babe, it’s really sweet of you to offer just to save me from my parents’ bickering, but – “

“That’s not why I’m asking,” he rushes to say. “I mean, I do believe that Owen and Gwyneth need to get their shit together for their sake, yours and the baby that’s on the way. I also think that they should do it without dragging you into the middle of it. And I do want you to have a place away from that environment because I don’t think it’s good for you,” he swallows nervously, taking TK’s hands in his once more, bringing them up to his mouth to kiss them.

He looks at TK over them, his lips against his knuckles. “But mostly, I’m asking because I want you here. I want this to be your home. I love that this is the place you seek when you are stressed or frustrated, or scared. I love that this place is a source of peace for you, and I want that to be a permanent thing. I want this place, me, to be your home. I want – “

“Oh my god, shut up,” TK blurts out, kissing him hard before Carlos has a chance to feel hurt by his words. He breaks the kiss just as fast as it starts, bringing their joined hands to his mouth just like Carlos did moments ago, laying a kiss there too. “Yes,” he says with a smile that threatens to take over his whole face. His eyes are shining with tears again, but this time Carlos is relieved to see they’re happy ones. “I want all of that too, so yes.”

“Yes, you’ll move in with me?” he repeats, needing to hear the words in full. His heart all but cartwheels at the indulgent look TK gives him in return.

“Yes,” TK says again, grinning before letting out a happy laugh. “I will move in with you.”

Carlos releases TK’s hands to pull him into a hug, smiling at the peaceful sigh TK lets out as he settles into his hold, all but melting into it, and Carlos promises himself to always be this for TK. He’ll do everything in his power to make sure TK feels safe, loved, and know that he’s home from this moment on.

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tarlosvalentine21 #tk x carlos #my writing #working on my issues with TK's parents through Carlos

229 notes · View notes

crescentsteel · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping a Secret - Part 3

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 7.3k (Ill just stop apologizing for this long chapter updates at this point)

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

“Remind me again why are we here.” Tsukishima tells you as soon as he steps foot inside your room.

He scans the room and immediately notices the mess that it is, particularly the top bunk of the bed which he doesn’t doubt must be your share of it.

On the wall on the left side of the room are posters of seascapes and sea animals of different varieties while the desk bolted under it are framed photos of Sendai Frogs. He recognizes them all;, one was taken from the first win of the team on the first year you joined as the manager. The second is a photo of the team at the gym with the new members that year, including Kyoutani who had just recently joined. The last one is a selfie of you on the bus doing a peace sign and winking at the camera while everyone was sleeping.

He kinda feels bad for your roommate now. You’re practically hogging the whole room.

You put down your bag on the floor and shoot him a confused look. “To do our project?”

When you told him to meet in your dorm, he agreed because he thought you meant the common area. After all, he had no reason to think you’d invite him to your room. You two may have disregarded the club incident, tucking it away as a sordid memory from a night of insanity, but that doesn’t mean it is forgotten. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with you as you appear to genuinely find nothing wrong with the current situation.

You seat yourself at your table, taking out your laptop and notes from the trip last time.

“Go sit, Tsukishima,” you say without even looking at him as you spread out your notes on the table’s surface as your laptop boots up.

“We could’ve just done this in the library, or at least in the lobby,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“True, but I also don’t see any problem with doing it here,” you answer passively, still occupied with arranging your papers.

He was right. It really does not bother you at all. So, he shouldn’t be bothered with it either. This way, at least, no one would see you and him together. You’re a person he doesn’t want to be associated with hanging around with anyways.

“Do you always invite your groupmates to your room?” He asks out of curiosity since it didn’t seem like anything for you to just invite him in, as if you didn’t care much about your privacy.

“Hmm. Depends,” you answer.

He takes out his own laptop, but still eyes you as he prods further. “On what?”

The curve of your lips tugs up slightly as you sit up straight and lift your gaze away from the notes you took out and finally turn your attention to him.

“I welcome those who won’t get handsy with me.”

“Even if you’re the one who’d get handsy with them?” he boldly counters.

You cock your head to the side with hints of amusement playing across your features, which vexes him. The question was supposed to tear your composure, not entertain you.

“Alright, let’s get the fucking elephant out of the room since it bothers you so much,” you announce with levity.

If you’re going to be honest, the kiss still finds its way to your mind sometimes. You just keep pushing it off so that you won’t get stressed out by it. What you find interesting is that he still keeps shoving that fact that you kissed him as if you wanted to do so.

Well, you literally did kiss him, but it’s not like you sought for it prior to the incident.

It just … happened.

“I’ll come clean, good sir, if you’ll allow me,” you declare sarcastically before setting a more serious tone. “I admit it. It was one hell of a mistake to kiss you. But I didn’t mean to. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really didn’t. It was just one of those stupid, off-the-cuff things people do.”

Your voice takes an accusatory note when you ask, “And why do you sound like I harassed you or something? Hmm? ‘Cause if I remember correctly.”

You cross your arms and look up, pretending to be deep in thought before facing him again with a fraudulent shock. “Oh right!” you exclaim exaggeratedly. “You kissed me back,” you add in almost a sing-song manner.

You put an elbow on the table and rest your cheek on your palm as you hold his glare with a snide grin. “How about that?”

He continues shooting daggers at you but you don’t falter. Quite soon enough, he lets up and returns to the passive, apathetic face he usually wears, which signals your victory for the argument. “Like you said, it was one of those dumb on the spot whims.”

You nod agreeably. “Alright, great. Now that that has been established, let me reassure you. It’s never ever gonna happen again. Ever.”

Your eyes are devoid of any humor while your words drip with firm resolve. Yet, he finds it off that you’re not asking him to do the same given that you both just agreed that you are equally accountable for that imprudent act. He is almost just as guilty.

“Aren’t you going to ask the same from me?”

Your somber expression breaks into a humored one as a laugh rumbles from your throat. You shake your head in comical delight while you look at him. “No, I won’t. Actually...” you drift off as you scoot closer to him until you’re right beside him. “Give it your best shot.”

You close your eyes and tilt your chin up. Did you really just dare him to kiss you? Kiss those stupid lips and have a repeat of that appalling night?

Should he?

He would do it just to erase the smug off your face, just to prove you wrong. But similar to that night, he can’t bring himself to do it. He hates the idea of instigating such a thing.

Even more so now that he’s already had a taste of those lips. Those lips that felt too exquisite that it infuriated him. Those lips that took away his logical thinking. With you offering those lips to him so generously, you make him hate them even more. That pretty face and that playful smile of yours do nothing but add to his fury.

“Can you get your face away from me?”

You peek one eye open before bursting into laughter, making his displeasure towards you skyrocket. Why the fuck is he always your laughing stock?

“See? This is why I don’t mind you coming over, Tsukishima. I bet if I strip naked right now, you’d walk out in a heartbeat.”

His scowl deepens. The mental image of your unclad body is very much unwelcome and unappreciated. “Bring that up again and I really will leave,” he snaps.

Even with your smile intact, your humored expression dissolves a bit and is replaced by a curious guise.

“You know, everyone likes me except you,” you say with no shred of diffidence.

You really are full of yourself. You might be ‘likeable’ for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean every single person you meet actually likes you. He’s certain there are people who you rub off the wrong way -- people like him.

“Isn’t that a bit too conceited, even for you?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Maybe so. But you’re the only person who shoves your blatant dislike on my face.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it for the past three years,” he replies as he flips his laptop open and boots it up so he can turn his attention somewhere other than you.

“I didn’t need to work with you like this for the past three years.”

He doesn’t know where you’re going with the conversation so he doesn’t respond anymore. He’s certain you know why he finds you a pain in the neck. You constantly get on his grill with every opportunity you get. Maybe if you didn’t, he could actually tolerate your topsy turvy persona. But it’s as if it’s your personal mission to aggravate him.

“I’m putting the deal I offered during the trip,” you announce.

“What deal?” he asks as he starts typing bullet points of what should be done today so he can go home already.

“Forget I’m the annoying manager when it’s just us two. And I won’t deliberately piss you off.”

He types the last bullet point before returning his attention on you. “Then what? I suddenly become nice to you?”

“Hell no! I’m not asking for a fucking miracle. It’s not like you’re ever nice to anybody. Geez!” you explain derisively. “I just want us to have a conversation where you’re not giving me death glares.”

You give him a smile, one that lacks your usual haughtiness. Still, he can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’ll actually manage to hold the deal you’re proposing. Truth be told, he wants it. He can’t handle you being your usual if you two have to meet beyond training hours and, even worse, in private.

If this keeps up, he might end up cursing this subject by the end of the semester, which would be a waste because likes this subject way too much for you to taint it with your idiocy.

“Deliver your end of the bargain. Then you’ll have mine.”

Your eyes twinkle with glee at his semi-approval. “We have a deal then.”

You go back to where you’re seated a while ago and proceed to start discussing at hand.

With the start of the game season, training has become more intense. Coach Mira had the team work on the weak points she identified with the help of the data you tallied from last season’s games.

“Kyoutani! Do not lower those arms just yet. Keep those elbows up when you block,” Coach yells at him, as Kogane spiked from the other side of the court.

She looks over at the other players practicing their jump serves. She furrows her brows at something. Following her line of sight, you see that it falls on Tsukishima.

On his next serve, the ball spins ferociously but is of low height that it hits the middle of the night.

“Y/n,” Coach calls out. She didn’t have to say anything else as she cocks her head to Tsukishima’s direction with a telling expression on her face. She’s asking you to handle him, and you know exactly why.

Before he can toss the ball for another jump serve, you yell out merrily which you know will definitely catch his ears, “ Tsukki!! ” and jog to where he is. His blank expression turns into a scowl when you reach him.

“Can you stop calling me that?”

“You’re so mean. Aren’t we close enough for me to call you ‘ Tsukki ’?.” You ask with a dramatic pout and exaggerated false woes that he visibly cringes after hearing it.

He doesn’t respond to your pretentious act. “Why are you here?”

You instantly lose the cheeky act and get to what Coach Mira wants to let him know. You’re just going to twist the words a bit to his ‘liking.’

This is the problem you noticed with Tsukishima, one worse than his rotten way of interacting with the team. He can be incredibly unmotivated at times, and when he is, he only gives the bare minimum amount of effort.

It’s the one thing you can say you truly dislike about him because he’s a professional athlete for crying out loud. It doesn’t matter if he’s unmotivated, uninspired, or doesn’t feel like trying. He should be disciplined enough to push himself to put as much work as he usually does when training.

“You’re not going to get those serves in with that half-assed attitude of yours,” you say sternly while you eye him with a threatening stare.

His face scrunches in utter displeasure. He’s well aware that he’s not feeling his best today and he’d rather do blocking drills for the whole raining than do ten consecutive jump serves.

“Since enthusiasm is the answer to everything else, why don’t you try it?” He bites back, which you obviously weren’t expecting. He’s always irritated when you point out his mistakes, but thus far he has always stayed silent.

Maybe the amount of time you’re spending together outside the gymnasium has made him reach the limit of his patience… which isn’t even a lot to begin with.

“Are you serious?” you ask incredulously.

Of course he wasn’t. You might have some sort of experience with volleyball (although he doesn’t know to which extent), but jump serves are difficult. The coordination of the toss and the run up to hit it at the right angle is aggravatingly hard to pull off, especially for him since jump serves need tons of practice.

He detests the practice for it; he needs to run, jump, and swing his arm over and over. It is boring and tiring for him because it is purely based on physical prowess, compared to practicing blocking where he’s actually thinking.

He thought you’d leave him alone when you stepped away. Instead, you come back with a ball in your hand. You dribble it off the floor with unbendable focus as if you’re trying to recall something.

“Are you serious?” he’s the one who asks this time. He was just fucking around. He didn’t expect you’d actually respond to his provocation.

“Yep,” you answer with your full concentration on the ball in your hand as you spin it vertically. Some of the players notice what you’re up to and briefly stop what they’re doing to watch.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You bat them open with burning determination before you toss the ball.

Instead of watching the ball, he watches your form. There’s no trace of awkwardness in your movements, almost like you’ve done this frequently before. The three-step approach is nearly perfect as you propel yourself up to jump.

The sharp sound of the ball hitting your hand causes the rest of the gym to look at you. The ball spins ferociously at a height he’s not sure is sufficient to get over the other side of the court. He wishes it won’t. That would be the second worst thing you could ever do to him, the first one being that certain occurrence he’d rather not think about again.

You falter on your feet when you descend from your leap but you immediately look up to see if your serve makes it. Everyone else, including him, is on the edge as they watch whether the ball will get in or not.

It roughly scrapes the edge of the net, effectively thwarting its velocity. Still, it bounces off and lands inside the opposing court, causing the rest of the team to cheer you on as the ball hits the floor.

You seem to forget for a short while that you did it to spite him as your face beams with inexplicable joy while his contorts with ire.

Even if the momentum of the ball was broken, you still managed to get it over - the one thing he hadn’t been able to do from his last eight attempts. Meanwhile, you did it on your first.

You definitely had a lot of experience in high school. No beginner can manage to do a jump serve like that, even if it was flawed.

‘Shit,’ he silently curses when you face him with a cocky grin disguised as a pleasant one.

“Who knew that my experience being an outside hitter and captain of my high school team would still be useful as your manager?” you ask as you slowly walk towards him.

He doesn’ expect that your knowledge about the sport came from first-hand experience. He thought you’re manager of another team previously or just a crazy volleyball enthusiast.

You pick up another ball and softly push it against his rib as you look up to him with contempt. “Don’t tell me I can do better than you,” you spur him on with squinted eyes.

He snatches the ball away from your hands and steps back from the serving line. He spins the ball one time and tosses it high. Instead of a three-step approach, he makes it a four to increase his vertical jump. He tosses it high enough and channels all his rage for you at the ball.

With how high he jumped, the ball easily goes over the net. Its trajectory curves when it crosses over and hits a spot a little bit just beyond the end line.

He clenches his fist at his another failed attempt despite exerting more than necessary effort for that shot. He avoids looking at you for he’d be put in an even worse mood if sees that taunting grin of yours.

But of course you had to make yourself seen and intentionally go in front of him with an impressed look in your face instead of a condescending one.

“That was great! Holy shit. It was just a smidge out. Wow.” You applaud him earnestly, and as much as he despises it, it makes him a little less bad about that missed shot.

“Can you leave me alone now?” He drives you away to fend off the stupid feeling. He’d rather you just walk away and don’t say anything. “Not like that serve mattered,” he mutters in annoyance.

“What are you talking about? It was awesome!” you yell out with your eyes shining with flagrant admiration, which annoyingly strokes his ego.

“Just a bit less and it would have been in a spot difficult to return,” you remark as you pat his shoulders approvingly before heeding his request to leave and go back to where Coach is.

“Sorry, Coach. I distracted everyone else,” you scratch your head with an apologetic smile when you return.

“I’d tell you off, but everyone seems more motivated now, so good work I guess,” she commends you with a satisfactory tone.

“He looks really pissed though,” Coach Mira adds as she glances at the blonde middle blocker.

“More than you know, Coach,” you reply with a wide smile as he serves another ball and gets it in this time.

Prior to your meeting with Tsukishima today, you proposed to finish the project as soon as possible so you can both focus on other other uni subjects on top of training hours. He immediately agreed, which didn’t surprise you because even though it’s not game season, you’re pretty sure he can’t wait to stop having to see you.

The project’s deadline is in three months, but you believe you can finish it in less than two if you meet up at least twice a week to work on it.

It should be okay, given that you both agreed to have a truce of some sort from the usual dynamic of your relationship. You actually think that it’s not going to work out smoothly, but you still suggested it with the hopes of decreasing his animosity towards you. Yes, it’s fun and amusing most of the time, but outside the gym where you’re just a classmate and not his manager, it’s kinda draining to deal with it.

“Won’t your roommate mind if there’s a stranger in your room?” he asks as he sits down and rummages through his bag.

“Oh.” You thought he already figured it out because he didn’t ask about it on his first visit. “Didn’t I tell you before? I don’t have a roommate.”

His eyes immediately go to your bunk bed that you didn’t bother getting replaced because it’s convenient when you’re too tired. You usually just mindlessly throw your stuff at the top bunk for a later clean-up.

“Wanted the whole room to myself,” you add.

“Spoiled, little rich brat, aren’t you?” He really doesn’t have much basis for his statement. He just wants to say something nasty and sneer at you because he wants to get back at how you called him out during training the other day.

When he meets your gaze, you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him about your agreement while working on the project. He purses his lips to the side and returns to his passive expression without saying anything. You roll your eyes in response.

“Well if being a scholar while working as your manager is being a spoiled rich brat, then by all means. Do consider me one,” you answer before looking back on your screen.

He would have never thought you were a university scholar. You don’t look like the type. You’re way too carefree and all over the place. He would’ve thought it was a joke, if not for the tiny offended glint he caught when he said you’re a spoiled brat.

That’s exactly the reaction he wants to get from you, yet it didn’t feel satisfactory. On the contrary, it’s making him feel like a prick. He is being one, but he doesn’t expect to feel like one, especially towards you who does nothing but get on his skin.

Still, hell would freeze over before he apologizes. Instead, he prods on the topic.

“Why would you even work as a manager if you’re already a scholar?”

It doesn’t make sense to him. You don’t need the work if your university fees are already waived. It will just pile on to the academic requirements you will need to maintain.

Your hand stops scrolling on your mouse as your eyes soften, still remaining on your laptop. “Cause I love it,” you utter like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The look in your eyes is instantly replaced by mockery when you lift them to meet his.

“Someone’s being inquisitive today.”

He gets his headphones out and plugs it to his laptop. He really is curious why you chose you to be their manager, but you just had to be an obnoxious bitch and break the agreement you offered to him just the other day.

He knows you’re too much of a chaos to actually pull it off, so instead of wasting his energy by being irritated by you for the day, he’d rather pretend you’re not there.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you say loudly with a wide smile, yet he can see the sincerity of the apology through the slight panic in your orbs. You must have realized he’s had enough of your shit. “My bad. Old habits hard.” You laugh nervously.

You speak again when he puts down his headphones on the table. “I may have quit the sport, but I still love it. I love taking care of players like you guys who have the same passion for it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s worth it,” he comments with unheld honesty. You could have a lot of time off of your hands if you quit being their manager. You don’t even need the job.

You plant your hands on the floor and lean back as your gaze drifts to the photos of the team displayed on your desk.

“You might be right. A marine science student dedicating her time on sports even though she’s not an athlete? It does sound impractical. But,” you revert your eyes back to him as you continue on, “it makes me happy. That alone makes it worth it. Even if I don’t get paid, I’d still do it.”

Your face glows with pride and joy with your last statement, completely undeterred by his earlier cynicism. If anything, you look even more convinced that you’re doing the right thing.

He can’t tell if he finds it admirable or disturbing. Probably the latter.

“There’s more to life than just sleep, study, and survive, don’t you think?”

It was a rhetorical question that he would’ve still refuted if someone told him that years ago. Back in his freshman year in high school, he thought overzealous passion was stupid. Unless an individual is some sort of prodigy, it wouldn’t get them anywhere even if they keep trying to death.

Still, he put in a lot of work -- more than he should -- when he was playing in Karasuno. What was just a club became entirely something else for him, which, up until now, he still hasn’t put quite a finger on.

When he graduated from Karasuno, he wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to continue playing, but there was a nagging feeling behind his head that he shouldn’t. He thought that that part of his life was already over and while it was good while it lasted, it was time to move one.

Yet, when he was handed out an application form for the university’s college team, he found himself grabbing the sheet of paper.

He didn’t have any reason to pursue it beyond high school. He knows he’s good, but he’s not that good. He was at university already. It was time to focus on his future and ignore the itch to hold the ball with five other players on his side of the court.

What’s even more absurd was the next day, he submitted the application form and tried out for the team. He said to himself it wouldn’t hurt to go on playing until he has finally had enough. He’d just ride it out until he got tired of it.

In his sophomore year, he was scouted by Sendai Frogs and that’s when he knew that the unreasonable passion he has for volleyball is not going to go away. Even now in his graduating semester, he’s still not ready to give it up.

He won’t admit it in your face, but, in a way, he can agree with what you just said. Life is more than just getting by and surviving. That’s the only reason he can think of to justify his choice to continue volleyball: so that he wouldn’t have this constant dissonance that pursuing the sport is a vacuous path he’s treading on.

“Anyways, back to work now, yeah?”

You smile briefly at him and return to the research you’re tasked to do. He puts his headphones back in his bag and gets back to his own task as well.

He thought all is well and you won’t pester him until you both finish what you’re supposed to accomplish for the day. Unfortunately, he thought wrong.

You suddenly close your laptop and start whining.

“Tsukki.”

As usual, he does his best to not acknowledge your existence.

“Tsukkiii, ” you whine louder.

For the love of God, you sound the most annoying when you use his nickname. Even though you’ve used it several times now, he’s still not used to it. In fact, he does not believe he will ever get used to it. Shimizu and Yachi not even once called him that, and they were more respectable managers than you are. Sort of. It doesn’t matter that you’re more active and hands on when managing the team.

“Tsuuuk -”

“What?!” You successfully manage to get his eyes off the screen.

“I’m bored,” you pout.

He glares at you unbelievably. What are you, a five-year-old?

“And that is my problem, how?” he asks with disdain.

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you ask back, unfazed by his blatant irritation. But then again, you never are.

He is getting tired too, but he’d rather drag his brains and eyes out than rest and extend the time he’s going to spend with you.

“Let’s take a break, please, ” you cry out with pleading eyes.

“I don’t care what you do. Just leave me out of it.” He puts his attention back on his laptop and looks for the journal article he found significant among the other tabs he opened.

“I’ll feel guilty if I see you still at it while I goof around,” you admit.

He really couldn’t care any less. None of what you’re blabbering about is any of his concern. If you keep at it, he’ll just take out his headphones again to drown out your childish whining.

“I know!” You suddenly perk up. “Let’s review for our quiz,” you suggest eagerly. “We have one tomorrow, right?”

He almost smirks at your suggestion, but he manages to suppress it. He’d rather not let you see that he’s pleasantly amused with your suggestion.

He didn’t expect that that was your idea of taking a break. He thought you were going to propose something completely absurd like watch stupid videos online because that’s something he could totally see you doing on your free time.

But yeah, he can definitely use a review. It would be a productive break from the strenuous researching and writing you two have been doing.

Even though he still hasn’t verbally agreed, you continue on. “To make it interesting, there’s a penalty for every wrong answer.”

He sits up straight, pushing his glasses closer to his face as you successfully gain his full attention. “What penalty?”

Your smile widens when you realize that he’s finally acknowledging your idea of taking a break.

“Okay, okay.” You rub your hands together in excitement before you clasp them together. “For every wrong answer you get, you need to say something nice about me. And of course vice versa.”

He scowls at the idea. “I prefer the opposite. Get the answer wrong and you get insulted. That sounds more of a punishment.”

You shake your head with your lips pressed into a thin line from disapproval. “Nope. If I get even one wrong answer. I’m sure you’ll get into a litany of rude shit you piled up against me over the years. And I’ll just sit here uncaringly receiving your fury. Does that excite you?”

Hell no. It will infuriate him even more if he throws something at you and you just take it apathetically. But he still doesn’t agree with your initial mechanics. It’s not fair to him.

“No, it doesn’t. But the consequence of a wrong answer is too easy for you.”

You place a palm on your chest and gape at him. “Me? Too easy for me ?”

You break into a boisterous laugh while still maintaining eye contact with him. He just stares back at you stupefied with no idea what you found so hilarious.

“Tsukishima,” you say after recovering from your disparaging hoots of laughter. “I can think of literally one nice thing about you. Maybe two if I tried hard enough,” you explain with your face still crinkled with the laughter you’re trying hard to contain.

If you’re trying to provok him to take on your challenge, you definitely succeeding. “Fine,” he hisses.

Your laughter is completely thwarted when your eyes widen with delight as he succumbs to your plan.

“Great! Okay, two more rules. One, objective questions only. Two, we can’t say anything that involves Volleyball. For example, you can’t tell me that I’m a great manager, because I’m very much aware of that already, okay?”

His frown only deepens from your conceitedness, only to realize that that’s the only aspect of you he’d consider complimenting you about.

“But there is nothing else nice about you other than that,” he says without any trace of sarcasm or ridicule, only stating what he considers the truth.

But you don’t take any offense in his statement. You’re expecting as much. That’s why you added two more rules to push the both of you to take the review seriously.

“Better not get anything wrong then,” you counter easily because it’s as simple as that. It’s a review just for a quiz after all. He shouldn’t be that worried.

“Thirty minutes to review. Then let’s start the quiz?”

You take that he’s fine with it since he closes his laptop and gets his set of notes from his bag.

You get your phone and set a thirty minute timer. You do just as he does and focus on your own notes, skimming over the last two chapters covered during lectures. You concentrate on your learning materials but the alarm sets off after what seemed like ten minutes to you.

You frantically check your phone to see if you put the wrong time, but you didn’t. Thirty minute have indeed passed.

When you glance at Tsukishima, he’s already looking at you with crossed arms and a self-satisfied smirk. He must have finished before the timer went off. He wouldn’t have that smug expression if not.

Even though you haven’t fully gone over the last parts of the lesson covered, you can’t help but be enlivened at how competitive he is. He must really hate losing.

You notice it too with the way he plays volleyball. He might look calm on the surface, but you know he wants to crush his opponents. And right now, that opponent is you.

His muted excitement affects you. Even though you’re not totally prepared, you’re confident with your own wits.

“Ladies first, so go ahead, Tsukishima.”

He clicks his tongue, his usual habit when he’s irked with something, but this one was forced to make it appear as if he didn’t like what you said. But you can tell that he doesn’t give a shit about that and he actually can’t wait to ask away just to so you can get it wrong.

Unfortunately for him though, you two are just exchanging questions when your mini game starts. He answers your questions without hesitation and you do just the same since most of his questions are in your own list that’s supposed to be for him.

“What’s the movable membrane found on the eyes of amphibians?” It’s his sixth question that has you racking your brain for the correct answer. When you don’t respond immediately, he sniggers like he’s already won.

But you do know the answer, or at least the first letter of it. It's the letter N. N-something membrane.

“Nictaling membrane,” you answer unsurely.

The spread of his wicked smile immediately tells you you’re wrong. “It’s nictating,” he corrects you.

“Oh come on! I’m just one letter off,” you strongly reason out.

“Yeah, and that would still be marked wrong in the actual quiz,” he refutes.

Damn it. He’s right. That one letter makes a whole lot of difference your professor will definitely not let go.

He places one elbow on the table and rests his chin at the back of his hand, keeping his eyes trained on you as he silently anticipates for you to pay the price of your penalty.

You bite your lip disquietly when you realize the rule you set was a double-edged sword for you can’t also think of anything nice to say about him. There’s that terrible attitude of his which is usually your source of fun, but not exactly something you can call nice.

You have something in your mind, but your pride won’t let you voice it out.

He starts tapping the table with his fingers. “You’re wasting both our time, y/n.”

You accept your defeat and tell him anyway. “Fine. I think you’re smarter than me,” you confess.

You expect him to agree unanimously, but instead he looks at you stupefied, blinking a few times without saying anything.

“But you’re a scholar,” he remarks. You’re not sure if he just disagreed with you or he’s just putting that fact out in the open.

“Well, yeah. But I’m just really good at studying and have good time management. You’re actually smart. You’re critical with stuff,” you explain.

You cheated a bit with your answer since most of your basis is from volleyball games. Although your trip last time is also proof of that. He provided really good input on how you should go about with the project.

“Okay! Moving on,” you proceed before he can comment further on what you just said and milk it to his benefit.

You ask another question, which he also knows that correct answer to. Originally, you just wanted a fun but effective way of reviewing, but now you kind of want him to get at least one question wrong so you can get even.

“What do you call the structure the lower vertebrae of anurans is fused into?” he asks another difficult question.

You rub your palms on your face, your frustration clouding your mind from recalling what it could possibly be. You push your hair back and sigh when you realize that you’re not getting this one either.

“I don’t know,” you surrender.

His current expression is the most lively one you’ve ever seen from him outside volleyball games, but it isn't a pleasant one. He looks like a villain whose evil master plan is coming to fruition.

Maybe you should’ve just agreed with his earlier suggestion to get insulted when you get it incorrectly. You would’ve just sit it out and brush it off afterwards, not make your brain hurt even more from thinking about non-existent good traits from the guy across your table.

You look around as you desperately try to think of something remotely nice about him.

“Oh,” your eyes meet his right the moment you recall that instance, and form a genuine smile as you remember it once more.

“It was real nice of you to let me lean on you on the way back to Miyagi last week.”

He removes his elbow from the table and fixes his posture, losing the lax and confident aura he had two questions ago.

“You would have woken up face down on the bus floor if I didn’t,” he says defensively as if what he did needs that explanation for it to be acceptable.

You honestly thought he’d rather let you fall flat on the floor. You’re about to ask him back then if he was sure, but you just accepted his angry, yet generous offer which you didn’t expect to come from him.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d let me rest on your shoulder, so thanks,” you say earnestly, not a trace of your usual cheekiness present.

“It felt nice and comfortable” you add reservedly. You’ve been wanting to thank him but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being awkward for you’re only used to dealing with grouchy Tsukishima.

It’s only then you realize that despite his palpable dislike towards you, he’s not a complete asshole and still cared enough for your welfare that time.

He remains expressionless with his eyes drifting down to his notes, avoiding your gaze as he does so. “The answer is coccyx, also called urostyle,” he ushers back to the question you got wrong, dismissing what you just divulged, which you’re thankful for because you feel like fidgeting with what just dawned on you.

“My turn again then!” you said too loudly as you try to shake off the feeling and put your focus back on the review.

You read the only item left in your list, still hoping that he gets it wrong since this is the last.

“What part of the amphibian nervous system regulates heart and respiratory rates?”

Unlike previous questions, he doesn’t answer off the bat this time.

“You’re wasting both our time, Tsukishima,” you repeat what he said to you earlier even though it's only been seconds after you uttered your question.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I know the answer,” he declares with reassured confidence. “It’s the cerebrum.”

You decide to hold his gaze for two second before you burst his bubble. “Fucking finally!” you rejoice in his defeat.

“Close enough, Tsukishima. It’s the cerebellum,” you announce all too cheerfully.

He hurriedly gets his notes and cross checks if you’re actually telling the truth. You just watch him scramble with a very pleased smile on your face as he goes rigid.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He must have seen that you were telling the truth.

You start squirming in your seat. Oh man, you’re way too excited to hear what he has to say about you. You want to egg him on, to tell him to hurry up but that might affect what he��s going to say so you force yourself to shut up.

He raises his gaze at you while you make sure you’re not smiling too wide to annoy him even though you’re reeling from anticipation.

He still doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s thinking based on the way he’s studying your face.

“You have a slightly above average face.”

You run that by again in your head, not understanding what he meant by it at first.

Above average face? Did he just say you’re pretty if translated from a socially incapacitated person’s language? Is that why he was staring so hard at you?

Of all the things he could choose to say something about, he decides to compliment your appearance? You know that you're a bit good-looking, but you don’t think he notices it. He doesn’t seem to be the type to care about that stuff.

Even when you first met, he just looked at you with a vacant expression and greeted you blandly out of courtesy while the rest of the team ogled at you. His apathetic eyes eventually turned scornful over time because of how often you pick on him, and despite that, he does acknowledge that you are pretty.

You’re used to being showered with admiration because of your face so you’ve developed a natural response to it: a gleeful smile with a spritely ‘aww, thanks!’

But with Tsukishima, it doesn’t kick in. Instead, you avert your gaze away from the unwanted fluttering in your chest. You can’t even look him in the eye as you try to collect yourself and think how you’ll respond to that without looking flustered.

What the heck is wrong with you? That could hardly be called a compliment. Now that you think about it, it actually sounded sort of like a product review with its lack of any fondness.

With that in mind, you manage to regain some of your composure and offer him a faint. “Um, thanks.”

Tsukishima looks at his two remaining questions he listed and even though he’s winning the game, he doesn’t feel victorious at all. Your confessions did nothing to make him feel good about himself. They were too sincere that they made him uneasy.

He also doesn’t like that he had to admit you’re pretty. He expected you’re gonna make a fuss about it. He actually would’ve preferred that than you being uncharacteristically embarrassed about it.

Something weird is definitely going on. You’re not acting like yourself and neither is he. There had been too many opportunities to badger you, but he just let them pass by. Same with you. You could have easily teased him about letting you know he finds you attractive.

“I’m out of questions,” he lies to end the damn review.

“Me too, actually,” you say with an apprehensive laugh.

So it’s not just him. You also feel the change in the atmosphere between you two. Your smile is uncertain and you look like you don't know what to do to remedy the situation -- that is, if you even know what’s wrong with it because he sure as hell doesn’t.

But even if he has no idea what’s going on, fortunately, he knows how to end it.

“I’m tired. I’m calling it a day,” he says as he starts packing up his stuff.

You seem to agree since you don’t say anything and just watch him collect his things. You only react when he stands up.

“Oh yeah. Sure!” You stand up as well.

“I can see my way out on my own,” he stops you when you start to head for the door.

You freeze on the spot then nod timidly. “Okay.”

As soon as he steps out and closes the door, you plop yourself back to where you were sitting. You grasp the edges of your table as you softly bang your head against it, gasping a heavy breath of relief when the air becomes undoubtedly lighter after he is gone.

“What the fuck was that?” you mumble with your cheek against the wooden surface.

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu @expectonothinfromme @mitzuya @yamigoop

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima smut #tsukishima angst #haikyuu x reader #tags pls work

190 notes · View notes

honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 15.5k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, an extra lil tidbit of exhibitionism this time around though, thigh riding, choking/erotic asphyxiation/breathplay, degradation, dumbification, objectification - all consensual, but y’all wanted meandom jimin so i delivered, please read at your discretion - dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, punishment/discipline, footjob kinda (socks are worn, it’s not bare feet), aftercare as usual, mentions and implications of mxm

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and femboy friday

please note there are hyperlinks in this chapter ! they link to specific images that i thought might help you visualise some things ;) all links are safe

DAY NINETEEN

Your body clearly still isn’t right again by Friday morning, but it’s nothing a good breakfast can’t solve. Fortunately for you, Jin is more than happy to turn it into an occasion for a large, communal meal, and with barely any prompting, he’s whizzing away in the kitchen like a madman.

As you wait, you sip away at some vaguely herby-yet-fruity tea that he’d brewed you, watching his broad shoulders shift beneath his shirt when he chops vegetables, and his brows furrow in focus when he measures out spices.

“I don’t suppose I’d have time to- Nevermind,” Jin mutters at some point, carting a bladeful of crushed garlic from the chopping board to a simmering pan.

You sit up, ignoring the billow of steam from your mug. “Time to what?” He shakes his head, but you keep on him, watching his eyes dart to your figure leaning against the counter, and back at his work. With a gasp, you thrust the mug at him accusingly. “Were you going to put the moves on me?”

He scoffs low in his throat, but doesn’t respond.

“You were! Was making breakfast for me just a ruse, then?”

Jin turns around at that, lifting his brows and giving you a mock look of offense. “It was not! I’m just an opportunist, that’s all.” His shoulders sag. “But I don’t want the meat to burn, and it’s only time before the irresistible aroma of my delicious cooking reaches their doors and draws them down like rats to the pied piper.”

“Are you calling the others rats?” you ask with a giggle bubbling up your throat.

The cook pauses. “I suppose I’m not not calling them rats,” he allows, “but that’s not the point. I’m taking my time with you.” Perhaps the comment would be more sexy or romantic if he wasn’t using a kitchen knife to gesture.

Your interested piqued, you take a slow, thoughtful sip of the quickly-cooling dregs of tea. “You could always tell me,” you offer up, watching his head tilt in curiosity. “Tell me what you would’ve done to me if you weren’t worried about time. Or burning meat.”

His lips part slightly, a strange look in his eyes, like he’s appraising you. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” Though it’s probably meant to come off as a joke, his voice is too soft for it to carry. “If I tell you, I’ll have to change my plans for the prompt. Keep you on your toes?”

“Plans?” you question. “I thought you were an opportunist.”

Even though his back is faced to you, stirring some vegetables amongst the strips of meat, Jin speaks clearly, every word enunciated like it’s a mantra. “I’d kiss you ‘til you couldn’t breathe,” he begins, “and when you were overcome with need, I’d lift you on that counter and get to my knees. Eat you out like you were my last meal. Finally, if you still wanted more, I’d lie you down on the tile and fuck you well like you deserve.”

Your cheeks are hot, searing skin and throbbing pulse. Jin turns around to spoon the cooked stir-fry into a bowl on the countertop, looking far more unaffected than you. His eyes dart to you, a bemused and genuine smile quirking at his lips when he sees you flustered into silence. “It’s your turn,” he remarks in an easy drawl, placing the bowl beside you before he goes to the fridge to retrieve a carton of eggs. “What would you do if you weren’t worried about time?”

You take a breath, nostrils flaring at the rich mix of buttery vegetables and perfectly seasoned meat. “I’ll be honest with you, Jin,” you quip in a small, unobtrusive voice, “I’d probably get you to finish cooking first. This smells fucking incredible.”

Jin’s pealing laugh is punctuated by the cracking of an egg into the still-hot pan, and as the sizzling echoes through the room, you feel the air settle back into something lighter. Good timing, too, as it’s then that you hear footsteps behind you.

Before you can turn, your sides are crushed by a tight back-hug, arms wedged into your sides. “Feeling better?” a smooth voices asks, and you’re surprised to recognise it as Namjoon’s.

The academic had woken before you, so was fully coherent when you’d gotten up with a roiling stomach. With more than a tinge of concern, he’d let you shower first while he’d passed the message on to Jin, the only other awake member of the household. He now smelt fresh, like mint and citrus, and his skin still radiated heat from under his shirt.

He releases you just as quickly as he’d wrapped his arms around you, nothing more than a greeting, and Jin doesn’t even lift a brow at the affectionate display.

Before you can answer however, there’s a fourth party entering the room, a familiar sleepy drawl as Yoongi pads into the kitchen and beelines straight for the coffee machine. “Still sick?”

“Still?” Jin questions, narrowing his eyes in concern as he scrambles the eggs with the corner of a silicon spatula. “How long have you been sick?”

“Just since yesterday,” you deflect, “it’s probably nothing.”

Namjoon goes stiff beside you. “You don’t think it’s...you know? A problem with your birth control?”

Your eyes furrow in confusion before you process his words a moment later. “Oh, I- surely not? I have an implant, so it’s not like forgetting a pill or anything.” But the thought niggles in your mind, and you seek out Yoongi, who slumps against the counter while his drink brews. “It’s not like… morning sickness, is it?”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Yoongi’s lips. You gape at him, but he just waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t stress about it. You have an IUD, right? They’re 99% effective, and morning sickness generally starts around the six-week period. When did you get the IUD?”

You think back. “Once I cleared all my tests for the show, I guess? I think it was a couple days before we came here. Why?”

Yoongi seems to wake up very quickly after that, face falling slack. “Wait- A couple days? First of all, unless you were having unprotected six roughly two to three weeks before you came here, I highly doubt you have anything more than a slight cold or at the most, food poisoning-” Jin shoots the doctor an accusatory glare, which Yoongi ignores in favour of abandoning his coffee and rounding the corner. “But I think we have a different problem to worry about.”

You blink, your sick stomach returning as his concern starts getting to you. “I wasn’t having sex at all two to three weeks before the show. But what’s the problem?”

Yoongi looks stern, what you imagine he’d look like in his clinic giving serious medical advice to a patient. “Were you on your period when you got the implant?”

Reflexively, your cheeks heat at the personal question, hyper aware of Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi’s collective attention on you. “No. Why?”

“Fuck,” the doctor curses. “Come with me.”

“What’s going on?” You take his outstretched hand, heart racing as he leads you towards the front door, away from the other two who wait in confused and concerned silence. “What’s happening, Yoongi, you’re stressing me out?”

Yoongi’s fingers squeeze yours reassuringly as his face softens, holding the door open for you. “I’ll explain when we get to Sejin’s van, sweetheart, you’re fine.”

Though the sun has well and truly risen, it’s relatively cloudy, and the two of you aren’t even wearing anything more than house slippers and socks as you rush across the gravel towards the production van. There are lights on inside, and Yoongi doesn’t bother knocking before he’s bundling you and him inside.

The van is relatively cramped, some modest floor space with a single bed and then every other surface filled with monitors, paperwork, and a bank of screens displaying the cameras inside the Villa. Sejin, with his bulky headphones around his neck and his chair faced towards you, clearly must have seen you coming, as your sudden entry doesn’t catch him off-guard.

“How can I help yo-”

“Did nobody do their fucking research?” Yoongi spits immediately at him, giving no introduction or pleasantries. “I know there are speakers in the rooms, I know you heard us, so you better start explaining otherwise if you’re not lucky you’ll be facing a massive fucking lawsuit.”

Sejin sighs, his eyes darting to you in sympathy, before they return to Yoongi. “The requirement was that Y/n was on birth control by the time the show began. She was.”

“Yeah, well, not effective birth control,” Yoongi counters.

“The IUD Y/n got is 99% effective. She and all of you signed off that using additional birth control such as condoms beyond that was your choice. If you’ve chosen not to, that’s legally not our responsibility. The condoms have been made available.”

You furrow your brows, finding comfort in his hand tightly cradling yours. “Yoongi, I don’t understand…”

The doctor sighs, pinching his brow, and turns to you. “Y/n, when you got the IUD, did they not warn you about the seven-day window?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, the feeling that bad news is imminent. “What window? No, the lady didn’t say anything.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Yoongi curses, rubbing a palm over his face. “Well, listen up the two of you for a quick lesson in intra-uterine devices. If you aren’t currently on your period, they can take up to seven days to be considered effective. So while it’s highly unlikely that you have morning sickness right now, Y/n, I’m pretty fucking concerned for what may have happened during that first week.”

You bite down harshly on your lip as tears spring to your eyes, you naturally feel yourself wrapping your free arm over your stomach. “How do I- What do I do?”

Yoongi’s face softens at the action, and he turns to Sejin with a sigh. “You need to get an early detection pregnancy test, so that we can know for sure. Plenty of couples have unprotected sex without any pregnancies, so it’s not a definite, but we need to rule it out quickly so that Y/n can decide how she wishes to proceed. How quickly can you get one?”

Sejin, who had been looking greener and greener as Yoongi spoke, finally lets out a rushing breath, jumping up. “I’ll go down to a pharmacy now. Y/n; are you wanting to come with to do it sooner, or...?”

You sniff, shaking your head quickly. “Can you just bring it back here? I don’t want the others to think something’s wrong.”

Sejin nods stiffly, patting you once on the shoulder as he passes you. “I’m so sorry, Y/n, Yoongi’s right. We should’ve done more research. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Yoongi goes lax the second Sejin shuts the van door behind you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Either way, you’ll be just fine. You always have options,” he assures you, cheek pressed to your hair, rubbing your back.

Like your mind is desperate to find something to relieve your sudden crashing wave of stress, a hysterical laugh jumps out of your throat. “A fucking pregnancy scare,” you bemoan, “this is meant to be slutty Bachelorette but it’s just a slutty telenovela.”

Yoongi freezes when you begin laughing, but quickly falls in on the joke. “I even have a secret twin,” he jokes. “We better keep an eye out to make sure Jin doesn’t fake his death to steal the show’s budget.”

You sink further into his secure embrace, chuckling at his remark but quickly sobering up. “What am I gonna do, Yoongi? I can’t have a baby, especially not if it’s some- some mutant mix of seven different dads!”

“Sweetheart, please don’t stress yourself over it before you even know,” Yoongi pleads. “If it’s any consolation, that’s not how biology works at all. That would make for a riveting episode of Jeremy Kyle, though.”

You let out a groan. “God, how would they fit eight armchairs on the stage?”

Yoongi chuckles, smoothing a hand down your back before he gently breaks the hug. “Do you want to stay here, or go back inside and get something to eat? We don’t have to tell the others; Jin and Namjoon are mature enough not to ask pry, especially if there are others around.”

Your growling stomach answers the question for you.

Inside, Jin and Namjoon stay quiet just as Yoongi had anticipated, the former simply announcing that you were just in time for breakfast.

The table was set, most of them already seated, and you gape at the impressive display. The stir-fry from earlier, several individual small bowls of rice, a deep brown broth, scrambled eggs, and even some rice porridge fill the table.

Taehyung, Jungkook and Hoseok are on one half of the table, Jungkook looking like it physically pained him to restrain himself. Jin at one end, an empty space at the other, and the final long edge has Namjoon sitting beside two place for you and Yoongi. Just as you open your mouth to voice the absence, Jimin comes around the corner from the stairs and snags a place on the head of the table beside Taehyung.

You wish him a good morning as you sit, the smells of all the different dishes mingling in your nose the second your butt hits the seat. “Sorry for holding you all up,” you apologise, pasting a smile on your face even as your insides still wriggle in anxious tension. “Thank you for the meal, Jin.”

“Anytime,” he deflects, and like that word was a command, Jungkook bursts into action, shoveling food into his bowl like he’s on the verge of starvation. Jin sighs, reaching for the stirfry. “Quickly, before the vulture gets it all.”

Breakfast, once you force yourself to enjoy it and stay in the moment, is impeccably delicious and a lot of fun. As it turns out, Taehyung’s been making good use of his free schedule, and he regales the table with anecdotes of teaching Mango a number of ‘useful’ tricks like high-fiving, playing dead and turning in tight circles to beg for a treat. It’s while watching a video of the small white dog lolling out her tongue after Taehyung pretend to shoot her with his fingers shaped like a gun that there’s a sudden knock at the door.

Immediately, the thought of the pregnancy test comes to mind, and you’re rushing to the door before anyone else gets the chance.

What you don’t expect to open the door to, however, is a simple delivery worker, with a decently large box under one arm and a small electronic pad in the other. You stare blankly at the man as he consults the label on the box. “Looking for a Jung Hoseok,” he states gruffly, eyes barely reaching you from under a yellow cap branded with the company logo.

Your eyes widen, and you turn back, calling through to the kitchen. “Hobi, it’s for you!”

Rather than returning to your seat, you wait in rapt curiosity as Hoseok practically skips to the front door, smoothly signing off the package with an easy grin. Once he takes it and shuts the door behind the already-departing delivery man, you press against his shoulder to catch a glimpse at the label.

Though Hoseok tugs it away from you with a tut, and you aren’t able to read the packing sticker, you manage to take note of a dark red stamp inked heavily on the top left corner of the box. Two Rs, back-to-back with lush flicks on the outer downward strokes.

The dom parades the box around the foyer, making sure he’s visible to the rest of the guys at the kitchen table, before taking it upstairs with a spring to his step.

Taking a seat again, you let out a disbelieving whoosh of air. “I think it’s from his work,” you tell the others conspiratorially.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, his right cheek stuffed with meat he’s pushed to the side. “Like the Red Room? Kinky stuff?” he questions with a slight lisp, before chewing frantically and swallowing the food. “Are we allowed to do that?”

“It seems so,” Jimin murmurs, his eyes glinting with interest. “Just because we can’t go out doesn’t mean we can’t bring stuff to us, I suppose.”

Jin watches the two youngest with a strangely amused look on his face, twirling his chopsticks against the tabletop. “I’m surprised the two of you have kept quiet so long?”

Jungkook frowns. “Huh? Oh!” Suddenly, his and Taehyung’s faces light up in unison, glancing down at themselves.

Taehyung claps the table in excitement, staring at you, Yoongi and Jimin. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Friday,” Yoongi answers shortly. “Is it a public holiday or something? It doesn’t really matter if we’re still stuck in here, does it?”

“No, hyung,” Jungkook enthuses, “do none of you go on TikTok? It’s femboy Friday!”

Jimin furrows his brows in utter confusion. “It’s what?”

In their haste to stand up, Taehyung and Jungkook just about tip their chairs over, knocking the table with their knees. Your mouth drops as you see instead of sweatpants or jeans, both boys are sporting skirts.

“Femboy Friday,” Taehyung repeats with a shy smile as Jimin’s eyes rake shamelessly over his figure, “we’re saying fuck toxic masculinity and celebrating feminine boys and proving that clothes don’t have gender all in one! Namjoon, don’t you love it?”

Namjoon, to his credit, manages to nod dumbly, but it seems like that’s his only remaining executive function as his jaw hangs slack, eyes wide.

You can’t blame him, however. You can’t stop looking at the two either. Jungkook has a casual, loose black t-shirt tucked into a high waisted skirt that’s the same shade. Tight around his hips and flaring in an a-line down his thighs, silver chains and buckles give it an edgier look. As he does a twirl, you catch a glimpse of the definition the fabric gives his ass, everyone watching with rapt attention.

Taehyung, on the other hand, has gone for a sweeter look, with a white blouse tucked in to a dove grey plaid skirt that falls in perfectly ironed pleats. It’s relatively cool inside, so he’s shrugged on a cream-coloured jacket somewhat reminiscent of a school blazer. It’s clear by the tentative smile and blushed cheeks that he’s more shy about the getup than Jungkook is; the latter stands tall with folded arms, like he’s daring you to say something.

Once the rest of you at the table get over the initial shock, followed by the silent awe and appreciation, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, his lips parted in a shocked pout. “Why did nobody tell me?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?”

Jimin pushes his chair back, brows furrowed. “Where was this announced? I wasn’t informed.”

Taehyung sends him a boxy grin, his skirt swishing with the slightest movement. “It’s a TikTok thing, Minnie! You should do it with us!”

Jimin tilts his head with a thoughtful hum. “I’m not sure that I have any skirts in my suitcases. Some lingerie, sure, but not-”

“Oh, I just got mine out of the little costume wardrobe in the cupboard,” Taehyung explains easily, jumping forward to tug at Jimin’s arm. “I got a schoolgirl one, but I saw a cheerleader one in there too, come on!”

Your mouth hangs open as the two rush away, and Yoongi splutters, clapping a hand on the table to punctuate his shock. “Wait, sorry, I must’ve- wait,” he babbles, shaking his head in disbelief, “Jimin has lingerie? I’m making tomorrow Panties Saturday.”

Jungkook giggles. “Hyung, that’s not how it works! Femboy Friday is like, a thing, you know? Tae and I made a video earlier and it’s already doing numbers. If we all did it, I bet we’d go viral!”

Yoongi winces. “In my line of work, ‘viral’ is not a good thing.”

You turn to him with a grin. “Come on, Yoongi,” you entice warmly, “it would really cheer me up.”

Keeping your mind off other things is definitely a priority now, and by Yoongi’s reluctant sigh of defeat, you know he knows it. “I don’t want to wear a skirt,” he states, “my legs get cold easily. Is there any compromise of some sort? Anything else I can contribute to the cause?”

It seems you and Jungkook get the idea at the same time, judging by the way his eyes light up.

Before Yoongi can voice his concern, a triumphant clearing of a throat catches the room’s attention. Looking demure in his schoolgirl-esque getup, Taehyung stands tall in the doorway, glancing behind him. “Announcing,” he calls out more noisily than is needed, “the head cheerleader himself, Park Jimin!”

When Taehyung had mentioned cheerleader, and again now, you’d expected the typical red get-up, maybe a sweeter, more innocent look, but at this point in the show it’s about time you realise that Jimin never restricts himself to the obvious route, preferring to defy expectations.

Stepping into the gap Taehyung leaves for him and resting an elbow casually against the doorframe, Jimin looks like the type of student that would run the team with an iron fist. Or, judging by the rings laden on his hands, a silver one. It looks like the only things he’s taken from the cheerleader costume is a pleated pink skirt and some white thigh-high stockings, slipping slightly on the foyer tile. A simple but sexy Gucci shirt is tucked into the obscenely high waistband. Though the logo is gold, red and green, stamped onto the centre of the white fabric, it doesn’t clash with the skirt, instead making an addicting contrast. Shrugged on top, loose around his arms, is a black jacket with red and gold detailing on the shoulders. His gaze is piercing and superior, wearing the skirt like it’s armour as he slinks forward and sits in the chair with a smug look on his face.

Your mouth feels dry. Reminded of the last time he wore more typically feminine attire, it’s like the temperature of the room has increased by several degrees. “I think this is my new favourite day of the year,” you admit quietly, though it carries well enough in the awed room. “You guys look incredible.”

Jimin smirks. “Who’s next, then?”

Jungkook brightens up, wiping the corner of his lip surreptitiously. “Yoongi! Hyung, we need makeup; lots of it.”

Yoongi blanches. “You what now?”

Jin sits forward eagerly. “Wait; if we’re all making ourselves look pretty, I want in. I’ve always wanted to look like the rich hot mom from Parasite,” he divulges openly, turning to you. “Y/n, do you have some jewellery I can use?”

You grin. “I guess so. I know Jimin has some too, and I think Jungkookie? We can get you iced up. Ah, I feel like a little girl dressing up paper dolls. Let’s go get some supplies and we can make a day of it!”

You stand up too quickly, head lurching and stomach protesting, and like the crashing of a freezing wave, you feel dread wash over you. Before you can even dwell on it, Jin’s behind you, steadying you and holding you upright against him.

“Alright?” he asks in a low voice as the others begin to discuss a game plan.

You nod. “Just stood up too quickly.”

Jin’s mouth twists, unconvinced with your answer. “Let’s go upstairs and raid your closet. Take a breather.”

Leaving the others behind, you let the noise drop away as Jin carefully leads you up the stairs and to your room, sitting you carefully on your bed.

You collapse back against the mattress, feeling weak now that the pressure in your head is beginning to recede. Unsurprisingly, Jin doesn’t immediately beeline for the wardrobe or set of drawers. The springs adjust to a shift in weight. Jin’s hands finds one of yours, wrapping it between the two and squeezing it in reassurance. You’re smart enough to recognise this as the start of a Talk, capital letter intended.

“I’m worried about you,” he starts softly, his voice warm and comforting like cotton. “You don’t have to feel obligated to tell me a thing, and I know I’m no medical expert like Yoongichi, but I do know a lot about sex and relationships, and I know that surprises and accidents can happen. I’m here for you in any capacity you need, Y/n. Any at all.”

You swallow, staring at the slightly uneven, off-white paint on the ceiling. “I might be pregnant. It’s a big might but, you know…”

Jin’s hand tightens on yours briefly at that word, like a flexing of muscle, and relaxes again. “The not-knowing is still scary,” he finishes lightly.

“Yeah.” With a frown, you focus your awareness inwards, feeling your stomach rise and fall with your breath. “I don’t feel pregnant. But then- how the fuck would I know what that felt like?”

Jin is silent for a moment. “That isn’t really something I could help with, sadly.”

You huff out a humourless laugh through your nose. “It’s fine, Jin. I appreciate your concern. Sejin’s bringing back a test soon, hopefully, and then I can just… deal with it then.”

“Do you wanna talk about what those results would mean for you? What you feel about the possibility of-”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in sharply, sitting up so quickly that your vision spots. “I’m refusing to dwell on it until I have an answer.” You swallow down the nausea that rises in your throat the more you think about it, turning to face him. “If you wanna help, Jin, and I can’t thank you enough for wanting to- then just distract me.”

Jin pauses, nods, then a grin stretches across his face. “Deal.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok huffs for the hundredth time, nails digging in to the arms of the chair he’s sat at. “It could’ve been anyone else but him. Y/n, why didn’t you help?”

You beam innocently, watching as an equally tight-lipped Jimin settles on a stool in front of the dom, a palette of brown and beige pressed powders and a small brush in hand. “Minnie’s way better than me at it, Hobi. Don’t you wanna look pretty?”

“I chose to pass this in the truth or dare game for a reason.” Hoseok tenses and recoils violently when Jimin’s hand lifts suddenly towards his face. “He’s going to make me look ugly on purpose,” he accuses.

Jimin scoffs, hand falling again. “Are you going to keep talking about me like I’m not here?”

“Ideally, yes.”

The blue-haired man tuts, lazily swirling the soft, short bristles over a particular shade, collecting more pigment. “It would be easier to make you look ugly, but I always relish a good challenge. Don’t worry; you’ll thank me when I’m done.”

“I most certainly will not,” Hoseok pouts stiffly. “Just get on with it, Peaches.”

Jimin’s hand overshoots and streaks a thick tan line on the strip of naked skin between his short skirt and thigh-high stockings. “Fuck. Keep your mouth shut, Jung.”

“You said you’re just doing the base stuff, why does my mouth need to be shut?” Hoseok complains.

Jimin levels him a glare. “Because if you open it, I’ll shove this down your throat and use you as storage.”

“Kinky,” Hoseok banters back, but settles into silence, only flinching slightly when Jimin raises the brush to his face again, dabbing delicately at Hoseok’s dainty nose.

Like some sort of makeshift salon - the second time all eight of you had gathered together to do so - the dining table has been transformed. At the head, Hoseok and Jimin glare at each other with less than a ruler’s length between them. Jungkook and Taehyung have descended on Yoongi like makeup kiosk employees, gushing over his smooth skin and graceful eye shape as the man protests noisily but otherwise seems very content being fussed over.

Jin is wearing enough necklaces, bracelets and earrings that he jingles with the slightest movement, of which there are many as he compulsively makes the eyeliner on his lids longer and thicker and longer again. The brief moments of silence that descend usually consist of him holding up the hand mirror and staring intensely at his reflection, sometimes holding it close enough that his breath fogs it up.

And finally, you and Namjoon are in between the three parties, the academic patiently holding his hands steady as you file away at his nails, shaping them a bit. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” you check in.

Namjoon immediately shakes his head, leaning in closer to watch your motions and the dust shavings that pile up on the folded paper towel beneath your hands. “I’ve always wanted to get my nails done,” he says, voice a casual low timbre.

That surprises you. “Really?” you ask, gently tugging on his hand so he can present his thumb for filing.

“Well,” he amends quickly, “always since yesterday.” At your bewildered laugh, he cracks a sheepish grin and explains. “One of the fans sent in something mentioning it when I visited the confessional booth at lunchtime. It’s sort of been on my mind since then.”

“I’m glad I can help you fulfil this lifelong dream of yours then, Joonie,” you remark with a smile of your own. It’s impossible not to cheer up in Namjoon’s company, your heart always feels lighter in his vicinity. “Are you wanting a colour? I don’t have many, sorry; Jin’s hogging the white and the pink.”

“It’s for a French tip,” Jin calls out imperiously, never one to miss his name mentioned in conversation. You know he’s chosen to help himself so that he can quietly keep an eye on you, and the thought makes you feel more secure and unburdened, appreciative of his attempts to keep your mind occupied. “It’s high class fashion, baby.”

“Maybe in 2010,” Jungkook retorts without glancing away from the blush he’s patting onto Yoongi’s cheeks. “These days it’s all about nail art, hyung.”

Namjoon pipes up. “Like drawing pictures and stuff on the nail? I think some of the girls in my class get those.” He gasps, wriggling in his seat as he turns to you with as much urgency as he can while his hands stay still in your loose grasp. “Do you think you could do that?”

You laugh self-consciously. “I’m not really an expert,” you begin, but Namjoon’s look of veiled disappointment is too much to bear, “but I could give you some nail stickers? They’re just like, love-hearts and stars and leaf patterns and stuff, but-”

With a gasp Namjoon leans forward. “Can I have the leaf ones?” After receiving your confirmation, his knee jiggles under the table in suppressed excitement as you pick up a bottle of nude base coat, the colour of milky tea with a hint of pink to warm it up a bit. You’d used it many a time when you just wanted something plain, and it’ll serve you well today as a blank canvas. Namjoon holds his breath as you uncap it and hold up his pinky finger, carefully coating the smallest fingernail in the glossy polish.

His hands are warm, pliant under your grasp. As he goes quiet to let you focus, the sounds of the rest of the room fill in the vacuum.

“You get that away from my eyes,” Yoongi hisses at one point, making his two stylists tut in reproach.

“It’s just an eyelash curler, hyung,” Taehyung defends, Jungkook providing a resounding ‘yeah!’ in the background. “People use them all the time, it doesn’t hurt.”

“People wax and get tattoos and piercings all the time, Taehyung, and those are still painful. You will not be using that medieval torture device on any part of me.”

Taehyung huffs, and you hear a petulant clank as he drops it back onto the table. “Enjoy your boring straight lashes then, Min Yoongi.”

“I will, actually,” he retorts automatically. “Are you almost done? I feel like I’ve dunked my face in cake flour.”

“Not even close,” Jungkook responds cheerily. “Now it’s time for the fun part though, don’t worry.”

“And what’s the fun part?”

A familiar sticky thwack echoes through the room. “Lip gloss,” he declares with a pleased voice.

Just as Yoongi lets out a pitiful groan, Hoseok gasps from the other end of the table. “Jimin,” he squawks in offense, “why aren’t you giving me lip gloss?”

Jimin just about growls in response. “I said not to move,” he chastises, “now you’ve gone and fucked up the smokey eye, so thanks a lot.”

“I believe you’re the one that fucked up, Jimin,” Hoseok answers haughtily, “a poor worker blames his tools.”

“If you’re calling yourself a tool, I’d be inclined to agree,” Jimin responds, his tone clipped in a way that means he’s focussed. “Okay, that’s looking better. And we’re not doing lip gloss, it looks tacky.”

Finished with the bottom layer on both of Namjoon’s hands, you glance up in just enough time to see Jungkook gasp and turn Yoongi around violently, presenting him like a piece of evidence in court.

Jimin appraises him silently, Yoongi blinking and waiting for his opinion. Taehyung and Jungkook have done a great job, giving him delicate hints of pink shadow just under the outer corners of his eyes, short swoops of eyeliner and baby pink lips coated with a thick sheen of gloss reflecting the light. With an indignant tut, Jimin turns back to Hoseok. “It looks tacky unless you’re Yoongi,” he corrects.

Yoongi seems more content than Hoseok with the answer, and steals Jin’s mirror to inspect himself. He tilts it every which way, mouth slowly opening. “I do look kinda hot, don’t I?”

“See?” Jungkook cheers with a small pump of his fist. “We did good, right? Oh. Jin-hyung, do you need the mirror back? Wait, let us help you! We come highly recommended, Taehyung and I.”

Tuning out the others, you turn back to Namjoon. “Okay, let’s put on some stickers.”

It takes the rest of the morning for everyone to finish up, but none of you seem in a rush. Yoongi, routinely smacking his lips together to feel the texture of the gloss, starts getting different dishes together to make some lunch, and his two little helpers go over to make Jin look like the tiger mom of his dreams. Jimin can’t hide his pride at how well Hoseok’s smokey eye and peachy lip turn out, and Hoseok can’t help but admit that he likes it. Namjoon covers each nail in a thoughtfully selected and arranged sticker, and keeps cooing over them as you cover them in a clear top coat.

Finally, when all of your boys are prettied up and you’re just about to tuck in to lunch, there’s a knock at the door.

You rush up to answer, and this time it is in fact Sejin. He looks harried, chest heaving like he rushed to get here, and before you can even greet him he’s thrusting a brown paper bag towards you.

“Traffic,” he gasps out, “I’m so sorry about the wait, there was a hold-up. I got you it,” he murmurs, before raising his voice so the others - who are no doubt listening in with curiosity - can hear, “so I got you the ginger pills for your stomach, and then just some vitamins that the lady at the counter told me were good for immune systems. Take it easy. Send me a text if you need anything, or if you don’t need anything.”

His voice sounds so awash with concern, his eyes softened in sympathy even as he looks out of breath from getting back here as quickly as possible, that you throw yourself at his chest and wrap your arms around him in a quick hug. He stays frozen for a moment, then pats your back and squeezes your shoulders fondly once you pull away. “Thanks, Sejin,” you say with a smile, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

When you shut the door lightly behind him and poke your head into the main room, where everyone’s acting like they were’t eavesdropping (Jungkook and Taehyung are thumb-wrestling, Jimin has grabbed Namjoon’s hand to inquire about the little leaf stickers, Hoseok’s turned his face a full one hundred and eighty degrees from you, staring wistfully out the window, and Jin and Yoongi share a look). “I’m just going to duck upstairs and take some of the ginger pills and the vitamins he got me, I won’t be long. You can start without me; don’t let it get cold.”

Though you try and stay calm, when you shut yourself in your bathroom, your hands are trembling. The thin cardboard box tears as you open it, a thick folded wad of instructions and warnings falling out. The longer you take, the more suspicious it is, so you just scan over them to get a general idea. Piss on a stick, you think to yourself, how hard can it be?

So nervous that your muscles lock up, it’s hard enough to actually do even that, but once you’re done, you wash your hands and the handle of the small white stick, and wait. Unable to look, you leave it on the counter and sit on the toilet seat lid, feeling your heart race a million miles a minute. Breathe.

A knock on the door makes you startle violently, a hand instinctively rising up to press against your chest. With a racing heart, you call out to ask who it is.

“It’s us,” Yoongi’s voice echoes through the door. “Me and hyung, I mean. Is it the- the test, sweetheart?”

Opening the door, you let the two men in with a silent nod, returning to your stoop. “Just waiting,” you explain when they glance at the plastic stick on the counter. Your voice has never felt so small and distant to you. It makes you want to curl into yourself and disappear.

Yoongi hovers near the test, checking his watch, but Jin immediately comes over to you, smoothing your hair back and pressing your head and shoulders against his torso. You slump into him, into the embrace that always reassures you. Jin smells still like his cooking, and breathing it in gives you some small comfort.

The three of you don’t speak. There’s nothing to say; not yet, not when you still don’t know. Yoongi stands by the test like a guard dog, not looking himself, and Jin rubs your back and strokes your hair, holding you close.

After what feels like a cold eternity, Yoongi consults with his watch again and clears his throat lightly. “Do you want to come and check, sweetheart?”

You get the thought of you leaving Jin’s hold, of going up there and taking the piece of plastic and seeing two blue lines, and you shake your head, pressing yourself more firmly against Jin. “Can you just… Can you check it and tell me?”

As Yoongi turns to pick it up, you feel yourself tense. Two blue lines, your mind chants over and over, and even as you’re terrified you’re going to somehow conjure that result by thinking too hard about it, you can’t stop.

The plastic rattles against the counter, and you’re watching his face, eyes narrowed on his expression with laser focus. He picks it up, looks at the result, and the slightest exhale gives him away. A tiny puff of breath, his shoulders dropping an inch and the line between his brows smoothing out. Your heart soars in raw relief even before he confirms, “you’re not pregnant, Y/n.”

Even though you’re happy, so grateful of fate working in your favour, the underlying fear of the past few hours comes crashing down on you like a tsunami, and you burst into tears, your whole body shivering and juddering with sobs that you muffle against the soft fabric and solid chest you’re leaning on.

“Hey, hey,” Jin’s voice calls to you in a soothing croon, “you’re okay, baby, you’re fine. You’re safe.”

The reassurance only makes you wail harder, feeling so unburdened, so unanchored, like you could float away were it not for your grip on his sleeves. He rocks you gently, back and forth as his fingers card through your hair and cradle your back. It’s not until you hear the hollow clatter of the test going in the trash can that you feel the ghost of your fear and worry leave you, and finally you go slack against him, tears dried up.

As you sit up and dab at your eyes, Yoongi passes you a tissue to properly clean yourself up and Jin pats your hair back down. “Sorry,” you pipe up with a croaky voice, “I got your shirt messy.”

Jin smiles softly and offers you a hand to stand with. “Never you mind that, young lady.” He’s quite a sight to see now; even with a soft expression, his eyeliner is sharper than the point of a knife and the imperious dark red of his lips makes anything less than a grin look pouty and dramatic. “Do you want us to let the others know you’re feeling under the weather? I can bring some food up here for you? Are you too cold? Too hot?” You giggle tearily as he lays his hand across your forehead and pinches your cheeks lightly, clucking in worry.

“I’m fine,” you reply. “I’ll take ten minutes or so to calm down a bit and then I’ll join you all. Can you just tell them I’m on the phone with a friend or something? I won’t be long.”

Jin furrows his brows. “Are you sure? If you need anything, I’m here for-”

“Hyung,” Yoongi chides gently, “let’s give her a breather.”

By the way Jin sucks in a deep breath and nods stiffly, it might be him that needs the breather. Yoongi drags him away as you thank them, and soon enough you’re once again alone in the bathroom.

Stumbling on weak legs to your bed, you all but collapse onto it, feeling totally devoid of energy. You just need a moment to recharge, that’s all. Just need a moment to acknowledge that no, there isn’t a life form inside you right now, and yes, everything can go back to normal.

And if it’s well over ten minutes by the time you make it back downstairs to reheat your portion of lunch, no one mentions it.

The afternoons are often a lazy affair in the Villa. Unless you’re off getting fucked (not uncommon, of course) you tend to hang around in the lounge with whoever’s in the mood for socialising, and put something on TV.

You’re starting to realise that perhaps there are better uses of your time, which is why when Namjoon asks how Jimin got so good at makeup, you enthusiastically accept Jimin’s generous offer to be his model.

Once again your communal area gets renovated into a mini studio fit for purpose. Two of the couches are pulled closer together, a tight arrow shape around the coffee table corner. As is often the case, Yoongi and Jin are noticeably absent, with Namjoon and Jungkook on one sofa, leaning forward in their eagerness, and Taehyung and Hoseok on the other, the younger looking like he’s just about to fall asleep on Hoseok’s shoulder.

You perch on the edge of the table between them with nervous anticipation as Jimin darts upstairs to collect his tools. “How come you’re wanting to learn, Namjoon?” you ask lightly.

The academic scratches his neck lightly, knee bumping against Jungkook’s as he shifts in place. “It’s interesting, and I love learning new things,” he states, his voice lilting up at the end.

Jungkook nudges his elbow into Namjoon’s side. “He thinks Jimin’s focusing face is hot.”

“I did not say that!” Namjoon insists, but the violent blush in his cheeks betrays him. “I enjoy watching, that’s all.”

“I’m sure you do, hyung, I’m sure you do,” Jungkook commiserates with a wise and somewhat sarcastic nod, but before Namjoon has any further chance to defend himself, you hear the thud of socked feet coming down the stairs.

Jimin’s skirt flounces around his thighs with every step as he rushes back in, a heavy-looking back held against his chest. He pauses in front of you, breathing slightly elevated. “Up you get,” he instructs.

You do so without thinking, but then stand awkwardly beside the coffee table as he takes your spot and dumps the makeup bag beside him. “Where do I sit?” you ask hesitantly, but Jimin just pats his thigh wordlessly.

Glancing out at the four onlookers, you suck in a breath and place yourself delicately on his lap, perpendicular so that your shoulder is against his chest and you’re facing Namjoon. Clearly it wasn’t what he was after, as Jimin clicks his tongue with a huff and grabs you under the knee, parting your legs so that you’re facing him, balanced on a single, stocking-clad thigh.

Your eyes widen as you’re suddenly face-to-face with him as he raises a brow at you. “Namjoon wants to learn, little mouse,” Jimin instructs, “so you’re going to be nice and still for me, right?”

You’re hyper aware of the pressure of his corded thigh against your core, even through your loose cotton shorts, and the four sets of eyes on you that are just outside your peripheral. “Yes, Jimin.”

His eyes darken in disapproval, fingers tightening on your knee. “A good doll doesn’t make any noise either,” he chastises. “Pinch me if you want out, otherwise stay still and be quiet.”

You swallow, recognising his introduction of a non-verbal safeword. But there are others watching, and he was just meant to be doing your makeup. Your eyes dart to risk a glance at the others, blurry in the very corner of your eye. They’ve gone dead still, Jungkook and Namjoon still leaned inwards towards you, Taehyung close to Hoseok but definitely no longer napping. You aren’t allowed to nod or say yes, so you give your lack of response as confirmation.

Jimin lets out a short hum and drops his gaze from you, unzipping the makeup bag. “Lots of steps in makeup have to do with personal preference,” he explains, glass, metal and plastic clattering together as he draws out a bottle. “But starting with primer is like prepping a canvas, so it’s always a solid first step.”

For a moment you’re confused, before you recall that Jimin’s teaching this all to Namjoon. He glances at the academic briefly, giving you a glimpse of his graceful side profile before he turns back and clicks open a narrow tube, piping some of the creamy formula on the back of his hand. When he dips a clean beauty blender into it, collecting it on the narrower end, you notice it glistens just slightly.

“I ran this under the tap upstairs to get it damp,” Jimin continues, and you fight the urge to flinch when you feel it begin to dab along your nose, spreading out to your cheeks. “These blenders are good because the sponginess is a good texture to make everything smooth, but they’re so absorbent that if they’re dry they’ll suck up half the product. If they’re a little damp, you won’t need as much.”

You can’t bring yourself to meet Jimin’s gaze, or even lift your eyes to his face at all, far too intimidated by the proximity. Instead, you watch the rhythmic way his chest rises and falls, rippling the Gucci logo on his white shirt. The afternoon had brought a low, hot sun, and all of you had stripped off any outer layers. Jimin was no different, ditching the jacket, and you can just make out his upper arms flexing past the short sleeves before the blender gets a little too close to your eyes, and you snap them closed.

“Once you’ve done that, I’d go in with a foundation…” Jimin lets out a small sigh through his nose. “This shade won’t really match exactly, but it’ll do. Finding the perfect shade is like finding a pair of shoes that fit just right, it can take ages but once you’ve got it, you’ve got it. Unless you go and get a tan.”

Slowly you begin tuning Jimin’s voice from coherent sentences into one smooth, lulling river. Soft whispers of brushes and cool swipes of liquid make your skin tingle, and the solid, unmoving presence of his thigh between yours anchors you in the moment.

After every step, or whenever there’s a specific technique to show off, you feel the searing heat of his fingers on you, turning your head to the side with a tight grip on your chin, displaying you to the others. Every time, that heat moves downward, pooling in your core.

“Eyes open,” a voice rings out, short with impatience.

Upon following his command, you focus on his face with a few blinks, just in time to see him come at your eyes with a narrow, pointed brush. Instinctively jerking away, you gasp when the movement causes you to grind against him slightly, pleasure blooming at the friction.

With an annoyed curl of his lip, Jimin uses the hand not holding the brush to grab your chin again, fingernails digging in and pulling you closer. “Stay still,” he hisses, and lets go after you freeze into place again.

This time, when he brings the brush back up, it goes not onto your eyes, but above onto your brows, and you remain obediently motionless as you feel the stiff brush press on something powderlike. As he explains its purpose and use to Namjoon, however - the other three watching just as intently - you don’t listen to his words, instead directing all your focus downwards.

If you move, just slightly, the smallest shift of your pelvis, you can press your clothed clit against the strip of bare skin between his skirt hem and the stockings, where the flesh is stiff with tensed muscle. You watch his face as closely as you dare, wary of a reaction, but there’s none.

It’s not much, and it’s not nearly enough, but you sate yourself on that dull pleasure as he finishes your brows, and begins working on some eyeshadow. He takes longer here, dipping into different shades with pretty names that you forget the second you hear them, because it’s riskier now, with your eyes closed again. You can’t see if he’s aware of your minute motions, but you’re too desperate to stop.

When there’s suddenly a sharp poke on your lid, your instinct takes over and you jerk back with a gasped yelp.

Jimin growls, and the noise makes you open your eyes in alarm. He’s holding a jet black eyeliner wand, and his face is tense, displeased. You even open your mouth to apologise, before quickly thinking better of it.

“Sorry for the technical difficulties, gentlemen,” Jimin states to the others stiffly. “Give me a moment to sort out my equipment.”

A rush of heat floods your core at the dismissive way he refers to you, and when you feel his hand tighten - not on your jaw, but on your throat itself - you melt into his grasp. The cold bands of his rings dig into the flesh as he inflicts just enough pressure to make your heart race.

Still able to breathe comfortably, just with that physical reminder of his strength and his control, you go pliant in his hold, eyes fluttering before they naturally settle shut.

“There we go,” Jimin murmurs, “now let me continue.”

Jimin uses your cheekbones to prop his hand up as he paints a delicate stroke of black across the bottom of each eyelid, his voice like honey as he walks Namjoon through every last detail.

The weak rutting had barely given you any relief before, but now with Jimin’s hand on your throat, it’s not even enough to keep you sane. Your brain knows there are four other people trying to watch the processes of applying makeup, but that logical part is being steadily overridden with primal need, a need that’s going unfulfilled.

Jimin has to remove his hand to show you off, then to turn your head back and reach for something else, the sticky sound of it opening, and the wet bristles that you can only just feel against the edge of your eyelids tells you it’s mascara.

“Look up,” Jimin commands shortly, tapping your temple. You follow command and glance up, curling your fingers into your own thighs to stop yourself from flinching when the wand comes so close to your eyes.

When he shows off his work this time, your eyes are finally open again, and so you find yourself facing the others properly. Namjoon’s doing a decent job of pretending he’s actually interested in the makeup, but his eyes spend too much time on the space between your legs, and Jimin’s face to be really focused. Jungkook’s got his feet up on the couch, with an arm shoved in front of his crotch, rocking against it to relieve some pressure.

On the slightly less affected couch, Hoseok sits back with his gaze hooded as he stares you down. Taehyung, shoulder-to-shoulder with the dom, has a swollen bottom lip pinned tightly under his front teeth. You don’t doubt he wishes nothing more than to be between you and Jimin right now.

Jimin pulls you back too soon, and as he retrieves the familiar short, round casing of a tube of lipstick, you can’t hold back any longer. No longer worried about accidentally being stabbed in the eye, you keep your face still but tighten your thighs around his, grinding your core against him.

You know you aren’t being subtle, but you’re beyond caring, just needing something to relieve the desire boiling over inside you.

As he uncaps the lipstick - a deep wine red that looks ridiculously expensive - he sends you a warning glare. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he chastises in a low tone.

You choose to ignore him, propping your hands on the top of his thigh, over the soft pleats of his skirt, to get better leverage, moaning between closed lips at the feeling.

“That’s disappointing,” Jimin admits, and as your heart begins to sink at his tone, his free hand lifts up once more to wrap around your neck.

This time, instead of his grip being an implication of consequence, he starts to tighten and tighten and tighten, slowly and steadily. You feel the pressure on the sides of your throat, where his fingers are, not on your voicebox, and it makes you start to feel a little hazy. He keeps going as you feel the first brush of lipstick against your parted lower lip, and there’s a heat in your face, a slight tightness. His fingers curl in more, just slight changes every time, but your brows furrow at the slight pain, and without you even reaching out to pinch him, he’s eased back to that sugar-sweet lightheadedness.

It’s easier to let your eyes flutter - not open but not quite closed either - as your lips are coated in red, hand moving with just as much case as his other. Although you can breathe, it’s thin, and you feel yourself go lax at the slight deprivation, like you’re floating above yourself. Once the cap of the lipstick clicks, his grips falls away, and you instinctively suck in a breath, your exhale sounding closer to a pleasured sigh.

You begin to sink forward, seeking out more contact as the endorphins of an oxygen rush lift you higher. Jimin hums, the lipstick clattering noisily on the coffee table as he grasps your shoulders and turns you slightly, so that you don’t faceplant into his chest. A strong hand keeps your chin up, air flowing so easily that you feel drunk on it, strength returning to your limbs.

“Isn’t my doll so pretty, Namjoon?” Jimin asks sweetly, before he ducks in and nips sharply at your earlobe, voice lowering to whisper harshly in your ear. “I only gave you two very easy, very simple commands. Be quiet and be still. And yet that’s seemingly too much to ask of you. I have no qualms about punishing you in front of everyone, little mouse. You’ve used up all your chances. If you make a single noise or move out of turn, I’ll discipline you right here without mercy.” His fingers are featherlight, tender as they turn you back to face him, pressing your foreheads together. His eyes dance in mirth, a smile playing on his lips. “Is that understood?”

You only just manage to prevent yourself from answering or nodding automatically.

Jimin laughs through his nose at the way your lips twitch, leaning back just a few inches. “That was mean of me, wasn’t it?” His smile falls in a second. “Then again, I think I’ve been going too easy on you lately. And I don’t make mistakes a second time.”

Blessedly, all he has left are delicate dustings of blush and highlighter, and some setting spray. He moves your face this way and that, tells you when to open your eyes and when to close them, and although it feels like your insides are vibrating hopelessly, you manage to keep still and silent, a perfect doll for him.

“All done.” When Jimin says those two magic words, and gives you permission to move again, you feel relief crash down on you, making your knees weak as you get up off him and collapse onto the couch in the gap between Jungkook and Namjoon.

Your relief is short-lived. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

You blink up at Jimin. “Um… You said we’re done.”

“The makeup is,” Jimin corrects, looking unbelievably intimidating even in a white t-shirt and pink cheerleading skirt. “We are not. You still deliberately disobeyed be, little mouse. You’re in trouble.”

On either side of you, Jungkook and Namjoon retreat, ducking out of Jimin’s line of sight so they can look on from the sidelines. You frown at him. “But I didn’t do it again, and you said you wouldn’t do it if I-”

“Goodness, were you so desperate that you stopped listening entirely? I said I wouldn’t discipline you in front of the others, Y/n. You haven’t earned absolution. You just get the dignity of privacy when I punish you. Go up to my room; now.”

There’s no protesting his command. There’s a safeword, or there’s obedience, and the choice is easy. You feel positively electric with arousal, excited at the concept of Jimin no longer going easy on you, and what that might entail.

You jump up, spare one glance at the four men that remain, open-mouthed on the couch, and make your way towards the stairs, Jungkook’s whines about ‘missing out’ fading away with distance.

Jimin’s room is relatively tidy, but it’s not the neatly made bed or overflowing tabletop of neatly arranged jewellery, watches and belts that catch your attention. At the foot of his bed, a heavy wooden armoire with his initials engraved is unable to ignore, a constant reminder of just how fucked you were. You didn’t know half the things he had in there, had only really experienced a few of them yourself, but something tells you that digging around inside it while you wait will just get you in more trouble; although you aren’t opposed to acting up for some extra attention, you’re in new territory with Jimin right now, and you want to get a feel for what you’re in for before you make things worse for yourself.

You’re proven right very quickly, when the door creaks behind you. “At least you know how to wait patiently,” Jimin’s voice calls in a sultry whisper. Turning around to face him, you can’t help but gulp at the glimmer in his eyes and the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That lipstick shade looks so beautiful on you, little mouse. Mind if I try it on?”

With two smooth steps, he’s upon you, a hand winding around the nape of your neck and the other keeping your chin steady as he presses his lips to yours, forceful enough that your teeth begin to dig in to the delicate flesh. You exhale roughly through your nose, a whimper stuck in your throat at the sudden contact. As plush as his lips are, he kisses you with a ferocity and coldness that has your mind reeling.

When he pulls away, your eyes flutter weakly open, and that whimper makes its way to the surface. He looks like sin personified, that deep blue hair low across his brow, exposing a narrow triangle of his forehead, a smokey eye and those lips of his, stained with red. Of course it’s not a neat application - you imagine yours must be even more ruined - but the messy smears of colour across the middle of his mouth just serve to make him look wilder, a creature of lust and raw desire. “Jimin,” you say, voice hushed like a prayer.

His eyes narrow minutely. “Did I say you could speak? On your knees, shorts and shirt off.”

You follow without hesitation, just about scratching yourself in the haste to remove your outer layer of clothing. Though your ribs practically vibrate with how fast your heart races, your skin still prickes into goosebumps now that all you wear are your panties and a bra. The fibres of the carpet, though soft, scratch against the bare skin of your knees and shins as need makes your nerves extra sensitive. You look up at him and shiver at the sight this position awards you.

You haven’t specifically drooled over his thighs before, but now that they’re bared to you, directly in your line of sight, you feel yourself grow wetter. You knew he still had the corded strength of a dancer, too, and the thought of him using that power to fuck you into the floor makes you seek out some friction, crotch pressed to your heels and rocking against them. From this angle, you can’t see up his skirt, but the fabric is thin enough to expose the bulge of his cock beneath it. Looking up further, craning your neck to see his face, you appreciate how even from below, he has a jaw that could cut diamonds - especially when he’s clenching it, like now.

Your eyes widen, taking in the tensed look of disapproval he’s giving you. With a start, you realise your hips are still rocking back and forth absentmindedly, and you freeze with an apologetic whine.

His hand comes down to stroke back your hair, deceptively lightly compared to iron lines of his face. “Oh, doll, you really can’t follow any basic commands, can you? So needy for cock that you can’t even think?” He lets out a teasing laugh, the sound like windchimes. Slowly, he trails a single finger down the side of your face, then diverts inwards along your cheekbone and pushes down against the seam of your lips, making you naturally part them. “Such a mess already,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Shall we see how much more that lipstick of yours will hold up? See how long it takes you to become just a mindless little doll for me to play with, hm? Maybe you’d behave then.”

Your eyes plead with him as he toys with your lips lazily, running that finger inside, collecting your saliva to smear it over, your cheeks a hazy red at the humiliation. It only serves to make you needier, though, as you wait for him to do something, to use you like you know he will, and judging by the grin on his face as he messes you up, you know he’s well aware of his effect on you. But good dolls don’t talk, and they don’t move on your own, and so Jimin makes you sit and wait, letting him take his time.

When he finally pulls his finger away and wipes the drool - tinged pink with the dislodged lipstick pigment - on your cheek, you could groan in relief, but he still seems in no hurry, lazily toying with the hem of his skirt as he tilts his head to the side like he’s appraising you. “Look at you, trying so hard to follow the rules,” he coos, “did you not like me calling you cockdumb, little mouse?”

You bite down on the inside of your lip to mask another whine, blinking up at him as it takes all of your effort not to grind against your heels. You can’t answer, but it seems your response was explanation enough.

“Oh, so that’s it…” Jimin grins, eyes alight with the condescending mirth that makes you feel so deliciously small beneath him. “You like it a little too much, huh? I should’ve known. I’ve been spoiling you; Tae too. In fact, I bet every guy in this house has spoilt you rotten, and now the only thing on your mind is when you’ll next get some cock..” You swallow at the way he slowly begins lifting his skirt, knuckles grazing on the skin of his thighs as more pale golden flesh is revealed. His voice is sultry, addictive. “Rest that pretty little mind of yours, little mouse, you don’t have to think about a thing. Just open your mouth and be a good doll for me, and I’ll give you what you need.”

You widen your jaw and let your tongue rest on your lower lip before he’s even bared himself to you, and he chuckles as he holds the skirt to his lower abdomen, showing off the cotton-candy pink underwear he’s donning. The satin-like fabric is so narrow across his hips and between his legs that it’s clearly not meant to contain his cock, but he doesn’t seem bothered about the precarious way the weeping tip pokes out of the skinny waistband. There’s not much time to dwell on it, or even admire it, however, because he quickly reaches in with his free hand and pushes them down, letting his cock bob free.

Your eyes grow lidded with desire as he holds himself at the base with three fingers and taps the head against your awaiting tongue teasingly, drool quickly pooling there.

Jimin grins at your needy reaction. “I’d love to tie your hands back and fuck your mouth, but I want them to be free if you need to use them,” he states lowly, before shrugging, “maybe next time. For now; open up.”

You stretch your mouth even wider, wanting to obey his every command, and feel his cock begin to fill it, the salty tang of his precum sliding over your tongue. Focusing on breathing through your nose, you fight the urge to gag. Though he takes his time, and certainly isn’t as large as some of the other members of the house, he hasn’t have any qualms about burying himself to the hilt, making your eyes tear up.

“Fuck, just like that,” Jimin curses, and your heart sings with the praise even as you struggle not to choke around the intrusion in your throat. Unsure if he wants you to properly suck him off, but knowing the last thing you should do is move without permission, you just keep your jaw as wide as possible, lips pulled back slightly to cover your teeth. As he draws back with a pleasured sigh before beginning his slow drive back in, you think Jimin’s more than happy with what he’s getting.

He takes his time, but throat isn’t exactly something that adjusts like your pussy would, and so it doesn’t get any easier to stop your gag reflex from kicking in when you feel him past the base of your tongue. You can breathe through your nose, but there are so many things to keep track of that you don’t get quite enough air to your lungs, trying to make every inhale you do manage as deep as you can.

His groans and breathy praises are enough to keep your nerves on a livewire, so turned on you could cry - and, in fact, your eyes tear up as he gently but thoroughly fucks your throat, so that when you glance up at him, he’s blurry in your affected vision. That doesn’t stop you from knowing that he’s grinning, because you can hear it in the way he assures you that you’re being “so perfect, little mouse; just drunk on cock, aren’t you?”

You groan around him in your mouth, and feel a spot of wetness on your sternum, that you don’t doubt is your drool beginning to spill over. Even as your cheeks flush with humiliation, he doesn’t tell you to suck him off, or do anything but leave your mouth wide open, and so you stare up at him with tears in your eyes and remain obediently still.

It could be a minute, it could be ten, but at one point, when your nose is pressed to the waistband of Jimin’s skirt and his hand is gently cupping the back of your head to hold you there, you become aware of a foreign presence between your legs.

It takes you a moment to recognise it, that probing pressure that quickly seeks out your clothed core, but you blink away the sheen from your eyes and and close your thighs just enough to feel the outline, and it’s the textured fabric against your skin and the teasing way he wets his lips that helps you make the connection. The object moves again, a stiff drag right over your clit, and the sudden burst of pleasure makes you choke around him, spit running down your chest now. He’s rubbing his foot against you, the foot that’s covered in pretty white thigh-high stockings.

Jimin pulls out to give you a moment to cough and splutter, and thankfully doesn’t call you out on the involuntary breaking of the rules, but you barely manage to suck in two breaths before he’s clicking his tongue at you, telling you your brief respite is over. You clear your aching throat one last time and spread your mouth wide open again, but Jimin just hums and pats your cheek. “Could my doll handle one more command? You’re doing so good, taking me well like I knew you would.”

You nod straight away before freezing at your unintentional mistake. The blue-haired man just lets out a dark chuckle, pulling his foot away. This time, you at least manage to prevent a whine, biting hard on the inside of your cheek at the loss.

“That was mean of me, wasn’t it? I understand, little mouse,” he coos, crouching in front of you so that you’re at eye-level, “I do. It must be hard for you to remember all these pesky rules and orders, isn’t that right?”

His gentle croon of sympathy cracks you once again, your need to please overriding your better judgement, and you nod again.

This time, he openly laughs, making you shiver as he runs a line through the spit that’s fallen between your breasts. “Let me give you a deal, then,” he begins, voice dripping with apparent sympathy, “I’ll take away those rules. I’ll let you move, and moan, and say my name, but only if you promise that it’s because you’re too cockdumb to follow them, hm? Can you say that for me?”

You swallow, opening your mouth to take a heaving breath. What’s worse; not being able to move, or having to admit that you’re so desperate that you can’t stay still? “I’m just c-cockdumb, Jiminnie, can’t think about anything else but feeling you inside me,” you confess, and as he strokes back your hair and smiles at you like a prized pet or small child, something beloved but not all that smart, it’s strangely freeing.

Your sex drive had skyrocketed since coming on this show, and even with having sex almost once a day, sometimes more, you found yourself missing the feeling of each guy in the house while they awaited their turn. It had been what felt like ages since the last time you actually, properly fucked him, even though it couldn’t have been a week, and you longed for it. Admitting that you were too desperate to even follow basic commands, letting yourself be reduced to a creature of need, with no coherent thoughts alleviated any shame you had about that thought. Jimin was here in front of you, skirt barely covering his spit-slicked cock, lips still a sinful wine red, and he loved your need, your desperation.

Jimin stands back up again, and makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, and any scant notion of tainted dignity that remained within you flies out the window. “I shouldn’t punish you, should I? When you couldn’t help it.”

“No, Minnie,” you agree with a whine, clenching your thighs together in a poor imitation of the stimulation you briefly had, “‘couldn’t help it. You don’t have to punish me.”

“And what would you want instead, little mouse?”

You widen your eyes in plea. “Fuck me, Minnie, I’m your good girl.”

He tilts his head to the side, and it’s the bemused smile that graces his lips that makes you realise he’s not going to give you what you want. “What a shame, then,” he murmurs, his fingers delving into your hair and tightening around a fistful of it, “that I have to punish you anyway. How else will you learn?”

You gasp as he steps backwards, pulling you with him by the grip in your hair. You’re forced to stumble forward on your knees and the tips of your fingers as he sits down on the edge of his mattress and settles you in front of him. “Minnie,” you whine, your own hands reading out to clutch at the fabric of the duvet in front of you.

“Y/n,” he teases in a singsong voice, “remember that new command that I wanted from my doll?” He spreads his legs open further, and the pink miniskirt rides up to expose his cock, smeared with a deep red from your ruined lipstick, dripping with saliva and precum. The hand in your hair tugs you closer. “It’s suck.”

Jimin isn’t gentle with you this time. Now that you have the advantage of responsiveness, sucking him down and swirling your tongue, he doesn’t bother sugar-coating it, and obscene noises emerge from your mouth as you swallow, gag and choke around him. He curses, using the handful of hair like a handle, guiding you up and down.

It’s barely any time at all before you feel a familiar sensation against your soaked panties. Jimin’s stockinged foot grinds against you with so much pressure you almost want to wriggle away from it. Your nerves are so touch-starved and your clit is so swollen that the slightest touch would’ve made you shiver, but the intense way he rubs the ball of his foot over your panties has you gargling hopelessly around him, mouth going slack.

He chuckles. “Too much? I can stop if you need, little mouse, I can’t have you getting distracted from your main use.”

Your hands detach from the duvet and wrap around his calf, fingers digging in and holding him there. Rutting your hips against it, you seek out the pleasure yourself but make sure to throw your efforts twice into blowing him, making him curse when you bob on his cock faster than your hips move.

“God, you’re fuckin’ filthy,” Jimin breathes out through a groan, “humping my leg like a fucking dog. Thought Tae was the pup, not you.” You’re unprepared for the hand that shifts and slips under your jaw, tightening around your throat so that you can feel his cock even more inside you. You gag, but swallow through it, the slight restriction of air bringing back that delicious heady feeling from earlier. Jimin catches your moan, even though it’s muffled around him. “Maybe I should get you a collar, little mouse. Make sure to buckle it tight.”

The thought makes your grinding falter, and you don’t doubt he feels the sudden rush of heat between your legs, because he suddenly kicks into action himself, grinding harshly against you as you cry out gutturally around his cock.

His grip on your neck loosens only to take a hold on the back of your head again, fucking your throat to chase his orgasm. The faster he snaps his hips, cursing lowly and groaning praises, the faster he jerks his foot against you, and it’s not long before the heat is gathering in a tight coil low in your belly.

You moan around him, jaw aching and lips stretched, and suddenly Jimin twitches inside you, spilling down your throat. Quickly, he pulls his cock out, and you only get the briefest taste on your tongue before he’s rubbing his tip across your swollen lips, spreading his cum across them.

His leg slows down as he releases, but you were so close to the edge yourself, and so you feel no shame in seeking it out, grinding yourself against him as you stick your tongue out to lick your lips clean.

Jimin groans, chest heaving, but lets you rut yourself against him, cum dripping down your chin, until finally you give a violent shiver as your orgasm runs through you. It’s mellow but toe-curling, and you clutch his leg to anchor yourself through it.

“Fuck,” you gasp out, head lolling forward onto his thigh, where the stocking turns to flesh, then the soft ironed pleats of his skirt.

Jimin’s hands are in your hair, stroking it away from your messy face and brushing out the tangles. “Oh, Y/n,” he chants softly, his voice a far cry from the dom that teased you before, “I love to play with you. How are you feeling?”

You feel drained, your entire body weight collapsed against him and the bed. “Mm.”

Jimin stifles a chuckle. “Could I have a colour, my little mouse?”

“Green,” you manage, “I’m green. But are we done now? If I don’t get some lip balm on now, my lips might just fall off.”

“Indeed we are,” he confirms, and bends down to slip his arms under yours, picking you up off the floor with ease. “As much as I love you being drunk off desire, I miss my clever, sweet, cheeky girl.”

Even with your body screaming in exhaustion, barely able to help him get you laid down on his bed and tucked under the duvet, your cheeks heat in a blush. “Don’t compliment me when I’m vulnerable, that’s cheating.”

“I’ll save them for later, then,” Jimin bargains with a tired smile, before he gets up and cringes, looking down. “As much as I’d love to collapse into bed for a nap with you right now, my sock is drenched thanks to you.”

Your eyes fly wide, and you manage to pull yourself up enough to glance over the side. Jimin isn’t kidding. All over the toes and top of his foot are dark patches in the stocking, clinging to his skin. “I’m so sorry,” you say with a wince.

“Don’t be,” Jimin assures, stripping it off with two fingers hooked into the fabric, “it was hot at the time. It just, uh, feels weird when it’s gone cold.”

Half the blood in your body has probably rushed to your face as you cover it with an embarrassed whine, burying yourself deeper in the sheets. “Maybe if you fucked me, I wouldn’t have gotten your sock wet,” you mutter petulantly, shamelessly deflecting.

“I’ll know better next time,” he quips, a grin evident in his voice. By the time you poke your head back up, he’s stripped down to just his white Gucci shirt, his bottom half totally bare as he retrieves a pair of boxers from the set of drawers. Stepping into them with no qualms about the temporary nudity - though, you suppose it would be stranger for him to be camera shy - he glances back over his shoulder. “And as much as I love to fuck you, we have just enough time for a cuddle before dinner. I miss you.”

Your heart warms, eyes soft. “Jimin,” you croon softly, “come here.”

He smiles, but hesitates. “Could I- I’m just- Should I text Tae?” he asks, lips twisting in uncertainty, still tinted a faded red. “I’m pretty sure nobody’s getting suspicious, and it’s not like we’re technically-”

“Text him,” you instruct with a beam. “I miss having you both close. We live in the same house; it sucks having to stay so separate.”

With how quickly Taehyung bundles into Jimin’s room after he sends the text, he must not have been far. He’s on you in a second, jumping onto the bed with enough vigor that the springs creak, and wriggling under the duvet beside you.

You seek him out with as much earnestness, if not enthusiasm, and hum happily when he lies back to let you rest your head on his chest. The bed creaks again, and Jimin’s body heat warms your back, his arm slung over your waist.

“It’s about time,” you hear Taehyung’s voice say, echoing through his chest, “I’ve been cuddling with one of Jin’s plushies these past few nights. It’s a sorry substitute for a whole human to snuggle.” He pauses to lift his chin, glaring imperiously at the blinking camera in the top corner of the room. “I missed having platonic cuddles with my friend Y/n. Cuddling is a favourite non-sexual pastime of mine.”

You giggle, curling into him and inhaling his comforting scent, like brown sugar or caramel. “I think you’re good, Tae.”

“Can we sleep now?” Jimin whines as he holds you tighter, face buried in the crook of your neck as he huffs. “I just had the soul sucked out of me.”

“I know, I know,” Taehyung grumbles, and if the comment strikes you as odd, it only takes the steady heartbeat and low hum of his breathing to blur the thought from your mind as you let yourself drift off.

Yoongi glances worriedly over his shoulder, ear straining to hear past the glass sliding door.

“They’re occupied,” Jin reminds, “besides, I doubt they can hear us all the way out here. Did we really have to come out to the patio just for a talk? It’s hot out here.”

The doctor shrugs, placing the package of fresh sliced beef onto the tabletop. “We’re having a barbecue tonight. At least this way we can pretend we were just getting set up.”

Jin narrows his brows, eyes softening in concern. Quickly, Yoongi drops his gaze, knowing it’ll just make him weak. “Yoongichi, talk to me. What’s up? What’s got you so nervous?”

Yoongi swallows. Thinks of what he rehearsed, of what he’d written in the notes app of his phone, read over and over that morning. This has been fun, but we’re kidding ourselves. Or maybe he’d skip the pretense and avoid beating around the bush. I can’t keep having sex with you while my feelings are on the line. “Um… A lot happened today. With Y/n.” Maybe he can beat around the bush a little bit, just to work up his courage.

“That it did,” Jin responds slowly, leaning against the outdoor dining table. Yoongi takes one of the wooden chairs, nails digging into the arms as he feels tension stiffen his body. “Though it seems like the others are doing a fine enough job of keeping her mind off it.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss the bitter tone in Jin’s voice. “Are you jealous? Of them, I mean.”

“Of course not,” the therapist answers immediately, “I have no right to be. She’s a free woman, and this is just a show.”

He frowns, heart sinking. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me about her, hyung. We started this so that you had an outlet. Physical or otherwise.”

Jin pauses for a moment. “I don’t think she would’ve told me,” he says finally, “if I wasn’t already there when part of it happened. If you hadn’t have asked me to look after her. She hasn’t told the others. Not even Namjoon, I don’t think.”

“And that bothers you?”

“It shouldn’t bother me,” Jin deflects.

Yoongi doesn’t miss a heartbeat. “That’s not an answer.”

Jin lets out a hollow laugh. “Since when you get so smart?”

Upon hearing those words, Yoongi feels a sudden shard of glass cut deep inside him, enough to make him wince. “I was always smart,” he replies stiffly. “I wasn’t dumb before I started fucking you, Jin. I didn’t get emotional intelligence through osmosis.”

At least Jin has the good grace to look pained. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to say you weren’t, I phrased that poorly. I just meant…” He trails off, seeking out the right words. “I suppose I’m realising how much you’ve learnt about me in the time we’ve been spending together lately. I feel like I don’t know much about you.”

Maybe because you don’t care about me like I care about you, Yoongi wants to say. Maybe because you only think about Y/n these days. “You could always ask,” he says instead, and curses himself for the pathetic way his voice wavers in the air.

Jin’s brows furrow deeper, and his hand begins to rub against his thigh. Self-soothing, Yoongi knows. Jin always started stroking at his own thigh when he was stressed. “It’s probably good that you asked to have this talk. I’m not sure this is best for both of us. I appreciate how you’ve stuck by me, and the support you’ve given me-” Yoongi wonders why he doesn’t just call it like it is, fucking, “-but it really seems like it’s doing more harm than good for you. Maybe we should put an end to this, Yoongichi.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. He came out here to say that. He came out here to end it. But hearing it from Jin’s lips, it sounds abhorrent to think of. “Don’t,” Yoongi blurts without thinking, nails digging into the wood, “don’t take it all away from me just based on that. I know what I have with you, Jin, and I know that right now it isn’t ideal, but it’s better than nothing!”

Jin’s brows knit together as he shakes his head. “I don’t think this is healthy. It was irresponsible of me to lean on you in the first place, but I swear you aren’t just a substitute for Y/n. I care about you, Yoongi, it’s why I came to you.”

“You came to me because you knew I’d say yes,” Yoongi corrects, a sad smile on his face. “Because you knew how I feel. It’s just my shitty luck that you don’t feel the same. I mean, I’m crazy about you, you’re crazy about Y/n, fuck, I’m even starting to- starting to think about her and me like that too, and…” He takes a breath, feeling like a speeding train about to run out of tracks. “And I know Jimin and Tae and Jungkook are all head over heels for her and each other, Namjoon just about worships the ground she walks on, Hoseok looks at most of the people in this house like he wants to eat them alive in the best way possible, and it’s just- All these feelings are all over the place and it just seems cruel that you couldn’t just like me. To want me to still be in your bed when you wake up, to want to cook for me not just with me, to maybe kiss when we fuck, I don’t know, it’s-” Yoongi forcefully cuts himself off before he digs that particular hole any deeper. “I guess the odds just aren’t in my favour here. Do you even like men? Romantically, I mean? A good fuck is fine, but-”

“I do, yes,” Jin says with a wince.

Yoongi’s heart sinks. “Just me then,” he surmises in a hollow tone. “That’s okay.”

Jin frowns. “I’m not entirely sure what you wanted to achieve with this conversation,” he says, in a voice so soft it could shatter, in a voice that sounds like he’s worried Yoongi might be the one to shatter, “but it sounds like whether you want to admit it or not, this friends with benefits thing just isn’t right for us. There’s too many loose strings and it’s getting messy.” Yoongi goes to butt in, but Jin isn’t done, raising his brows to get him to pause. “I want to be fully honest with you, Yoongi. I don’t think it’s wise for you to put your wellbeing on the line for a possibility. We should end this.”

There’s a part of Yoongi that’s writhing in relief, at seeing a light out of the cave, an escape. But that part of Yoongi is drowned out by the majority of his being, the part that can’t bear a goodbye. “It’s not messy,” Yoongi blurts against his better judgement, “I told you I’d keep my feelings out of this and I will. I want to fuck you, hyung, and you want to fuck me, and I see no reason to stop when I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you?” Jin asks dubiously. “I’m not going to continue this a moment further if I feel like you’re suffering because of this, Yoongi. It would be wrong of me.” He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by a swooshing noise.

Yoongi jumps and whirls around just as Jungkook hops through the sliding door, grinning at the two of them. Yoongi sighs, relieved it seemed like the kid hadn’t heard anything. “This is a private conversation, Jungkook.”

“Is that, like, your code?” the youngest asks. “Wait, doesn’t matter. Anyway; I want in.”

Jin frowns. “You what?”

Jungkook’s smile just grows wider, exposing his teeth. “I want in, hyung, you two always sneak away to fuck, so I’ve come to join. I brought supplies.”

Yoongi’s mouth drops open as the black-haired boy pulls his hand out of his pocket to reveal a fistful of condom packets. “Do you just carry those around in hope, or…?”

“I specifically went upstairs to get them,” Jungkook announces proudly. “So can I join the sex pact now?”

Jin pinches his brow. “There is no sex pact, Jungkookie, and now’s really not a great ti-”

“You can join, Kookie,” Yoongi interrupts, ignoring the disbelieving stare Jin sends him. The older man wanted to be assured that Yoongi was fine? He could do that. “Come sit on my lap.”

Jungkook looks like a kid on Christmas morning as he scrambles over, shoving the condoms back in his pocket. He clambers onto Yoongi’s lap with a touch of clumsiness, but settles in proudly, back against his chest. Automatically, Yoongi wraps his arms around him, low over his hips like a seatbelt.

Jin still seems to disapprove, hand dipping below the table to rub at his leg again. “This isn’t a good idea,” he says with a frown, “things will get messy if we start involving more people.”

Yoongi grins, leaning forward to press chaste kisses against Jungkook’s neck, making him giggle and squirm. Proving he was fine was one thing, but making Jin jealous? Making him feel what Yoongi had felt every time he gushed about Y/n? Yoongi wouldn’t turn an opportunity like that down. “Come on, hyung,” he coos teasingly, one of his hands lazily pressing down on Jungkook’s quickly-stiffening bulge, “our pretty boy just wants to play. If you aren’t interested, I’ll just fuck him myself.”

Jin’s eyes flare, watching Jungkook wriggle in Yoongi’s lap as he begins to suck a trail of hickies over the sensitive flesh. “I’m sure we’ll give him a better time together,” he says in a gravelly voice, and gets up out of his chair, stalking over to the pair. “But first, don’t you want to put on a show?”

Yoongi lifts his head up as Jin’s fingers brush over his cheek, and in a moment he’s being kissed with bruising intensity, all tongue and teeth. Jungkook whines and clutches at Yoongi’s shoulder, wanting in, but Jin’s lips taste like possessiveness and jealousy, and Yoongi thinks they’ve never been so sweet.

#cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jin smut #jin x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #ot7 smut #ot7 x reader

862 notes · View notes

azucanela · 5 years ago

Note

Dating korra would include

BEING KORRA’S S/O[GENDER NEUTRAL]

BEING ZUKO’S S/O | BEING SOKKA’S S/O

SUMMARY: life with korra from confession to marriage

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

WARNINGS: no major spoilers

A/N: SOMEONE WITH T A S T E, i hope you don’t mind but i kinda just did the same thing i did for my zuko headcannons so feel free to scroll straight to the during the relationship bit if you just want dating korra h/c :D

also i have 300 followers now what, i literally had 200 like yesterday hi everyone <3 um i really need to start pulling out all the stops

GETTING INTO THE RELATIONSHIP

she’s a simp.

that’s it. thats the headcannon. she has literally liked you since she met you and has said nothing, but you probably know since she’s so damn OBVIOUS ABOUT IT

korra is very in tuned with her emotions so when she realizes she likes you she’s pretty okay with it, a little more flustered during your interactions, but after a while her goal is to make you feel how she feel which is flustered.

she has no shame though, she knows she is hot and she wants you to know she thinks you are hot

lots of flirting on her end, so naturally you kinda begin to think she is joking and think nothing of it

this was not her intent, and now that you are desensitized to her flirting and not reacting flustered like you did when she first started she is frustrated™

you were not understanding that she very much likes you

stupid

she hasn’t said anything outright to you about it though, which is the main reason you are like lol this is a joke, my crush fake flirts with me i am okay

spoiler alert: you are not okay with this it hurts ow

so now shes getting ridiculously affectionate with you, which, tbh, she always was, but not its RIDICULOUS, korra is out here throwing an arm around your shoulder, randomly grabbing your hand, kissing your cheek

shes trying really hard to get her point across like really really hard

like painfully hard

if she likes you its probably because your fun, like you really spice up her life and introduce her to new things and go on really dumb adventures and really important missions with her and you put up with her and wow now korra is simping oops

you’re also probably forcing her to stay healthy, since i honestly think that despite having such an appetite, korra will forget to eat and take care of herself sometimes.

she is so bad at drinking water i swear to goD

there are two situations here

situation one is where korra finally realizes that you CANNOT READ SIGNALS AT ALL and decides she going to be upfront with you about her feelings

she’s either going to just flat out kiss you next time she sees you or spill all her emotions, of both in no particular order

you’re like reading in your room in the air temple, just vibing, and you see her coming towards you with a determined look on her face and you’re like ??? lol okay

you go back to reading only to have her hand reach under you jaw and she brings you into a kiss and now you’re like LOL OKAY

you honestly think that this is just another one of her stunts to get you flustered and means nothing

stoopid

and then she pulls apart and just starts spilling her feelings and you’re like :O omg me too

and she’s like, “great, we’re dating now.” and suddenly she’s kissing you again, and between kisses you’re like, “im sorry what?”

“you heard me. do you have a problem with that?”

you just kiss her again

situation two is where you get sick of her and realize woah she may or may not be in love with you and so you confront her, and now there is a lot of yelling because you are frustrated™ and like screw you korra

you honestly think she is either madly in love with you and just doing this as a joke, and you genuinely think the latter is more like so you lowkey start crying and korra immediately begins to panic

she’s like, “why would i ever joke about that! i’ve literally been trying to get that through your thick skull this whole time!”

this time you kiss her first and korra is throwing a party in her head but she also feels really bad for making you cry oops

DURING THE RELATIONSHIP

okay so korra happens to be very much a simp

and you happen to be very much the mom friend™ it doesn’t matter if you are a boy girl or none of the above, that is your trademark my friend

she’s very affectionate and now that the two of you are dating she is at a whole new level.

important meeting? you are in her lap she does not care. war meeting? she is cuddling you as you explain the plans of attack and DAMN DO YOU LOOK GOOD DOING it

since being the avatar is MUCH more a political position now though, she does try to keep your relationship slightly on the down low, even before you were dating, you both had reporters constantly asking about your relationship and she doesn’t really like that

they are nosy and she does not approve. korra understands wanting to know about her avatar duties, but anything outside of that in regards to her personal life annoys her

loves kissing you, and when she does it tends to be intense and passionate. after a particularly tough day though, her kisses can either be slow and sensual because she just wants to have a nice soft and domestic day with you

they can be harsh and almost brutish, she will get rough with you because she is highkey pissed at everything that day and making out you with is her stress reliever

really likes cuddling and anything domestic in general. she’s really happy with you, and she kinda has all the love languages

she seeks validation when the press is particularly harsh since being the avatar is HARD and as much as she wants to, she cannot please anyone, so please tell her she is doing amazing

so many acts of service up in here, she will randomly do stuff for you, spontaneity is kinda her vibe ya know

very vocal and expressive about her feelings, communication is key with her

arguments aren’t a rarity tbh, but when they do happen they tend to be more of debates over little things like what’s better, pineapple pizza or no?

major fights tend to end poorly since she can be a little stubborn when it comes to such things, but she will admit she was wrong and apologize IF she was wrong

if she wasn’t wrong but the argument got out of hand, she’ll apologize for that but will affirm her correctness

kiss her scars, she has them, and she is proud of them but

support her at her pro bending matches and she will DIE, so happy, literally sososososososo happy, hugs you, loves you, yes

treats you as an equal no matter what, even if people think that as the avatar she should see herself as something more than

very protective of you.

like if someone flirts with you, she is clingy x10. if someone hits on you despite your protests, she HITS them. if someone threatens to hurt you, she promises to end them.

MARRIAGE N STUFF

WELP

she’s gonna realize she wants to propose when she almost loses you, or in the middle of a battle. when the reality of potentially losing you hits her she is gonna realize she wants to live out the rest of her life by your side, protecting you

situation one is where she literally, in the MIDDLE OF BATTLE, without a ring, just proposes. you are being a baddie, bending if you are a bender, fighting the opposing enemy, looking MIGHTY FINE while doing it

“marry me.”

you falter, nearly getting hit as your head whips over to her and you’re like, “ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

and she throws a giant rock at the opposition, temporarily indisposing them, “yes?? why wouldn’t i be.”

Someone comes up behind you and you elbow them in the face and ram your foot into their knee, knocking them down, “RIGHT NOW?”

she throws a whip of water in your direction and you dodge it, allowing her to take out the enemy behind you, and you throw a whole dagger at her to do the same. “that was close.” she narrows her eyes at you bc you lowkey look like you wanna kill her rn as you two hide behind a barricade for cover and an explosion washes over it, “you could’ve killed me.”

“you just about gave me a heart attack when you PROPOSED two minutes ago, need i remind you.”

korra raised a brow at you, “is that a no...?”

“do you even have a ring?”

korra gives you a look that gives you the answer and you groan, “i cannot believe you.”

“you really should’ve expected this.”

“i know.”

“i get to pick the ring then?”

“you’re probably going to plan the whole wedding.”

“alright.”

theres a boom from beyond the barricade you two have hidden behind as korra looks to you, “alright?”

“i’ll marry you.” you elaborate, giving her a bright smile.

situation two is more depressing lol

you have been SHOT oops, don’t die pls because korra CANNOT handle it after everything that has happened to her, so if you die she’s done

she’s kinda just sitting at your bed side and it hits her that you could die basically any day now, and she would have so many regrets

she wished she kissed you more, told you she loved you more, held you longer, spent more mornings with you and your bedhead, she wished she learnt to cook so that she could surprise you with a meal when you get home from a long day of work, she wishes she did a lot of things

she wishes you two were married.

korra is now having an existential crisis, and everyone is telling her that she has to go home, get some rest, you’ll wake up eventually, you’ll get better, but you don’t wanna wake up to korra being a mess

she knew they were right, you always scolded her for not taking care of herself, so she decided to follow some of their wishes

Korra cannot bring herself to go home, there are so many reminders of you that it hurts, and she kinda just decides she’ll stay in a hotel and wash up and such.

besides, you are her home.

after leaving the hotel, she ends up going the jeweler and buying the ring she believes screams you

when korra returns to the hospital, she contemplated proposing right then and there, before realizing that you’d probably yell at her for choosing such a ridiculous time and you already had a lot on your plate

once the two of you return home and you are in the midst of recovery, she did learn to cook, so you wouldn’t feel the need to do so, and given your situation she fears you’ll injure yourself further in the process.

you two are eating dinner and you’re babbling on about something you’d read, and she suddenly decides to get up and walk over to you, leaving you like ???

then she gets down on one knee and you are like :O

she’s like, “marry me.”

naturally, you start crying and nodding because wow this is such an intimate moment and just happiness

kissinggggg after that

the wedding is, under NO CIRCUMSTANCE public, the most private and intimate wedding ever. korra hates reporters after her life as the avatar, she doesnt want strangers at her wedding.

any and everyone she has ever fought beside is there though, its wholesome and nice

definitely cries when she sees you at the altar

her vows are MASTERFUL AND TEARJERKING

its a pretty basic wedding though, unless you prefer something over the top, the food is nice a mix of both your cultures and favorite things and there’s beautiful lighting

definitely done on air temple island, and tbh tenzin would probably walk you down the aisle because i said so

married life with her is even better, she lives for he domesticity of it all, especially lazy sunday mornings with the light filtering in and you just looking all pretty and having a lil fun

iykyk

honeymoon in the spirit word lads

bolin is your number one supporter

life with korra is a 10/10 i do recommend it

A/N: im kinda in love with korra lol this requests made me happy

#korra x reader #korra x you #korra x y/n #x reader #legend of korra #legend of korra x reader #legend of korra x you #lok #lok x reader #lok x you #korra #korra headcannons #korra x reader headcannon

1K notes · View notes

stirringwinds · 4 years ago

Text

yosb & the historical hetalia collective

I didn’t think I could lose even more respect for this person, but here we are. You were smarter and more experienced than the rest of us when all of this happened. I completely accept that I and the other mods made mistakes in how we handled that member who was eventually banned, which we have discussed at length in our Open Letter. I completely accept that we had and still have much to learn about racism beyond our lived experiences, even if we too are women of colour. What I can’t accept is the casual way you’re just punching down at us when you were the *founder* (and still are the owner) of our Discord server and had even more mod powers. Does your friend making the podcast with you know this? In 2017, you were a Harvard grad, the rest of us were still in undergrad, and the youngest mod was finishing up her second last year of high school, even if she was picked for being creative and intelligent—Lyz/ “ok shroomer” was literally 19 when all this happened. You were older than her. You were the most popular and well-known Hetalia fancreator in our Discord server.

You did literally nothing throughout—from 2017—2020 (until you decided you needed material for your ‘fandom drama’ podcast, it seems). Not even to offer us criticism, advice or support about handling it behind the scenes. (It wasn’t because you were unaware—you were there, and during one of the incidents, all you did was meme about texas and the alamo before immediately diving out of the conversation when it became serious, or coming in to promo your “Mafia AU” and to listen to our praiseworthy comments because we genuinely loved your art) when all of this happened. The accusation isn’t that you were racist, or that you doing nothing was in of itself unforgivable. We get that you were a busy person. The unethical aspect of your actions is you doing nothing then and now thinking you’re entitled to shit on those who had to intervene (while being less experienced than you) and did so imperfectly— we were all also being directly victimised by the racist member while struggling to figure out how to handle it. It’s how you, on your Twitter, characterised all this as “drama” you had no connection to (until we made your involvement public) to your Twitter followers—instead of being on a server you founded and still owned that very moment. It’s how you so flippantly depicted what was a genuinely stressful and traumatic experience for us trying to handle that member who was causing problems, while omitting to your Twitter followers the fact that it was a Server you created and still had access to. If this is about “accountability”, you could have been serious, nuanced and spoken with an empathetic tone about the mistakes made by less-experienced, younger mods. In those tweets in mid-October, our experiences were characterised as entertainment. That is what is genuinely upsetting.

Whistleblowing? Which of us had power over you? No, you’re more like a CEO who calls a newspaper to write a humiliating exposé on a lower-level employee who fucks up and tweets about it instead of calling them to your office to explain what they did wrong. You were on cordial terms with us for months after all this happened and mentioned nothing about this—so how do you expect us to take seeing your tweets characterising what happened to us as potential material “freaky fandom drama” podcast three and a half years later as acting in good faith, instead of as cruel, exploitative and duplicitous? That’s the whole problem here. That’s why we have a hard time seeing this in good faith. You had plenty of power but did nothing, and on top of that, you are now characterising this as “whistleblowing” instead of “being complicit in allowing problems with racism to go unaddressed” or “blaming problems on younger mods and refusing to be held accountable.” Even though our groupchat was sometimes light-hearted and us joking and shitposting, it was also a place where people held multiple adult conversations about serious issues including racism. Given this prior dynamic, there’s no reason you couldn’t talk to us directly instead of covertly leaking our messages.

Yes, congratulations. You “whistleblew” a server you literally founded, where you retained the most powerful admin privileges—and where you positioned yourself as a Cool, Trusted Older Fan to us. Instead of talking to us upfront, you abused our implicit trust in you and used your admin privileges to leak our messages. You made dozens of people (some of whom weren’t even members when the incidents happened) panic at the possibility of their personal photos and information being spread over the internet. I just can’t fathom how you think your behaviour was in any way ethical or justified

Edit: This post was made by me on (24th Oct, UK time) (see tumblr timestamp), before yosb’s most recent response on her blog (29th Oct) where she significantly, adopts a very different tone from how she has tweeted about us on her public Twitter or characterised the stress and fear of retaliation we faced trying to deal with a racist member victimising our community as potential material for her “fandom drama podcast”. This post was originally made in response to her continuing to omit and mischaracterise her unethical conduct as the founder of our Discord server even after we laid out the evidence, which explained why we believed her actions to be in bad faith on 23rd Oct. Links below.

- Collective Administrator @ yosb’s involvement and exploitation of the situation.

- Letter addressing the Former Mod’s claims and how the Banned Member was handled.

#i'm so angry and disappointed #all the times we said we liked your art when you came to share it #was our community just a space for you to get likes and entertainment out of it #long post #racism mention #negativity #not tagging it he//talia as i don't want to ruin the positive posts of ppl excited for the next season.#manipulation

128 notes · View notes

mandadoration · 5 years ago

Text

stay

summary: clan leader din djarin has finally returned from some off-world business dealing with mandalorian politics, and you’re here to help him relax and unwind.

word count: 2, 137

pairing: clan leader!mandalorian x reader

tags: oral sex (male receiving), soft facefucking, sorta oral cockwarming?? honestly that’s it

a/n: here you horny fucks, here’s your pregnant reader/clan leader mando shit.

(teeeechnically in the same universe/continuation of before the winter, but can be read as a standalone)

Clan Leader AU by @magichandthing

It’s warm, too warm in Din’s chambers where you’re kneeling between his legs, knees cushioned by fine furs that deserve better than being strewn on the floor like this. They’re usually reserved for the colder, harsher nights, but Din has pulled them out when you first gave quiet complaints of needing more cushioning while you slept or of how you wake up with a sore back nearly every morning and with every pound you put on. You can feel sweat prickling at your hairline and making your hair stick to the back of your neck, and the heat only seems to rise with each passing second. But you aren’t going to complain. Not when you finally have him alone to yourself after he’s been away for over a week dealing with off-world business.

Despite being part of the Djarin Clan for a few years, the nuances and inner workings of Mandalorian politics still evade you. You know if you ask Din, he’ll try to explain it to you with the patience reserved for a select few, but there’s years and years of history that you won’t be able to learn in a single night, and you doubt you ever will. So when he had told you that he would need to leave off-world, the only thing you had to hear was the tightness in his voice and the way he sighed wearily. Such is the life of a Clan Leader, but you knew that when he came back it would’ve been all worth it.

Din looms over you from where he sits in his seat, petting your hair fondly as your deft fingers undo the shining mudhorn buckle. You can’t help but dart your eyes up, looking at him through your lashes for some sign of approval even though you are well-used to the beskar helmet that betrays nothing. Still, he must know what your searching gaze might be asking for because he gives you an nearly imperceptible nod. You can’t help the small smile you give him, and you duck you head back down to pull his cock out from his pants. You’ve missed him terribly while he’s been gone.

He’s already half-hard when you start to softly mouth at him. “Good girl,” he purrs, “just like that.” You grip the base of his cock while giving him little kitten licks to the head, the other hand running over his thighs. The stress that’s been thrumming through him starts to melt away, the muscles going lax with each pass you give his cock, and soon he’s nearly boneless by the time you wrap your lips around the head of his cock into his mouth. It fills you with some sort of pride knowing that you’re able to control your esteemed Clan Leader like this, turn him loose and pliant with just your mouth and hands.

It’s nice that you get to give him attention. Usually he’s the one fawning over you, incessantly touching you and running his hands all over your body each time an opportunity to do so opens up, exploring you as if each time were the first. That’s grown even more true ever since you’ve shown signs of pregnancy. As stoically as one can, he’s been fretting over you, bringing soft furs and pillows to help you be comfortable. A clan leader’s wife’s first child is always, always momentous, as shown with his care and each bit of advice given to you on how to deal with the nausea and aches and pains. Other clan members have refused to give you any substantial work to do, instead pressing gently for you to watch over the older kids or to just take it easy and do mind-numbing work. It’s not that you don’t mind the attention, instead more so that you’ve missed being independent.

But you’ve missed Din more.

He gives an appreciative groan with each inch you manage to fit in your mouth, but you’ve still yet to be able to take all of him despite the warm encouragement he gives you each time you try. It doesn’t stop you from attempting it now, but you end up gagging hard around him and having to pull away with a gasp, tears watering in your eyes as spit shines on your swollen lips, your hand coming to give him loose, lazy pumps as you try to gather yourself. Din’s gloved finger comes up to wipe away a stray tear that’s spilled over. “It’s okay,” he says, “you’re doing so good.” You give him a small smile, and press open-mouthed kisses up his cock before taking him back in your mouth. You’re aching to be touched and can feel how uncomfortably wet you’ve become, but you know the moment you try and reach down to touch yourself, Din will try and do it for you. This moment with him isn’t about him trying to please you; it’s about you showing your appreciation the best you can.

Knock knock.

“Clan leader?”

You jolt, nails briefly pressing a little too hard into the skin of Din’s thigh, and move to pull back, but he tangles his hand in your hair to hold you down as you give him a small noise of protest, muffled by him still in your mouth. “Shh,” he soothes, and releases his hold when you settle back down on his cock. You give him a questioning look, but keep the languid pace, using the hand holding his cock steady to pump the inches you can’t take, slick with spit. “I haven’t given permission for you to stop, have I, sweet girl?” he asks. You shake your head the best you can after a moment, slowly processing his casual tone. Din leans back until his back rests against the back of the chair, and you gather he doesn’t intend on telling you to stop or for him to get up. You speed up the bobbing of your head up and down, curling your tongue around the tip when you come up and breathing slowly through your nose as you dip back down. “They won’t come in unless I say so,” he says after a moment, then tilts his head. Somehow you already know what he’s going to say before he says it, and you feel a wicked grin without seeing his face- the way his shoulders roll back and casually plays with your hair.

“Should I let them in?” You furrow your brows and tense, but relax back again when he smooths down your hair. “Should I let them see how good of a girl you’re being for me? See you kneeling between my legs with my cock in your warm mouth?” It’s hardly a secret that Din has his way with his spouses often, but the idea of someone walking in to see you with his cock sitting heavy in your mouth, having to talk about whatever business they had with their esteemed clan leader as if nothing was wrong or out of the ordinary leaves you clenching around nothing.

Knock knock.

“Clan leader Djarin?”

You can’t help but tense when you hear the second tentative knock, but you force yourself to relax before Din has to correct your apprehension again. You wouldn’t put it completely past him that he’ll leave to deal with clan proceedings before you get to finish him. His voice brings your attention back to him. “Or should I stay quiet, let them leave, wondering where their clan leader is?” he asks. He’s not looking for a real answer, but you swallow around him to indicate you’re still listening, and pride flutters in your chest when his cock twitches in your mouth. “I bet they know, though,” Din continues. “I bet they know where I am, especially when they realize you’re nowhere to be found either, hm?” It’s not like you need this instance to start speculation. Already people remind you that Din is the most fond of you, one of the few non-Mandalorians in the Djarin Clan, sweet and unassuming without the assumed years of training and culture under your belt. But it takes a lot to capture the attention of Din Djarin, and if you remember your first meeting, you’ve made yourself impressionable and something to remember.

Din brings up his finger to his helmet, where his lips would be, and looks back up.

“What is it?” he calls out.

“A few people were wondering if they could have a quick word with you,” comes the voice from beyond the door. You recognize them as one of the older boys, tall and lanky and growing into his boots, a little braver than the rest and most likely sent to ask for a short meeting with those too lazy to ask themselves. Even then, you can hear the timid tone in his voice.

“Are they aware I’ve just come back?” Din asks. It’s nothing serious, a genuine question directed to those who think their Clan Leader runs on infinite energy. Then quietly, “Keep going,” to you. You resume your slow pace, up and down, drawing a sigh from him.

“Should… Should I tell them that you’re busy?” the boy asks. You know he’s fidgeting where he’s standing. If he brought someone to accompany him, he’s probably giving regretful glances to them. Din stays silent for a moment to give the illusion that he’s considering it.

“Tell them I will deal with whatever problems that--” Din says, voice catching on a particular hard suck, and gives you a warning glance that does nothing to dampen the way you cheekily grin around his cock in your mouth, “--that need to be handled tomorrow.” There’s a finality in his tone you hope the boy gets through the door. You duck down a little too much, and end up having to pull back, coughing despite how you clap a hand over your mouth as tears sting your eyes. Even if the doors here are thick and able to withstand a lot of force (as found out by the more rowdy members), it’s quiet in here otherwise. It wouldn’t be hard to pick up any sound.

Eventually, your ears perk up to catch the sound of receding footsteps over the rush of blood in your air, and Din chuckles softly when you visibly relax. “Worried?” he teases. You make a face, but when you open your mouth to say something snarky back to him, he presses his cock back against your lips, and you take him with little complaint. For now, you can put aside your spitfire attitude. “No,” he says, “you trust me, don’t you? Whatever decision I make, you’ll go along with it.” His voice isn’t necessarily condescending, but more reassured than anything, and that only adds to the fire that’s burning low in your belly.

Din’s hips start to thrust up to meet your mouth halfway, grunting under his breath, and you know he’s close. Despite the fact you know he’s holding back, trying to be gentle for you and your more fragile state, he can’t help but make your eyes water each time he hits the back of your throat. You just relax your jaw the best you can and let him fuck your mouth. “Maker,” he groans, “your mouth, fuck, you’re so good to me.” Din’s breathing turns ragged when you reach up to grab his other hand, lacing your fingers through it. Although there’s energy thrumming under his skin and making his muscles tense, there’s a certain softness to his shoulders when he squeezes your hand in return. “Can I-- I want to--” Without him even having to finish his sentence, you know what he’s asking for. Even if you know he’ll do it regardless of your answer, he rewards eagerness. You take as much of him as you can into your mouth, jaw straining as he cums down your throat. Din curls around you, almost shielding you with his body. You’re forced to swallow around him or choke, and his grip stings your scalp as a drawn out moan scrapes the bottom of his chest.

Eventually, he settles back down into his chair, cock softening in your mouth, and you move to pull off of him. However, he cups the back of your head gently before you can fully pop him out of your mouth, and stills you. “No,” he sighs. “Stay.” And there’s the weariness that he hides in front of others, the exhaustion that pulls at him day and night, the cause and effect of his restless sleeping. Your jaw is aching and your pussy is begging for some sort of relief, but you’ll listen to him still. For all you know, he’ll leave the next morning again. Din runs his thumb over your reddened cheeks.

“I still need to take care of you.”

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @mudhornmando @jokersdoll @creamysacrilege @blondecity @satans-tongues @skinny-macncheese @mrsparknuts @eupphoriaaa @talesfromtheguild

---

a/n: there’s only so much you can write when it’s just a blowjob lol

#mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin reader #din djarin x reader #my writing #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian imagine #smut #im not even gonna post this on AO3 this shit is AWFUL but idk wanna look at it anymore

359 notes · View notes

wonderlustlucas · 5 years ago

Text

mistletoe? oh no! - im jaebeom

⇢ prompt Why do we kiss under a mistletoe when it’s a parasitic plant that steals nutrients from its host tree? ⇢ pairing jaebeom x female reader ⇢ word count 6.9k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings swearing. alcohol. suggestive make out at the end :D ⇢ summary Six months ago, you drunkenly kissed Im Jaebeom on a beach trip with your friends. Afterward, the awkward tension kept the two of you from ever having the ‘What are we?’ talk and eventually, too much time had passed for anything to ever happen. Luckily, Pollyanna and a stupidly placed mistletoe have brought your feelings to the boiling point.—friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n happy new year’s my loves! as one last hurrah for 2019 & as part of @kwritersworld‘s holiday writing event, here is yet another idiots to lovers, christmas/nye au! here’s to a lovely new year, & new decade. i hope you all have a blessed, joyous, & prosperous year. i love you! ♥︎

You once thought that you were an introvert.

You know— someone deemed shy, with a preference to keep to themselves rather than going out of their way to interact with others. Introvert. Opposite of extrovert.

It wasn’t until you were a senior in high school did you learn new definitions for these personality categories. An introvert—according to your philosophy teacher and a TED Talk speaker shown on the projector during class—is someone who, simply put, thinks of how they feel before speaking. Extroverts, on the other hand, only identify their true feelings on a topic after they have begun discussing it.

The lesson stuck with you. Albeit your perpetual reservation from others, you were always one to argue. Smart, excellent report card over the years— but found yourself blurting your opinion out at the first chance before fully thinking it through. Now, you concluded, I suppose I’m an extrovert if that truly is what it means. This knowledge, for some strange reason, gave you a token for change. If I’m an extrovert, you thought, I must start acting one.

Now, having just been accepted into law school, you think you have hit the nail on the head when it comes to meeting both definitions of an extrovert. Park Jinyoung, on the other hand, has his doubts.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Have you really thought about what this is gonna do to your life?” Despite the genuine concern laced in his tone, Jinyoung’s words make you wince. How he manages to suck the life out of a celebratory night out for drinks truly is beyond you.

“Yes, Jinyoung,” you groan, taking a desperate sip of your coquito like it’s really going to help against his insufferableness, “I’ve only been working for this for a few years, let me change my mind now.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” he counters, leaning in close enough for you to taste his Jo Malone fragrance on your tongue. You raise a skeptical brow at him. “Have you thought about what becoming a lawyer is going to make of your life?” His words are clipped and emphasized like he is speaking to a child, trying desperately to get his point across.

“I appreciate you looking out for me and my future, Jinyoung,” you sigh, reclining back in your bar stool because sitting that close to Jinyoung for that long makes your head dizzy, “but I promise you, I have thought about this. I know I have a lot of hard work ahead of me, but it’s what I want to do. I promise.”

Jinyoung huffs, defeated, before tipping his wine glass back and chugging what is left like some sort of animal. Very not Jinyoung-like. “Well, then I guess there’s no reason to not celebrate with you,” he grins. Then, not even a beat later, “When are you gonna make time to marry Jaebeom and have a bunch of sexy little babies?”

“Aw, for crying out loud!” You howl, slapping a hand to your forehead before turning to him with a pointed glare and a pointed finger. “Okay, first of all, the fact that you used sexy and babies in the same sentence concerns me. And second, stop saying me and Jaebeom are going to get married! He doesn’t even look at me, how do you equate marriage out of that?”

“You mean, you don’t look at him. You guys had a great time when we went to the beach not even six months ago, saw each other half naked, shared a drunken kiss before bed, and then dropped all communication! What the hell is up with that?” Jinyoung has a habit of lecturing you like it’s his full-time job and it drives you absolutely insane because he’s always right.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumble, bringing your glass to your lips and taking a lengthy sip just to buy some time. “Come on, ___. My boy is out here drowning in unrequited love while you’re just all ‘Teehee! I’m a lawyer! Don’t talk to me when I’m doing lawyer tings!’ Cut the bullshit and let him take you on a date and blow your back out for Christ’s sake!”

You are physically unable to suppress your laughter, hand flying to cover your mouth and head thrown back at his comical outburst. He’s lucky you love him or else he would seriously regret that outrageously inaccurate imitation of your voice. He’s lucky you are tipsy enough to lose yourself in laughter and he’s especially lucky that he is correct, once again.

“Jinyoung,” you wheeze, letting out one more breathless giggle before flipping on the serious mode switch, “I would love to not only go out on a date with Jaebeom, but to date him. But things got awkward and so much time as passed that suddenly starting things up again would be weird. Don’t you think?”

“No!” Jinyoung yells. Half the people at the bar jump at the noise and turn to glare. You do just the same before shooting an older gentleman beside Jinyoung an apologetic look. “I just don’t think you’re drinking enough.”

“Yes,” then, a pause to ask the bartender for the check now that Jinyoung’s lectures are starting to put a downer on you, “that’s exactly it. I’m afraid to get drunk off my ass when Jaebeom’s around because I’ll do something stupid and either scare him off or bring him home and both are terrible options!”

“You’re no fun,” Jinyoung scoffs, “my two best friends, both pining after one another, but pulling the sixteen-year-old card and not talking to each other. Great! Just great.”

You laugh, hopping down from your seat and patting his knee once you have slipped on your coat. “Buy a mistletoe for the Christmas party and maybe something can be arranged.”

Jinyoung doesn’t find it funny.

For the past six years, it has been tradition for you and your friends to have a belated Christmas slash New Year’s party where Pollyanna gifts are exchanged and an excessive amount of alcohol is consumed because, well, your friends are fun. For the past three, however, you have been holding said party at Youngjae’s house, because he is the only one who has a house and houses are infinitely better for parties than apartments. Plus, Youngjae is a gracious man who welcomes the company year after year. Can’t understand why he wants nine psychopaths in his lovely little abode, but that’s not your problem.

What is your problem is the fact that there actually is a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling fan in the kitchen. You’re going to kill Jinyoung.

You once thought Choi Youngjae was the coolest person to bless the planet. Now, you’re not so sure.

It’s the first thing your eye goes to upon entering Youngjae’s outrageously beautiful row home. Usually, you need a solid ten minutes to accept the fact that you will never become a model and have as many zeroes at the end of your savings as Youngjae, spending way too much time swooning over his grey vinyl wood floors and brick fireplace and white marble countertops. This time, however, while Jinyoung and Yugyeom do the whole bro hug greeting after wiping the snow from their shoes, you stand pressed up awkwardly against the front door, crockpot of buffalo chicken dip in hand, glaring at the stupid thing from two rooms over. Before you can turn an accusing finger to Jinyoung, Youngjae has turned to welcome you.

“You made it!” He cheers, flashing that thousand-watt smile of his and easing some of the tension that has begun to build up in your nerves like plaque. “Somehow, someway,” you return, relaxing into his embrace when he curves around the precious chicken dip to offer a half hug. “You need a drink,” Youngjae decides after having evaluated the lack of excitement in your response. Following after Jinyoung and Yugyeom, he leads you into the kitchen with a lively bounce to his step. “Bambam just finished making hot toddies, or you could be the first to take from our jell-o shot Christmas tree.”

He gestures to said “tree” on his dining table, a neatly stacked pile of green, red, and blue jell-o shots and you feel awfully terrible at having to ruin its perfected assembly. “It’s beautiful,” you muse, setting the crockpot on the counter and plugging its cord into an outlet, “it would be my honor to have the first one.”

“___!” Hollers Jackson as he slides open the door from the back patio and enters the kitchen, Maggie filing in after him. He must have joined her for a smoke outside. He proceeds to do a little dance shimmy as he makes his way over to you. “Jackson, my love,” you grin, squeezing him into a tight hug after he slaps a messy kiss to your cheek. “How are you, Miss I-Got-Accepted-Into-Law-School?”

That is going to be the topic of discussion for the night, it seems, and the heat of an embarrassed blush works its way up your neck at the realization. “I’m good. Really good, actually,” you say, directing your attention to Maggie who slips around Jackson to tuck into your side, “definitely not as stressed as I was. The holidays are a nice break from everything.”

“We’re all so proud of you,” Maggie hums, leaning her head on your shoulder.

“Seriously, congratulations, again. You deserve it,” Jackson praises, reaching to squeeze your cheek. You swat his hand away in fear he will mess up the foundation you spent way too much time applying.

“Thank you, guys. I’m glad someone is happy for me,” you grumble, directing a cold glare to Jinyoung who, somehow, has already managed to fire Yugyeom up.

“What?” Bambam interjects, jumping into the conversation now that he has made his way into the room. “Didn’t you guys go out when you got accepted?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, smiling to the very expensive looking boy, “but he’s more worried than excited. Thinks I’m not considering how becoming a lawyer is going to affect my future, the stress of it, having a family, but…”

Maggie scoffs. “God, he sounds like your dad.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Ugh! Everyone, shoo! Why are we all in the kitchen? Go sit in the living room,” Youngjae hisses, grabbing Bambam by the shoulders and shoving him out of the room. Bambam makes a sound of protest, gesturing dramatically to all the food and the pot of hot toddy still on the stove.

“You can come back when there isn’t an entire crowd in here,” Youngjae counters, slapping a handful of jell-o shots into his hands, “I made Yugyeom promise to not eat all of ___’s dip, you don’t need to worry.” Bambam grumbles in response, stumbling after the others and you follow suit with a laugh.

Pausing just before the living room, Bambam stops to pass everyone a shot. “Here’s to Christmas and getting Jaebeom and ___ to kiss under the mistletoe.”

“Stop!” You whine, just as the rest ‘clink’ their cups and shout, “Cheers!” Nevertheless, down the hatch the jell-o goes and you glare at them all once they are done.

“Oh, speak of the Devil,” Yugyeom snickers just as you have ran ahead to crash down on the sofa, stretching your legs out across the chaise. Rolling over off your stomach, you turn to watch Mark, Jaebeom, and Shelby arrive, one too many gift bags and bottles of wine in hand. “Oh,” Maggie whispers from beside you, elbow nudging into your side, “look at your man.”

Funny thing is, you already are. To give you the benefit of the doubt— you were already watching the trio stumble into the room anyway, but it just so happened you stopped at Jaebeom. Before things between you got complicated, when you were just friends, he always had a way of stealing the oxygen from your lungs. Now is no different.

Dressed in black slacks, a white tee tucked in and a baby blue blazer to top it all off, Jaebeom looks nothing short of marvelous. He’s been growing his hair out, too, the black waves curling down to brush his cheekbones, screaming to be combed through with your fingers. And oh Christ, you can’t even begin to talk about the nose piercing. In the midst of your swooning, Jaebeom looks up after having deemed his sneakers clean enough to walk through Youngjae’s home, scanning the room before conveniently landing on you. The blush on both of your faces is instantaneous, hardly a second of maintaining eye contact before the embarrassment burns too hot and you turn away. Still, you can’t fight your smile.

Neither can he.

“Now the party’s started!” Mark hoots, swinging two bottles in the air like he’s asking for disaster. “Hurry and put everything down so we can play something,” Yugyeom whines from his seat across the room, pushing Jaebeom’s butt to move faster. “Patience is a virtue, Yugyeom,” Jinyoung comments, throwing a Hershey Kiss wrapper at him.

“Absolute children,” Maggie mutters. You hum in agreement.

“Do you wanna play the alphabet game?” Bambam proposes, earning a groan from Jackson. He hates the game, despite how often you all play it, claiming it takes too much brain power for a party.

“Yes! I’m down,” Shelby shouts anyway, having returned in time to hear Bambam’s question. To Jackson’s misery, you all agree as well.

“Youngjae!” Bambam shouts, waiting for him to yell back. “Grab the peppermint vodka when you come in! We’re playing the alphabet game!”

The way you all play most likely has deviated from the original rules of the game, but it works and it’s fun. Sitting in a circle, you go through the alphabet, naming something in a certain category that begins with whatever letter you’re on. For example, if you were doing fruits and were on the letter W, you could say watermelon. But, the person to your right is counting to ten, and once that time is up, you have to take a shot and the letter moves on to the next person until someone gets a word. Sounds easy, until you’re three shots in and not even halfway through the alphabet.

With Shelby collapsing down between Yugyeom and Jackson on the love seat, Youngjae on the armchair by the fireplace, and Mark on the bean bag brought down from upstairs, you realize with a rising sense of panic that the only possible seating for Jaebeom is by—

“Hey,” he says, tapping your outstretched legs, “can I sit here? You can keep your legs stretched. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, sure, sure!” You squeak, jerking to sit up and to pull your legs to your chest. However, just as he sits, he grabs your ankles to tug them back. Hesitantly, and with an appreciative smile sent his way, you hesitantly lay your legs over his lap, his arms comfortably rested over them. Oh, fuck.

Swallowing hard and trying to ignore the way your heart flutters in her chest, you turn back to your friends where the game is just starting.

“Okay, I’ll start since I’m in the middle,” Mark announces, readjusting himself in the bean bag to sit closer to the coffee table, “Yugyeom, you count. Actually, you don’t need to, I already have my word. A, as in artificial tree.”

“One word, idiot,” Youngjae scoffs, smacking the back of Mark’s head, “take a shot. Yugyeom, you go.”

The younger boy pales, panicking when Mark does as he is told. Then, he blurts, “A as in angel!”

“B as in bells!” Shelby shouts.

“C as in… Christmas,” Jackson says with a wink.

“D as in December,” Jinyoung hums nonchalantly.

“E as in eggnog!” Bambam cheers.

“F as in…” Maggie pales, trailing off. In your head, you start to count, while simultaneously trying to think of a holiday word that starts with F. “Festive!” She shouts suddenly. “Oh, shit, um… G as in… gingerbread?” You huff, relieved.

“H as in holiday,” Jaebeom says with a soft smile. All eyes are on Youngjae as he stares hopelessly at the ceiling. “I, as in…”

In your head, you count alongside Mark. “What the fuck starts with I?” Youngjae hisses, slapping his knees anxiously. The silence is deafening until Mark shouts with a sadistic grin, “TEN!” Youngjae hangs his head low before reaching for the bottle. Ironic, because Mark can’t think of a word, and neither can Yugyeom, Shelby, or Jackson. Jinyoung grins at their expense until it’s his turn. “Icicle,” he says without a beat.

“That’s not Christmas-y!” Yugyeom whines, hands thrown up dramatically. “Can you think of anything better, stupid?” Jinyoung fires back, evidently shutting him up. Poor Yugyeom, he can never win.

“J as in Jesus,” Bambam says with a laugh.

“K? Bruh, you gotta be joking,” Maggie sighs, throwing her head back against the sofa, trying to concentrate. “Ten,” you sigh sadly even though you counted to fifteen, patting her knee and Youngjae passes her the bottle. “Um, K as in…” Christ, you can’t think of anything either. Kris Kringle? No, two words, fuck.

“Ten!” Jaebeom chuckles, squeezing your calf and you quickly take a swig with a wince. The round goes all the way to Shelby, who happily yells, “Kings!”

The game drags on, keeping you all at the edge of your seats by the time U and V come around. When it comes to W, everyone has had one too many shots to be able to think quickly enough to come up with wreath. Except for Jinyoung, of course. You give up on Z, deciding there is no such word and you all let out a relieved breath at the game’s conclusion. “Does this mean we can eat now?” Jackson mumbles, far too gone for a party that has only started hardly an hour ago.

“Yes! I’m ravenous,” Bambam groans, helping his friend stand. Together, they’re the first to make way into the kitchen and you’re surprised Youngjae doesn’t chase after them to make sure they don’t knock anything over.

“Well,” Jaebeom yawns and you are suddenly mortified to realize that your legs are still casually stretched out over his lap. “That was fun.” Swinging your legs away and moving to sit up, you nod in agreement. “Very fun. Love watching you and Jinyoung outsmart us every time.”

“Hey,” he frowns, elbowing your arm now that you’re sitting upright beside him, “nobody could think of tree for T, but you did, so shush.” You turn to give him an unamused look. “That’s because Jinyoung was overthinking, and Maggie and Bam drank too much,” you laugh, standing with a stretch. Jaebeom raises an eyebrow. “What?” You ask, unsure of what that look means.

“Why does your snowman have a cape? Oh—” he starts, lifting the fabric attached to the winking snowman on your ugly sweater to find a carrot penis below the three buttons. Jaebeom breaks out into laughter, face scrunched up and head thrown back and it consequently makes you laugh, too. Well, if there was any person that was going to ask first, you’re glad it was him. “Was not expecting that,” he chuckles, wiping the tears that have accumulated at his eyes before rising to stand and oh, suddenly you feel so small with him standing so close to you like that. God, he’s beautiful, you admire. Without thinking, you brush away a tuft of hair that has fallen over his eye, just to see your favorite pair of moles. It isn’t until rosiness blooms across his cheekbones do you realize what you just did.

“Sorry,” you rush breathlessly, taking a step back and turning to make sure nobody saw that. Luckily, only Shelby and Yugyeom remain, too busy cozying up to one another to notice. “___!” Maggie shouts from the kitchen like some godsent angel whose purpose is to save you from awkward moments. “You have to come see this!”

You shoot Jaebeom an awkward smile before swinging around him and making a beeline for the kitchen. Idiot, you scold yourself before taking a deep breath and bringing a smile to your face. “What?” You hum, leaning your head on Maggie’s shoulder. All it is is a SnapChat story of someone you went to university with, a picture of an engagement ring, but you are beyond grateful she called you in. After she stops to take a selfie with you, you navigate around your friends to start a pile of food on your plate, everything from dim sum (thanks, Jackson), grilled pork belly, kimbap, bulgogi sandwiches, spaghetti (thanks, Jackson, part two), and, of course, tortilla chips with your buffalo chicken dip. Big plate for big brain.

Despite the crowdedness, thankfully you are able to avoid standing anywhere close to the mistletoe once Jaebeom enters the room only a few moments later. Finally making your way to the dining table, you let out a sigh of relief now that you don’t have to worry about anything looming above. Of course, your friends have a different idea.

“___,” Maggie purrs just as you have set your plate down, gazing at you expectantly and fluttering her lashes.

“What do you want?”

“Could you get a water for me? There’s bottles in the fridge. Pleeeaaase?” She sings. You wave her off, having already turned around. Can’t be mad at her, honestly; you forgot to grab something for yourself to drink, anyway. Pulling two bottles off the shelves and nudging the refrigerator door closed, you’re just trying to grab a potato chip from the bowl on the counter when Mark rounds the corner and trips over his own feet, coincidentally falling towards you but when you step back to avoid the red wine sloshing in his glass, Jinyoung has suddenly appeared behind you and you stumble over his foot.

It’s a good plan, you think, expecting Jaebeom to catch you like some fucking knight of shining armor and steady you just below the mistletoe, but unfortunately for them, you’re quick to reach for the counter and Jaebeom has literally just turned around in his search for silverware. Regaining your balance against the cabinets, you do not miss the group’s combined groan of disappointment and can’t help but triumphantly grin. “You okay, Mark?” You ask, spinning around and suppressing a laugh at the ‘please don’t kill me’ look in the older boy’s eyes. “Yep,” he coughs, stepping to the side as you brush past.

Dinner is tense, to say the least. Maybe it’s just you. You’re annoyed, beyond so, at your friends’ lack of maturity. Relatively speaking, yes, they are trying to help push you and Jaebeom in the right direction, but their ways of operation lack any beneficial qualities. This is your problem, and you have to deal with it yourself.

You stay quiet, for the most part, occupying your thoughts simply on eating and the approaching excitement of Pollyanna. When you all picked out of a hat a little over a month ago, you initially panicked at Bambam’s name looking back at you on the folded piece of paper. As it turned out, buying gifts for him ended up working out; first, you found matching sweaters for him and his cats, then a travel set for his Bleu de Chanel cologne, a mermaid blanket he had found an Instagram ad for and wouldn’t shut up about, and finally a gift card to his favorite Thai restaurant. What’s more exciting is finding out who has your gifts. Plus, everyone did incredibly well keeping quiet this year, managing to make it all the way without slipping who had who.

Unfortunately, your irritable emotions aren’t done for the night. After finishing your much needed, sobering meal, your goblin friends are prepared to have you and Jaebeom beneath that mistletoe if it’s the last thing they will ever do. Trying to clean up before everyone really gets trashed is an absolute nightmare, everyone taking part in the scheme of leaving just the two of you in the room, nudging him your way, asking you to help Jaebeom do this, help Jaebeom do that. It only gets worse once he realizes what they’re trying to do, curving around you like you have the plague and each time you make eye contact, you contemplate fleeing to the bathroom just to scream.

After what feels like ages spent in the stifling kitchen, you migrate back to the living room to finally, finally open gifts. Good riddance, mistletoe. At everyone’s look of general disappointment, you let out your umpteenth relieved sigh of the night and collapse back into your precious spot at the sofa. You know you’re getting old when you have only been out for two and a half hours and you’re already exhausted.

To make matters worse—or better, you can’t really tell at this point—Jaebeom also sits back down beside you. You can tell he’s anxious; he’s gone back and forth between picking at his nails and a scab on his jaw for a while now and you almost want to say something until you remember how deliberately he dodged you in the kitchen. Maybe, just maybe, a part of you had hoped he would have taken the opportunity and kissed you himself. Why would things ever be so simple?

“Alrighty, friends,” settling into his chair, Youngjae beams. “Let’s get this party started. We’ll go in the same circle as before.”

In turn, Mark flashes that boyish smile of his and leans across the table to pass a bag and small box to Jinyoung. “Ooh,” the younger boy hums excitedly, “thanks, Mark.” Next, Yugyeom hands Jackson a bag, Shelby slides a big box to Youngjae, and, breaking into a fit of laughter, Jackson ends up giving a bag right back to Yugyeom. Jinyoung passes Maggie her gift, and when Bambam rises to hand Jaebeom a hefty bag, you can’t help but miss the way he glances sadly to you before smiling gratefully at his friend and engulfing him into a hug. Suddenly, it dawns on you that there are only three other people left, and watch with an impending sense of dread as Maggie walks across the room to give Shelby her gift. Two left.

Grinning excitedly, you lean over to pass Bambam his gift bag, earning a smile in return bright enough to put the Sun out of business. Now, the moment you all have been waiting for.

Sucking in a deep breath, you turn to Jaebeom, sending all prayers to God that he will rise to hand Mark the bag in his hands.

The universe laughs.

“Ugh,” Jaebeom groans, grinning like a Cheshire cat, “you’re so far.” He places the gift bag, which, is surprisingly heavier than expected, on your lap. “Thanks, Jae,” you manage, smiling fondly at him. Behind him, Youngjae drops a box by Mark’s feet, but by now everything around you has faded into the background, leaving only you and Jaebeom floating in the midst of it all. Even though he has turned away, you can’t stop staring at him. Why’d it have to be him? What are the chances? God, something tells you you’re going to fall in love by the time the night is over.

It isn’t until the tearing of wrapping paper registers in your mind do you snap out of it, coming back to reality and quickly redirecting your attention to opening your gift.

There’s a lot to unfold here, you think with a racing heart, removing the tissue paper and finding three separate items inside. You go for the small box first. It’s a jewelry box, no doubt, but this doesn’t keep the butterflies in your stomach at bay once you lift the beige lid to reveal a rose gold bracelet, diamonds in the pattern of a constellation. There’s a small card attached to the lid, too, and flipping that over you read that it is the constellation for your zodiac sign. “Jae,” you whimper, lips curling into a pout and he laughs at your touched expression. “This is beautiful.”

“Shh! Open everything first,” he hushes, waving you off and returning to his own gift.

Sucking in a deep breath, you do as you’re told and reach for the much larger box. Tearing open the wrapping paper and lifting the lid, you find a glass dome atop a wooden base, and inside is a beautiful red and gold rose with little fairy lights surrounding it. A Beauty and the Beast replicate, without a doubt, and it is so stunning you wish you could lift the glass and feel the fake rose for yourself. A man of taste, without a doubt.

Last but not least, you grab the envelope and excitedly tear it open, because envelopes mean one of three things: 1) a card 2) tickets 3) money, all unlikely options when it comes to Pollyanna.

Well, maybe not, because inside are two passes for the art museum up in the city. “Dude,” you kick Jaebeom’s ankle and stammer out, “how did you? When did you?”

He laughs. “You mentioned wanting to go a few months ago, and I didn’t think you ever got a chance. You haven’t, right?” He sounds worried. “No, I never got to go,” swallowing past the desert dryness of your throat, “thank you, Jaebeom. Everything is so beautiful.”

“Of course, ___,” he smiles, reaching for your hand and even though it’s only a gentle squeeze he gives you, it has your heart doing somersaults. “Anything for you.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You are going through some serious torture here and still won’t make a move!

Everyone is extraordinarily jovial after opening gifts. With Christmas music filling the room with cheer and one too many drinks being mixed, holiday charades and pin the nose on Rudolph are played with high spirits and excessive competitiveness. The night is fun, without a doubt, and you try to ignore the way your friends are still trying to get you and Jaebeom under the mistletoe no matter how annoying it may be. Why can’t they do it to Yugyeom and Shelby? Sure, everyone knows they fuck but neither of them have the balls to officially ask the other out, so why are you the one targeted? Jaebeom didn’t ask for this, either.

“Fuck!” Youngjae groans when Maggie makes her shot into their cup for jingle bell beer pong. Since freshman year, you and Maggie have fought back and forth for the champion's title against Youngjae and Jackson. With this being the second win against them for the night, you get to wear the label proud until next time. “Oh, yeah, baby!” She shouts, doing a funky celebratory dance before jumping to give you a hug.

“I’m a disgrace to the Chinese community,” Jackson cries—literally—before squatting to bury his face in his knees.

“HA!” You laugh mercilessly, jumping along with Maggie in triumph. “You guys are so mean,” Mark chuckles, walking away from their own losers’ championship to see what all the commotion is about. “Just to Youngjae and Jackson,” Maggie defends, gesturing to the pair having a drunken meltdown together. You hum in agreement.

“Yugyeom and Jaebeom are playing Jinyoung and Bambam. It’s pretty intense,” Mark explains, blatantly sarcastic when you glance curiously to the other table. “They’re all so drunk, they’re literally just throwing bells at each other.” He holds up one such bell that must have strayed away from the game. You laugh, hugging your jacket closer and watching Yugyeom begin to twerk when he finally makes a shot.

“My God,” Maggie snickers, shielding her eyes and turning away from the scene to comfort the still depressed Jackson.

“So,” Mark starts, “you and Jaebeom, huh?”

You groan. “Me and Jaebeom, what?”

“I mean, those gifts he gave you were pretty cute. What’s it gonna take for you to ask him to go to the museum with you, hm?” He purrs with a rise of his dark brows. Shit, he does have a point. Why else would Jaebeom give you two passes? To bring one of your other, definitely less artsy friends to go with you?”

Mark simpers at your speechless self, knowing he’s trumped you.

Sucking in a deep breath, you hold the cold air in long enough to gather your scrambling thoughts before releasing a heavy exhale with absolutely no change to how you feel. “I’ll try,” you grumble, “why can’t he make the first move?”

Mark lets out a dry laugh. “___, are you serious?”

“Huh? What—”

“He’s been making the first move for months,” he interrupts, shaking his head at your textbook definition denseness, “you’ve just been curving him the entire time. I know you’ve been busy with law school stuff the past few months, but come on, now. You have to grab him before someone else does.”

If it weren’t for the chill of the air keeping your cheeks and the tip of your nose cold and ruddy, you know the color would have drained from your face. Embarrassed and in desperate need for some space, you quickly turn away to look in the direction of the house, where Coco scratches at the backdoor.

“I, um, I’ll be right back,” you say, voice small. Heart hammering in your chest as you jog up the steps and across the small deck, it isn’t until you have slid open the door to let Coco out and closed it behind you do you let out a shaky sigh. “Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking off your jacket and slinging it over a chair before moving to cower in the corner. Reaching for what little tortilla chips are left, you anxiously take the lid off your chicken dip and begin shoveling mouthfuls into your mouth. Is it true? Have you really been the one dodging Jaebeom all this time? Sure, everyone always says it, especially Jinyoung, but it has seemed like Jaebeom has been curving you, too.

Maybe he has just been giving up.

This makes your head hurt, you think, bending down to rest your forehead against the counter. The fucking gifts, man. Mark is right—the bracelet, the rose lamp, the museum tickets. How did he remember that small detail you mentioned… when did you even mention it? You can’t remember, yet he did! Jesus, all this time you’ve wasted being an absolute clown over this. You’ll have to do something about it. Tonight, you decide, looking to the clock above the stove. 11:12 PM. Forty-eight minutes until New Year’s. You’ll kiss him, and that’s when you will—

“Ahem.” Behind you, someone clears their throat and it quite literally feels as if you have jumped out of your skin. “Jesus Christ!” You jump, spinning around with a heart thumping in your chest. Your heartbeat only mildly slows once you realize it’s only Jaebeom. OnlyJaebeom, yeah. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, chuckling awkwardly. “Did I interrupt something?”

You wince, beyond humiliated he caught you mid-pep talk slash breakdown. “No, no. You’re fine, I was just, um…”

“Catching a breath?” He finishes when you trail off. Maybe he’s not so drunk, after all.

“Yeah,” you whisper, looking to your feet.

After a long moment of silence, Jaebeom clears his throat. “Listen, ___, I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you, and—”

“Wait!” You interrupt before your brain has even caught up. His eyes widen in surprise at your sudden excitement. “I need to tell you something, first.”

“Ohhh ‘kay,” he laughs nervously, stepping closer to lean against the counter beside you and his proximity suddenly makes it very hard to breathe, let alone figure out what you want to say.

“I don’t know where to start. Okay, um, first, I guess. The gifts you gave me? Amazing. Probably one of the best I’ve ever gotten. So thank you, really,” you start, rushed and out of breath. Jaebeom hums, lips tilting into an amused smirk. You don’t miss how he leans just barely closer. “Second. Mark was just talking to me, and he said something that just… fucked me up. Apparently, I’m good at school but not at catching when someone actually, truly likes me.”

At this, Jaebeom’s curiosity has peaked and his heartbeat starts to mirror your own. “I don’t know how this happened. I know we kissed over the summer, and you have been my friend for years but all of a sudden, I realized that I like you. You’re like, one of my favorite people in the world. But then things got crazy busy and I told myself I needed to concentrate, but for fuck’s sake, I’m still head over heels for you after all this time. And Mark said that if I don’t stop curving you, soon you are going to find someone else and, Jesus, I don’t think I can live with myself if I let you slip by.”

Somewhere in the middle of your ramble, Jaebeom has pressed himself to you and curled a finger through a belt loop in your jeans to keep you there against him. Even up close, he is so unbearably handsome, nose still beet red from the cold, lips cracked and face left unshaven. “So,” he whispers, raising his free hand to cup your face, “are you ready to finally stop running from me?” You offer a tiny nod, nuzzling into his hand before, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” Jaebeom doesn’t waste any time bothering to answer, tipping your chin up to meet his lips. Jaebeom’s kiss is soft, just a drawn-out peck but it’s enough to drop kick your sanity right out the door. “Tastes like buffalo chicken,” he whispers with a smile, just barely pulling back. Just as soon as he has stopped, you are fisting your hands into his jacket and tugging him back, greedily opening his mouth with yours and whimpering against him once he has caught the hint and slackened his jaw to deepen the kiss. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but kissing Jaebeom leaves you breathless, limbs weak kind of drunk on his taste and leaving you desperate for more.

“Jaebeom,” you sigh dreamily, arching into him when he drags a hand down your spine. “Fuck,” he whispers, pushing you further against the cabinets and mindlessly gyrating his hips with yours. Hands brushing past your ass to grip the back of your thighs, he orders, “Jump.” You do as he says, allowing him to help you onto the counter and you distantly pray someone doesn’t walk in on you, especially Youngjae. He’ll murder you if you knock something down.

“Can’t believe you’ve kept me waiting all this time when you kiss like that,” Jaebeom mutters, kissing along the length of your neck and groaning against your skin when your hands brush along the waistband of his pants. “Never met someone who wears an ugly sweater and still manages to be the hottest one in the room.”

Your breath hitches when his hand slips beneath your sweater, fingers brushing just over your bra and leaving fire in their wake. “Impossible,” you huff, wrapping your legs around him to pull him impossibly closer, his involuntary thrusts brushing deliciously against you, “when I say the same thing about you.” Jaebeom chuckles, returning to your mouth and cradling your jaw to meet him. You could do this forever, you think, nails digging into his arms when his hand cards through your hair and he kisses like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“God, I can’t do this when I’m not sober,” he sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and you can’t help but smile at the soft gesture. “Me too,” you admit, reaching to play with the soft hair at the back of his neck, “we can do this whenever now, though.” Jaebeom chuckles, leaning back to admire you before placing a much softer kiss on your lips. “Does that mean you’ll go out on a date with me?”

“Well, yes, of course,” you grin, sliding off the counter and cupping his face, “I meant what I said. I can’t bear the thought of not giving us a chance.”

“It’s about damn time,” Jaebeom teases, earning a light punch to his arm. “Hey! I’ve been stressed out of my mind. I was blind when it came to seeing you flirt with me.”

“I’m kidding, ___,” he chuckles, “I’m glad it took us until now. It’s a good way to start off the year, knowing I’ll meet my New Year’s Resolution and be able to bone you sooner than later.”

Your eyes widen at his words, warmth instantly blooming its way up your neck when you glance to the growing tent in his slacks and he lets out a triumphant laugh. In the midst of your embarrassed flush, the back-door slides open and none other than Jinyoung starts shouting, “Where the fuck have y’all been? Oh— shit! What happened?”

Then, not a heartbeat later, “Kiss! KIIIISSSSSSS!”

“KISS!” Maggie screams, bouncing behind Jinyoung and it isn’t until you look up do you understand. Of fucking course— the stupid mistletoe.

“Shall we, m’lady?” Jaebeom asks, voice laced with amusement. You quirk a brow at him, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him closer.

“We shall.”

Not even three hours into the new decade, Jaebeom has already met his New Year’s Resolution.

941 notes · View notes