#I thought talking to Knuckles might help me but the game is not acknowledging the fact that my emerald was stolen

[aspiringtrashpanda]

I LOVE OUR COLLECTIVE SON. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 17 Prompt: Luke Additional tags: Introspection, plant care, super vague hint to spoilers

“How are you doing today?” 

Luke checked the soil of the potted scorching sunflower on his bedroom windowsill. It was dry to the touch, ready for its daily sip of water. As Luke pushed his curtains to the side, positioned the plant’s flower facing the full moon, he checked all of the deep green leaves for any hint of decay.

“A little thirsty,” He acknowledged, “But you still seem healthy.”

His fingers pinched one of the velvety golden petals, humming in satisfaction as the heat that thrummed through the flower seeped through his skin. The fastest way to measure a scorching sunflower’s health was to ensure it was still converting moonlight to warmth. 

“It’s funny to think that talking to you has become a routine for me,” Luke murmured, propping the pot onto his homemade drainage system (a tupperware with holes poked in the bottom, turned upside down in a shallow bowl) and gently pouring a small stream of fresh water into the soil. “It feels like just yesterday that Beelzebub was passing on Mammon’s tip.”

“You are a lot happier since I started talking to you, huh?” With a smile, Luke carefully preened any dead leaves from the plant’s underside. “I do wonder why Mammon knows anything about plants, though.” 

He giggled, pausing his ministrations to consider, “Maybe he tried to grow a Grimm tree.”

With his sunflower care complete, Luke allowed himself to sink down onto the bench that lined the bay window, placing his chin atop his knuckles as he peered out at the Devildom street just past the glass. He had grown to like the location of Purgatory Hall. Off the beaten path, but not too far removed from the stores downtown. They were close enough to the hustle and bustle that demons–most often couples and those taking their curious beasts on an evening stroll–still passed by.

Tonight was nothing out of the ordinary. Luke’s eyes traced the path of a young demon who looked roughly his own age. They laughed, tugged along by an overeager hellhound puppy. Luke felt a familiar squirming in his gut. 

“When I first came to the Devildom, I hated demons. I thought they were bad. Evil and immoral.” He sighed, his fingers absently playing with the scorching sunflower petals, “But now, I don’t think they’re so bad after all.” 

“I don’t like to admit it, but… I think they’re my friends,” Luke’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. On the other side of the glass, the hellhound skidded to a halt, turned around, and tugged the young demon back the way they came. The dog’s nose never left the pavement, clearly tracking some scent. 

“At least, Barbatos and Beelzebub. Barbatos helps me with my baking, and I know I say that I want to be a better pastry chef to please Michael, but I’ve started to notice… Well, I look forward to giving my sweets to Beelzebub, even if he is the worst taste tester in all three realms. His praise is nice, I guess.” Luke shut his mouth, let the confession sit. When nothing bad happened, he added, “And I don’t mind Leviathan and Satan much, either. Leviathan is always happy to tell me about new games he thinks I might like, and Satan isn’t as scary as I thought he’d be. He’s nice to cats. Cats wouldn’t like a mean monster.”

The demon with the hellhound was trying to wrestle an unknown object from the dog’s mouth. Luke could hear the demon laughing, cooing at their puppy and begging it to drop the stick! The dog’s tail was wagging so swiftly, Luke thought for a moment that it had two tails. The pressure grew in his stomach, a hole opening up in his chest. Why would such a wholesome scene make him so very sad? 

“Does that make me a bad angel?” Luke asked his flower, “Raphael says that showing kindness to all beings is necessary for maintaining a pure soul, but Simeon did that and…”

He slammed his mouth shut, hesitated, and then whispered so softly, he could barely hear his own words,“Would it be so bad to fall?” 

Yet the demon and their hellhound moved past Purgatory Hall, and the moon remained as silent as ever. Luke sat in the quiet, in the dark of the Devildom until a ding from his D.D.D. lit up the device’s screen. It was a message from Mammon, asking if Luke wanted to go hunt faeries in the human world.  

“Why can’t we all live in harmony, together?” Luke muttered, and this time he thought his scorching sunflower tilted its head towards him. 

“It doesn’t feel very kind to keep everyone apart.” 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[peerlessscowl]

The soft scent of lilacs lingers as Poe finds her next table, undaunted by the relative chaos of others around her bustling about in their own attempts at finding their ways.

Eventually, her work is rewarded and she spots her next seat, indicated by her name on the card sitting atop it. Already sitting there is another, to whom she gives a polite bow in due courteousness and apology for the delay. Quickly, she looks at the topic they have been assigned.

"Three statements regarding ourselves this time, is it? What a curious set of prompts they've set out for us," she comments, seemingly amused. Well, she isn't opposed to having to play a bit of a game to learn more about he whom she is about to sit before—it's not all that different than her usual, come to think of it. The girl takes her seat, swiping her skirt beneath her and bringing her free hand to her face in careful thought. "Let me think. How about, in no particular order: I quite enjoy horticulture, I am proficient in a variety of magical arts from various continents..."

Finally, she comes up with a third, and her eyes settle on her partner at the table, looking satisfied with herself.

"And I believe strongly that all can be absolved of sin."

Even though he knew now what to expect, Raven still found himself adrift, simmering with an indignation which had no outlet, and discomfited by the flurry of excitement around him. It reminded him, if anything, of events of his childhood, being paraded for the fathers of minor noble or knightly houses to secure a match.

He nodded politely at the girl, but tempered the ingrained urge to jump to his feet while she seated herself.

She seemed pleasant enough, well-kept and well-spoken, and gamely addressed the topic that they were to discuss - two truths and a lie. The sour of pile spit in his throat, but he kept his face carefully blank, just this side of listening courteously, while the girl Poe spoke, immediately listing off her contribution to the conversation.

Horticulturist - he smelt the waft of perfume before she entered his line of sight, but that didn't necessarily mean she tended the plants herself, it could merely have been a pretty affectation for someone who clearly cared about outward presentation.

Mage - the easiest truth to distinguish of the bunch. Soft and slight of form, Raven couldn't have pictured a physical weapon in her hands, even in the direst circumstance. Whether the multicultural proficiency was a brag or exaggeration remained to be seen, but for the moment he'd no need to doubt her on it.

Sin. A ripple of tension coursed through his shoulders, and his brow furrowed. He'd no bead on her religious inclinations, but the fact that she'd brought it up at all indicated strong feelings on the subject. It made sense, he supposed, as Garreg Mach was as much a religious institution as it was a martial educative one.

A strong introduction, whether she'd intended it or not. He felt merely the slightest pang of guilt - her earnest attempt at playing the game as it was meant to be played, to be met with...well, him.

"Horticulture is fascinating - my...my mother had extensive gardens, when I was young. I...I helped her, sometimes." First, to the matter of courtesy - the scripts had not left him entirely, despite this habit of noble small talk not having ever come to him easily. But at the very least, he knew to acknowledge what she'd said, before talking about himself.

Shaking his head, he added, "I don't know much of magic, I'm afraid." A look at him might have pegged this as obvious, but what he left out was that he'd enough experience against mages in battle that he might have been able to peg them as foreign or otherwise from that alone.

A beat. "Nor can I say much for sin. Are you seeking a future in the clergy?"

Leaning back from the table, he rubbed his knuckles against the back of his head, frowning. "I'm not a very good liar," he lied, "but I suppose...I'm left-handed, I was born during a particularly hot summer, and I find it hard to get up to make prayers in the morning. Prefer sleeping in late," he added, clarifying.

[goldlightwriting]

Thoughts and Feelings on Hyper Sonic

Power-ups are a fairly common trope these days. They’re often treated as a sort of deus-ex-machina that allow heroes to overcome otherwise impossible odds, be it a transformation or a completely new ability. Power-ups are usually a pretty hype affair the first time they’re introduced, though some series tend to go a bit overboard with them. Today, I want to look at one of the most iconic power-ups in gaming, even though it hasn’t actually been used in over a decade. I want to look at Hyper Sonic.

Hyper Sonic’s first and only (questionably) canon appearance happened all the way back in 1994 in Sonic 3 & Knuckles, and existed primarily as a bonus reward for players who went out of their way to get the seven Super Emeralds. Like Super Sonic, this form was faster and nearly invincible, but brought extra perks such as increased jumping and the ability to breath underwater. Honestly, the Game Apologist has a pretty good breakdown of Hyper Sonic’s history that I’d highly recommend if you’re curious. That’s not quite what I’m here to talk about today, though.

Since the days of the Megadrive, fans have been clamoring to see Hyper Sonic return in some capacity, and I understand why. Simply put: it’s a cool form. It’s Super Sonic but flashier and even stronger, and I can’t deny that I’d be curious to see how this form might look in a modern 3D entry… Provided they could do it in a way that doesn’t induce seizures. Of course, that’s not the reason why Hyper Sonic has been absent for so many years.

Takashi Iizuka, one of the head designers and writers for the Sonic franchise, has stated that the primary reason they don’t bring Hyper Sonic back is because they don’t want to risk hitting the same level of power creep as Dragon Ball. It’s common knowledge that Goku’s Super Saiyan transformation was a heavy inspiration for Super Sonic, but as I’m sure anyone with even passing familiarity with the DB franchise can tell you… Super Saiyans are EXTREMELY overplayed.

Every new threat that appears in every new arc sees Goku (or sometimes one of the other Saiyans) unlocking a new Super Form that’s basically just “Super Saiyan again but better.” Look, this isn’t me dunking on Dragon Ball, but even fans of the series generally agree that that Toriyama’s method of artificially raising the stakes and then introducing a new gimmick form to match gets rather repetitive. It especially doesn’t help that the power scaling is kind of impossibly to really show. Like, a city-wide blast from Super Saiyan 3 might not be enough to take out a big bad, but a city-wide blast from Super Saiyan God that looks almost identical is TOTALLY strong enough to do the job.

Moving back to Sonic, it’s easy to see why Sega is iffy on bringing back the Hyper Form. If handled incorrectly, it would be VERY easy to fall into the same trap as Super Saiyans. I mean, what’s stopping them from going up another tier and introducing Ultra Sonic after that? It doesn’t help that Hyper Sonic is achieved by using the Super Emeralds, which are another plot point that can be iffy to touch on given Sonic’s infamously convoluted continuity.

Now, there have been arguments made for Hyper Sonic’s inclusion that I’d like to address. The first of these is that many fans want the form brought back purely for the hype or nostalgia factors. Putting everything else aside, most argue that it’s just a really cool form and would be epic to see. Honestly, I can’t deny that. From a purely Rule of Cool standpoint, yeah, it would be rad to see again.

Another argument I often hear is that Sonic has dabbled in other forms and transformations in the past. There’s Dark Sonic from the anime, though that’s an entirely separate canon. More relevant to the games are Darkspine Sonic and Excalibur Sonic from the storybook entries. I… Have my own thoughts and feelings on those transformations, but the thing that needs to be acknowledged is that those aren’t necessarily “stronger” forms of Super Sonic. They’re circumstantial powers that Sonic acquired while he was in the worlds of the Arabian Knights and Arthurian Legend. These forms are meant to be more thematically appropriate end-game transformations that fit the themes of the story, even though I think Excalibur Sonic handled that a lot more gracefully.

The big point that a lot of people come back to, though, is that Hyper Sonic doesn’t have to be a mainstay. It’s something that could be reserved for threats that are simply too powerful for Super Sonic to handle; a rare power brought out in absolute worst-case scenarios against exceptionally powerful antagonists. My counter question to that is: what would such a threat even look like?

Super Sonic regularly fights beings that are on-par with gods; forces of nature made manifest or entities that can bend the flow of time and space to their whim. Many of these foes are capable of undoing the entire world or even the universe itself. I mean, Sonic Frontiers has the living embody of entropy as the final boss! At this point, I’m not sure anything short of a multiversal threat would be enough to warrant Hyper Sonic, and that is a VERY complicated can of worms to open up.

Even beyond that though, there’s something else that I think a lot of fans tend to overlook. They say that Hyper Sonic would be warranted by a threat that “Super Sonic can’t handle alone.” The thing is, many of those god-like entities that I mentioned earlier already fall under that category. Super Sonic has already fought threats that he can’t handle by himself… So he doesn’t.

Against Final Hazard, he had the aid of Super Shadow. Solaris? Super Shadow AND Super Silver. Eggman and Eggman Nega? Burning Blaze showed up. Dark Gaia? He had Light Gaia giving him a hand. And of course, we all know that he overcame Metal Overlord through “The Real Super Power of Teamwork.” As cheesy as that line is, though, I kind of love that the Sonic franchise embraces it. I mean, even The End fight has Sage piloting the Supreme Titan to lend a hand.

Guys, you wanna know what happens when Sonic faces a threat that his Super Form isn’t strong enough to handle? He calls on his friends for help. That’s kind of been a running theme with Sonic for the last few decades, even if it sometimes get buried under camp and cliches… And frankly, I much prefer that. If anything, I wish the series leaned into it more. People demand the 3D debut of Hyper Sonic, but honestly, I’d be way more hyped to see the return of Super Tails, Super Knuckles, or even a proper iteration of Super Amy that got introduced in Sonic Origins.

Imagine swapping between different Super characters, all with their own unique power sets. That, to me at least, would be way more epic than just giving Sonic literally all the power and letting him solo the problem. A lot of modern Sonic games have the unfortunate tendency to sideline most of the supporting cast for the majority of the runtime, seldom allowing them to be much more than glorified cheerleaders despite being extremely capable in their own right. It’s only recently that Sega has allowed the rest of Sonic’s mainstay allies to start being more proactive again, but we can do better.

My sincere hope is that Frontiers will set a precedent going forward for Sonic’s friends to be more active in the story and not just relegated to background characters for most of the runtime. Maybe, in time, we can even let them stand on the same pedestal as Super Sonic again, rather than raise Sonic even higher. I’m not saying that Hyper should NEVER come back or that it’s impossible to make it work, but I’d personally rather see the whole cast get to shine again before introducing literal God-Mode.

But that’s just my take on the matter. What do you guys think? Do you still want Hyper Sonic back, or would you prefer to see the return of other Super forms first? Leave your thoughts and comments down below, and I’ll see you all next time.

[piko-power]

what the hell some jerk just stole my blue Chaos Emerald and I don't think I can fight him and I don't know if I can get it back help-

[mala-sadas]

On Pokéspe Hop (and Leon)

*cracks knuckles* Okay, so this is an analysis that’s long overdue. We’ve known for a while now that Hop’s depiction in Pokéspe has a couple of major differences from Hop in the games – namely, that he wasn’t endorsed by Leon for the Gym Challenge, and that he isn’t open about the fact that he’s the Champion’s little brother. About a month ago, we got a new chapter of Pokéspe that finally gave us some insights into Spe!Hop’s character – showing both the way he thinks as well as tidbits of his and Leon’s history that help us start to piece together why he’s different from his game counterpart. And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve come to believe that the reason for those differences comes down to the differences in the relationships that Hop and Leon have with the protagonists and Sonia. Let me explain.

Describing Leon and Sonia’s relationship in the games is a bit difficult; much of the exposition about it is vague, leaving a lot up to interpretation. However, it’s clear that – despite whatever happened during their Gym Challenge – they’re on friendly terms at the beginning of the game, and have been for some time. This can be seen in this optional line of dialogue from Sonia in Motostoke, where she says, “Thanks for always taggin’ along with Hop. I hope you can keep it up. Leon really worries about him, too. He practically raised him, after all.” This implies that Sonia is close not only to Leon, but also to Hop – she knows Leon worries about his brother, and she worries about Hop, too.

Compare that to Sonia, Leon, and Hop in Pokéspe. As Hop explains to Marnie while they’re traveling to Spikemuth together, Sonia and Leon fell out of touch after she quit the Gym Challenge, and they haven’t spoken to each other in years:

Throughout this whole conversation, Hop never refers to Sonia by name, nor does he use gendered pronouns for her – it’s always just “Leon’s childhood friend” or “that person”. This vagueness implies that Hop has never met Sonia – he’s only heard about her from Leon, and Leon apparently never mentioned his friend’s name or gender. That interpretation is further supported by the fact that when Sou, Schilly, and Sonia first meet the rivals, Sonia doesn’t show any signs of recognizing Hop:

So, unlike in the games, where it appears that Sonia is pretty close to both Leon and Hop, in Pokéspe her relationship with Hop is nonexistent and her relationship with Leon hasn’t been maintained since they were kids.

So how does this affect Hop and Leon? Well, this is what Hop has to say about Leon and Sonia’s fallout:

This is a Hop who recognizes, at least to some degree, the façade that Leon puts up to hide his true feelings. He realizes that Leon feels bad about how he left things with Sonia and that his own actions – rejecting Leon’s endorsement and not publicly acknowledging their relationship – probably hurt Leon, too. The line “I guess that’s why” seems like a bit of a non-sequitur, but I believe it’s referring to how he got on this tangent in the first place – talking about the pressure of needing to do well in the Gym Challenge not just for himself, but for his brother too. He feels like he has to do well in the Gym Challenge because if he doesn’t, he’ll be letting Leon down, and he doesn’t want to give Leon anything else to feel bad about.

What he doesn’t say here is why exactly he turned down Leon’s endorsement and isn’t publicly acknowledging that they’re related – that’s something he explained earlier in the conversation. In his own words, the reason why he turned down Leon’s offer to endorse him:

The fact that Hop has been worrying about this explains why he’s worried about putting a burden on Leon – he doesn’t have the same self-confidence that his game counterpart starts with, so he’s afraid that he might mess up at some point and that his mistakes would ruin Leon’s reputation. So, he turns down Leon’s endorsement and doesn’t tell people he’s Leon’s brother to distance himself from Leon in the public eye – which, as far as making sure his performance doesn’t reflect poorly on Leon, seems to be an effective strategy. Marnie worked out on her own that they’re related, but since Hop never talked about Leon, she assumed that they didn’t get along. If other people assume the same thing, and they see Hop do poorly, they’ll just take it as a sure sign that Hop isn’t being supported by Leon.

However, as I pointed out before, Hop appearing to distance himself from Leon probably hurts for Leon, and Hop doesn’t want to hurt Leon. So the fact that he does it anyways just goes to show how deep these insecurities run – that Leon looking bad or getting mocked because of Hop is big enough of a concern for him that he’d appear to distance himself from Leon to avoid it. As a matter of fact, knowing that Hop didn’t want to get endorsed by Leon because he was afraid he would screw up and make Leon look bad brings a new meaning to this line he said back in Turffield:

He doesn’t feel like Leon only offered to endorse him because he’s a talented Trainer worthy of a Champion’s endorsement, so he doesn’t think that an endorser having a prestigious title automatically means that the endorsed Trainer is talented.

In the games, Hop struggles with these exact same insecurities – worrying about his own (perceived) weakness putting a stain on Leon’s good name – but that only happens after his loss to Bede. So why does Spe!Hop feel this way before he even begins his Gym Challenge? Unfortunately, there’s nothing in the text to give us a definite answer. However, based on what we already know, I think I have a pretty solid hypothesis.

As I pointed out before, Hop never met Sonia before going on his Gym Challenge. But the same is true for Sou and Schilly, too. Unlike in the games, where the player character is Hop’s next-door neighbor and best friend, neither Sou nor Schilly is from Postwick. They meet Hop for the first time at the same time Sonia does:

So, if Hop doesn’t have a childhood friend in Sou or Schilly…who does he have? He’s just as friendly with Sou and Schilly here as he is in the games, and considering his relationship with the player there, it seems unlikely that he would have a close friend at home that he has neither mentioned nor dragged into the Gym Challenge alongside him. He doesn’t have Sonia or Professor Magnolia. So that just leaves his family.

Now, I’m not going to make any assumptions about what Hop’s family life is like, since we don’t know anything about any of his family besides Leon. However, it’s safe to say that Leon is the closest family member to Hop in age, and even he’s a good seven years older than Hop (if we’re going by the game timeline). Considering how much Hop admires him, and the fact that he couldn’t come home very often because of his Champion duties, it’s unlikely that Leon would’ve been a good resource for Hop to talk to about his problems. And being much older, any parents or grandparents Hop would have around would be even less likely to understand Hop’s worries.

So, Hop probably grew up without anyone to talk to about his problems, which isn’t healthy from a socialization standpoint. Combine that with the fact that his standard of comparison is his practically perfect older brother, and is it any wonder that he wound up with insecurities?

However, I acknowledge that this is mostly just speculation. Kusaka has the freedom to interpret the game characters however he likes, so the fact that Hop doesn’t have any close friends and the fact that Hop has insecurities before he starts the Gym Challenge aren’t necessarily connected. But it’s undeniable that he had a very different childhood than his game counterpart thanks to the absence of Sonia, his childhood was likely impacted by the absence of the protagonist, and having a different childhood led to him developing insecurities sooner. Because of those insecurities, he turned down Leon’s endorsement, won’t publicly admit that Leon is his brother, and worries about adding to Leon’s troubles – which he really doesn’t want to do because he knows how much Leon is troubled by his fallout with Sonia.

(Someone please give these boys a hug. They need it.)

tl;dr the differences between Spe!Hop and Game!Hop can pretty much all be traced back to the fact that Leon and Sonia’s friendship fell apart after their Gym Challenge and/or that Hop doesn’t have a friend his own age.

[jiminrings]

bestie what if jungkook finally finds out that jin’s friends with y/n 😭😭😭 he’d live in embarrassment for like eight business days

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

jungkook wants to crawl in a ditch for bADLY misjudging a situation he should’ve foreseen in the first place

yoongi has never been this dedicated to curing his hangover

well actually, nO ONE was really forcing him to pick you and taehyung up anyway

you didn't even ask!!! you could 10/10 just call for an uber to bring back taehyung to his place

maybe, just maybe, it's your fault that when yoongi asked you where you were when he's just woken up from a long night of partying, you mentioned "i'm with taehyung" and hospital and go home in the same sentence so that's why he went to overdrive

did he process what you said correctly?? probably not <3

that's the whole reason why yoongi had wasted sIX eggs this morning!!

he read somewhere in passing and watched song-hwa from hospital playlist enough to know that drinking eggs apparently helps you with your hangover and some other things

first, he wasted tHREE eggs because apparently, you're not supposed to drink the eggs !!! whisked !!! because it "defeats" the whole purpose

but it's still an egg whether you whisk it and no one's sane enough to drink raw eggs unprovoked

yoongi nailed it on the second try and he might have gagged a few times but the important thing is, his hangover is all-cured from the stress of digesting raw eggs :D so now he can safely drive at a borderline dangerous speed to pick you and tae up

"hey kiddo."

you peer your head up to see yoongi looking down at you, ruffling your hair in greeting

you've been held up here for less than five hours anyway, and it's not that yOU look tired,,, it's just that maybe you could use a little more sleep

lol you got yoongi thinking for a second that you're the injured on

"hey champ," yoongi acknowledges taehyung who's smiling from his bed, getting a forehead flick from his senior to which he rolls his eyes to

taehyung's... dressed up already in his normal clothes?

he already has his shoe on too so yoongi doesn't quite get why the two of you still aren't standing up

"you're lucky you just got a flick," you add helpfully, yawning in remembrance, "he punched my arm when i fell down the stairs at the dorm."

and wHY is this conversation all pointing to him now??

"because the both of you did stupid things that landed you in the ER!"

"i was just trying to see if i can go down the stairs three steps at a time!!"

"i just wanted to embrace y/n!!!"

very stoopid decisions if you ask him

yoongi shifts his weight from one foot to another, still a little lost because he's already here, and the two of you are all-ready to go, and he's not really a fan of the smell of the hospital —

oh wait

"has the bill already been settled?" he asks in curiosity, fishing out his wallet from his pocket

"mhmm. already did," tae answers instantly, nudging yoongi to put his wallet back where it came from

uhm wait maybe it's the eggs that are talking but uh

..... if the bill's already paid-

"then why are we all just sitting here?"

taehyung opens his mouth but he cLOSES it shut the moment it all clicks in his head, belatedly looking at you whose face screams conflict

yoongi's eyes turn to you on instinct, narrowing his eyes because you're choosing not to meet his eyes

"we're uh, we're waiting for jungkook to come back from the restroom."

...

.....

.......

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

yoongi's quiet, almost like he's calculating the variables in his mind

his mind's working harder rn that it did on his finals last week

"so jungkook is here?"

he gets war flashbacks every time he hears his name

he just shudders at the thought of him and he doesn't mean it positively lmao

"y-yeah! did i not tell you that at the call? he helped me get taehyung here," you scratch your nape in explanation, not accounting for the fact that yoongi still vERY much loathes jungkook when you called him

tae's not actually sure if he's helping you when he opens his mouth but he's trying his best <3

"yup! his shoulders were my crutch for like, three blocks. he also bought us food from the cafeteria while we were waiting to have my leg cast!!"

he glances at the fancy paper bags from the cafeteria downstairs, even some take-outs in there that makes it look all-stuffed

how in the living hELL is yoongi suppposed to feel about all of this :|

"i'm back! should i call an uber now? sorry, i bought these tiny hand sanitizers because they were having a sale at the pharmacy. y/n what scent do you-..."

jungkook happily chirps as he rummages through the bag he was given, preparing to scoop all the different scents to present them to you when he jUST had to look down at a familiar pair of shoes

as in the same black converse that he had the relief of looking at when someone was particularly asking him if he ever had a knuckle sandwich

"h-hi yoongi."

yoongi narrows his eyes at the kid who just squeaked, mouth puffed-up in disbelief that he looks like he's hiding a hamster in there

"bye jungkook."

yoongi uses tae as an excuse to shoo jungkook off as fast as possible but that kinda bites him in the ass

taehyung's going through a learning curve with his crutches and yoongi's making him wALK faster!!!! he still needs a little-

oh wait a minute :-)

"jungkook! help me walk to yoongi's car."

no

there is nO way that even taehyung's conspiring against him now

first jin and now taehyung????

tae solidifies his point by winking at yoongi, leaving you alone with him as you carry the paper bags of cafeteria take-outs

he's not exactly sure if he's helping you out at this situation, but once again, he's just trying his best and having fun alright!!! he likes to be included in these types of things hee-hee

yoongi has no choice now but to aLSO drive jungkook home, and the thought just makes him grumble from thinking about it

he'll have to disinfect his seats ://

"i haven't fully forgiven him if that's what you're thinking about," you chime in with his thoughts, looping your arm around his to help quell the visible stress in his mind

"it's your life," he puffs out because he doesn't want to meddle with you, consciously trying not to be overbearing when it comes to your choices

"i know. i just want you to know that your closest friend has the pride and the brains to not forgive an asshole, a goddamn junior, who said really mean things to her," you add thoughtfully and transparently, making yoongi break into a smile

ok that's got the heaviness in his chest a little lighter

"we should probably talk to each other one of these days."

you haven't had a heart-to-heart talk with yoongi for quite some time now because there weren't really any pressing issues of the sort to make the two of you talk face-to-face, but now it's probably needed

"we should."

:D

jungkook has never feared for his life in a car ride tHIS much before

and he's even wearing his seatbelt!!!!

you're sitting at the front seat and he's with taehyung at the back, the latter dozing off because yoongi indulged his request for sleep music with soft rain on the background (it doesn't make yoongi sleepy) in an attempt to make him feel better about his leg

the one-hour loop's working wonders because you're passed out on the front seat too

normally, this would also make jungkook sleepy

but how the fuck can he sLEEP when yoongi looks at him through the rear-view mirror like an apex predator??????

kook could take the easier route of pretending to sleep so he could get to avoid yoongi's gaze

but then if he pretends to sleep, yoongi would clearly see how his eyeballs are still very much trembling even when his eyes are shut and he's the furthest thing from being relaxed

don't get him started on stoplights too!!! that was just pure torture because jungkook was conflicted to whether or not he should look at him rIGHT back

taehyung and jungkook live in the same building anyway so that's more convenient because he actually wouldn't know how to act if he had to drop j-name (he honestly can't digest saying his name) separately

now that that's all over, jungkook feels oddly fulfilled in a way...?

fulfilled in a sense that even if partially, he managed to earn your forgiveness

he feels like he could sleep a little more peacefully knowing that he atleast did something right this time!!!

which is for the exact reason, he's gonna gUSH about this to mr. kim from student affairs!!!

it's uh the weekend and he walked to campus because he thinks that admin works even on weekends (mad respect)

it's noticeably a lot more empty compared to weekdays and it's just filled with freshmen with their hectic class schedules and some students who are just fulfilling units to graduate early

jungkook walks straight to student affairs and it instantly looks empty, the only familiar face in there being namjoon

as in mr. kim namjoon who's wearing a windbreaker rn and whose hair is dEFINITELY blonde than the last time (two days ago) that jungkook saw him

he's not here to work isn't he

wait is he here to rob the place ???!?#?!?

"and what are you doing here?"

namjoon is as confused as jungkook, his mouth opening and closing in dumbfoundedness

"o-oh! is mr. kim here? w-wait, you are here. i mean mr. kim seokjin, sorry. did he-"

"nope," namjoon shakes his head, putting his bucket hat back on to leave jungkook all by himself

namjoon from work and namjoon every other time besides work are TWO different entities

"we just came here to collect our paychecks. you missed jin by ten minutes."

oh well

his momentum's not entirely ruined!! jungkook just has to cram thinking of a recipe to put in your lunchbox by tomorrow and jin is his tried and tested saving grace

technically, jungkook already saw you this morning because of the whole taehyung in a cast thing, but he feels as if that the take-outs from the cafeteria aren't gonna cut it

he still needs to step up his game of course :D

so that's why jungkook forcibly enlisted jimin's help to make fish and chips for dinner and put them in two lunchboxes

one for you and one for yoongi!! he didn't skimp on the fish nor the chips and made sure they're still toasty and in peak-flavor when he delivers it to your dorm

is he intruding? is this a bad time? he didn't exactly know how to process when yoongi told him that he wouldn't stop him from making it up to you

he just iSN'T sure if delivering homemade lunchboxes at 7 in the evening to your dorm is optimal

oh good!! the door's opening :D

"good evening!! i uhm-"

... what

.......... WHAT

what the fuck is going on

seokjin is suprised to see that the guy at the door isn't from the delivery place he ordered from two minutes ago

... he may be disappointed

but what he is amused about is the way jungkook looks beyond confused and intimidated

jin's in a sleep shirt and some boxers and jungkook doesn't kNOW what to feel about all the variables present that he's trying to connect

"you look like you're hiding a goldfish in your mouth."

seokjin remarks and yawns when a fraction of a minute passes and jungkook's still frozen in his spot, his eyes darting to what the kid's holding

"oh c'mon! one for y/n and one for yoongi? you trying to make it up to him too? and none for me?" jin jives him further, leaning against the doorframe with a sleepy smirk on his lips, "i practically live here, and i gave you the tonkatsu recipe, and i'm the one who doesn't get a lunchbox?"

he eventually saw this coming lmao

jin knew that someway somehow, jungkook would come to know that hE's your close friend throughout the whole time

that he's been the sort of middleman all this time but nah he's on your team of course <3

that all this whining he's done to him has all been in the name of you and seokjin had to sit through ALLLL of that with his fists clenched underneath the table to calm himself down

"oh my god," jungkook's literally WEAK in the knees as it all connects in his mind, the gravity of this scenario kicking down on him

he really iS such a fucking asshole

how did he not hypothesize this????? how wasn't he able to connect you and yoongi and jin as each other's closest friends???

his legs are literally about to give out so that's why seokjin snatches the lunchboxes from his hands

"i am so, so, so sorry mr. kim. i-i really didn't-..."

jin pays him no mind, opening the lunchboxes slightly as he whistles at the sight of fish and chips

meanwhile jungkook is so sO close to crying both in realization and very very slight relief because he knows atleast one of your friends doesn't hate him that much

the door opens wider, the creaking getting both of his and jin's attention

"what's taking you so long? is the-..."

yoongi switches his gaze between the two lunchboxes on jin's hand and jungkook sitting on the floor looking like he's had the shock of his lifetime

wow this is really amusing

this is in fact so amusing that yoongi can't help but to snap a picture for him and jin to laugh at later

"bye, jeon."

yoongi grabs one of the lunchboxes from jin's hand and goes back into the dorm, leaving jungkook alone with mr. student affairs

seokjin chuckles as he outstretches his hand to make jungkook stand up and shoo him off sooner than later so he wouldn't look like a pebble in front of your dorm

he pats him on the back, only having to pull him slightly to get him closer to his ear

"we're still mad at you kid, don't get it twisted. you're lucky i didn't expel you."

jungkook pales at the realization overall, only weakly nodding his head as he attempts to take in everything while trying to look at the bright side

seokjin cheerily closes the door, waving at him who looks so close to passing out from hock

"bye jungkook!!!"

[smutsonian]

a man for you

lance tucker x reader

summary: just a little drabble of lance being a sucker for you

warnings: err OOC lance?, cursing, not much really... not proofread.

word count: 968

a/n: first lance fic it’s kinda ehh

masterlist

You have no idea how or why but you always find the Lance Tucker trying to get in your pants. Actually, it’s not really a surprise because the guy lives to get his dick wet by every hole he encounters. What you can’t understand is why he’s so hell-bent on you. Maybe it’s got to do with the guy’s huge ego. He probably can’t accept the fact that he can be rejected by anyone. It just so happens to be by you.

“For the last time, Tucker, and get this through your thick skull. I. Don’t. Want. To. Go. Out. With. You.” You glared at him with each word, speaking as if it was a toddler you’re talking to. Not that Tucker is far from being a kid…

“Come on, sweet cheeks… Why not? I’ll treat you right! I promise!” Lance almost begs. You would’ve acknowledged the butterflies you felt but knowing him, he’s just saying that so he can finally get to your cunt. That’s why you chose to ignore the thumping of your heart.

“Whatever, Lance…” You roll your eyes, turning around to leave the guy alone before feeling a soft tug on your arm, guiding you to face the gymnast once more.

“You just called me Lance.” He sports a huge grin as he stares at you with those gorgeous sparkling eyes.

You scoff at him before pulling your arm away from his hold. “And what about it?” You cross your arms in front of you in hopes of calming your abnormally beating heart. It wasn’t supposed to be beating like that. And for Tucker?! 

He continues to stare at you with that shit-eating grin which only annoyed you more so you let out another huff before rolling your eyes once more and turning to walk away but only to be stopped by him again.

“Ohh come oonn!” He whined with a teasing smile. “Don’t tell me that you can’t feel a connection here!” He waves a finger between the both of you before licking his lips. You had to control yourself not to stare at his lips because Lord knows how that’ll boost his already inflated ego.

“Not really. Did you land on your head? You’re obviously out of your mind, Tucker.” You snarked, glaring at him with all the hatred you can muster.

He raises both hands in surrender before letting out a laugh. “Guess we’re back to Tucker then…” He mumbles before shaking his head in disappointment. He looks at you, something different flashing in his eyes. 

“Think about it, Y/N… Please. For me?” He almost looked desperate and hopeful but you brushed it off. Must be one of his moves.

“You think I’ll do favors for you?” You let out a humorless chuckle before shaking your head, earning a surprised look from the gymnast. His eyes are wide as he gawked at you, almost like he’s flushed or guilty.

“No. No, no, no! It’s not like that at all! Fuck…” He mumbles under his breath before looking back at you. “I just wanna take you out on a real date, Y/N. I swear.” He places one palm on his chest while the other is held up to symbolize his promise. 

You find yourself actually thinking about his proposal before Hope’s words swirl its way to your mind.

Tucker is a fucker that is up to no good. Stay away from him. You know what he did to me. You know what he did to every single person around him. He’ll do it to you. It’s his fucking hobby. Watch out for that fucker.

“You say that to all the girls you fuck?” You smile bitterly at him, praising yourself in your head at the surprised look that sported his face. The pride in you left when you saw him sporting an amused smile.

“You calling me a man whore?” He smirks at you and you huff at him. Is he proud of that? Of course, he is.

“I never called you a man.” You deadpan and his face falls quickly as he sported that smirk from before. His lips formed into a thin line before he nods defeatedly. 

“Okay. I get it… I know I don’t have a great reputation when it comes to…” He stares at you awkwardly before continuing. “But please give me a chance. I know you don’t have to. I just… I really like you, Y/N. I genuinely like you and this is not some ploy or trick to get into your pants, not that I wouldn’t want to but I’m just saying that it would be—” He stops rambling as he sees your harsh glare on him. He clears his throat before smiling at you. “I really like you, Y/N. No games, no tricks.” He walks closer to you before carefully reaching for your hands, waiting if you’d pull away. He envelopes your hands with his huge ones when you didn’t show restraint. He brings it towards his face before looking back at you with his glossy eyes.

“Just one chance and I promise you, I’d back off if you don’t enjoy this date.” He waits for your reaction, almost jumping in joy when you gave the slightest nod ever. You even thought you heard him squeal in excitement and you couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh.

He stares at you before smiling widely. “You won’t regret it, sweet cheeks!” He kisses your cheeks before pulling away.

“I know I might not be a man in your eyes… or to anyone’s eyes at all but…” He takes a deep breath before kissing your knuckles sweetly and you didn’t even try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach anymore.

“I’ll be the best man I can ever be for you.”

----

taglist

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox @anncutamarica @chaoticfiretaconerd @i-love-superhero @caffiend-queen @coconutqueen21 @jtargaryen18 @jennmurawski13 @mushyjellybeans @ninjabucky @evnscvll @buckstaybucky @donutloverxo @rebloggingeverything @adriannajackson @la-cey @awaywithtime @littlegasps​ @gotnofucks

[dadsbongos]

burn me to the ground

(1)gentle lover (2)burn me to the ground Movie/Game/Show: Thor: Ragnarok Dynamic: Loki Laufeyson/Reader Warnings: ragnarok spoilers?, passing description of you as toned/muscular cuz loki with gf who could crush him >>>, i give more time gap to thor's arrival cuz :), fem pronouns Summary: He’s never been one for such sentiment, maybe that’s why her influence is so terrifying to him. ~~~

“You wanted me to meet someone?”

“Right! Right, right, right,” the Grandmaster waves his hand in a gesture for Topaz to guide his chair through the room, “He was all mumble-y and murmur-ey and I heard your name, so I was thinking maybe you could tell me what this guy’s all about!”

Upon seeing the man in reference, your eyes widen and you nearly stumble back.

The man, however, immediately tilts his head and practically hisses out, “You.”

Well, no point in pretending to not know him now when he reacts like that. Sighing and tossing up your hands as if to show relief, you gush out an awfully whiny, “Aw, prince! Thank goodness you’re okay! I was so worried when we got separated!”

“So, how do you two know each other?” the Grandmaster’s smile is broad, if not slightly threatening, as he waggles a finger between the two people in front of him.

“I’m a sort of guard to your royal asshat.”

Loki doesn’t get the chance to speak up as the Grandmaster claps in response to you, “Well, I’m sure he’ll be happy to know your track record here doesn’t show any signs of slacking!”

“Certainly, yes,” Loki nods curtly, not pleased at the prospect of a Midgardian - this Midgardian - having to watch over him again, “Reassuring to have her here.”

“I would be, look at her- " reaching over, the Grandmaster squeezes at your bicep, “So strong, she’s a great contender!”

“Contender…?” Loki murmurs to the woman, a brow quirked.

Smacking the prince’s arm, you shake your head before turning back to the Grandmaster, “Loki wouldn’t be a very good contender, he’s pretty frail and weak. Lame, too.”

“Aw,” wagging a finger as one would to a pestering child, the Grandmaster’s broad grin falls into a tight-lipped smile before he speaks, “Loyal guard trying to protect her prince, how sweet.”

“What can I say?” Loki notices the way you seem more on edge now, breath shakier, but you manage to mask it as light laughter, “Duties never rest.”

Nodding, the elderly man turns to Topaz, whispering in her ear before dismissing you both back to your quarters.

It’s as the door to the room shuts that Loki is greeted with the first hint of aggression he’s ever seen from you - not even in his time on Earth had he seen malice slip from you like he does now. The door slams and you wring your hands in your hair, nearly shouting as you turn to the God,

“You moron, why’d you have to go and say that? As if you know me? You could’ve gotten us killed.”

“But I do know you,” Loki held his hands up, pausing your rampant pacing, “Was I not supposed to try and find solace in the fact that I was on a new, strange planet with the one person I recognize?”

“You’re such an ass,” it’s a deflated insult, sighed out while you stomp over to the one bed in the room and slump down on it, “Just hope that nutjob believed me about you being weak.”

“Which, I believe we should have a talk about, by the way,” Loki’s brows furrow, “Why do that? I don’t need any protection nor defense, especially by the likes of you.”

“Unless you want to go as a gladiator and potentially be ripped in half by people twice your size, I would just take the label of weakling socialite and run with it. Hope you get on the Grandmaster’s good side like I have and eventually he maybe stops looking at you like a starving man to steak.”

“Haven’t quite gotten to that last bit, I imagine.”

“No, unfortunately not. It’s a little terrifying.”

It’s quiet as you rub at your aching temples and think over the situation. Loki turns and begins assessing the room - a room he hopes to not be stuck in.

“Are we to share this?”

“Probably,” yet another exhausted sigh slips from your lips, “I wouldn’t bother bringing it up to the old man, you might get vaporized.”

There’s a beat of silence before Loki chuckles, it’s forced and tight.

“Oh,” nodding, you lean back until you’re fully reclined on the bed, “you think I’m joking.”

The God’s eyes widen at that, turning to face you in alarm, “Are you not?”

Suddenly sitting up to untie your boots, you mutter, “I’m trying a slow coup. I was gonna do it on my own, but now you’re here so that’s minorly reassuring.”

“Coup?”

“Accident comes to the Grandmaster, we move up. I say we, but if you try and overthrow me for the throne, I will have to duel you. Duel at best, but at worst…”

Another pregnant silence flows through the room, Loki tilting his head, “You do realize how alarming that is when you don’t finish that sentence, right?”

“Good.”

It was an unlucky arrangement. Trapped on a trash planet, literally, with a Midgardian worm - whom he either has to share a bed with or rest on a loveseat for the nights. None of which is even mentioning the Grandmaster.

The Grandmaster.

On the surface he’s light. Bubbly. Fun. And then someone drops a glass too close to his favorite new shoes and suddenly they’ve been pardoned from the land of the living and the stench of wretched toast permeates through the room.

It’s that memory that has Loki tuning out of the story of the man across from him. His hands fall to his thighs and begin rubbing away the sweat of nervousness that gathers there. The movements don’t go unseen, and the woman who assigned herself as his personal guard reaches down and takes his hand. Uncaring if the rest of the party sees as they cling to one another.

You aren’t Loki’s first choice of partnership but maybe that’s where he’d be wrong - because your grip is strong and it won’t let go unless it’s commanded. It’s comforting and reassuring and Loki can’t remember the last time someone held him like that as he breaks down. It isn’t just the hand holding at parties, it’s in the late nights when neither of you can sleep and your heads are too full of countless worries of each’s own home. It’s the way you hold him and don’t say a word of it the next day. Barely acknowledging it unless he brings it up first, not wanting to make him uncomfortable or pressured.

It’s kindness and genuinity and he thinks he wants to have you around all the time. After the Grandmaster. After Hela. Whenever and wherever that dust happens to settle, he knows he wants this comfort all the time.

Storytime comes around to Loki. His fingers curl tighter around your hand as he speaks, occasionally taking a break to sip at his neon drink when there’s a hearty whisper-shout of both your names,

“Over here!”

God of Thunder, you notice. Thor of Asgard. You two excuse yourselves from the couch of socialites to cross the room to Thor.

“Thor? You’re alive?” you begin, eyes wide.

“Of course, I’m alive, what’re you two doing? Why aren’t you stuck in a chair? Where’s your chairs?”

“We didn’t get one,” Loki shakes his head.

“Get me out,” Thor urges, still thoroughly confused over the presence of his brother and old friend.

“We can’t,” you whisper.

Nodding, Loki continues, “We’ve gotten in favor with the Grandmaster. In his higher courts.”

“Like friends but scary,” you pitch in, “We’ve been here a few weeks. Maybe a month.”

“A month?" Thor repeats in utter disbelief, "I just got here.”

“What’re you guys whispering about?” the Grandmaster himself juts into the conversation with a giggle, “Time works different around these parts. On any other world I’d be like millions of years old, but on Sakaar…” he stops and looks between the trio with a teasing grin before shaking his head, “In any case, you two know this… what’d you call yourself - Lord of Thunder…?”

“God of Thunder,” Thor corrects with a forced chuckle.

“I’ve never met this man in my life,” Loki immediately denies.

“He’s my brother.”

Rolling your eyes at the brothers, you’re quick to gesture to Loki, “Adopted.”

The Grandmaster nods, “He any kind of a fighter?”

“You take this thing out of my neck and I’ll show you.”

That’s how they find out that - at the very least, Thor’s alive. Not well, but certainly alive.

The night after that party is mostly quiet in the room. Presently, both people are getting ready for bed but inside their minds is such fueled turmoil that neither truly believes they’re getting rest that night. Upon finishing his state of dress, Loki makes his way out to the balcony.

Air on Sakaar isn’t particularly fresh or clean, nor are the stars incredibly visible with all the city lights, but it felt better out there than being trapped in a room. He’s soon joined by another body at the railing, hands barely brushing together on the roughened metal.

It’s Loki that makes the first move, slowly sliding his hand across the rail until his entwined with yours. Your fingers weave together and Loki can’t help but balance his gaze between your conjoined hands and your eyes. He remembers a time where he used to look into those eyes and see an enemy - now, he can’t imagine a time where he would’ve ever wanted to hurt someone such as you. Can't believe there was a time where he wanted to hurt you. Your care is expressed in tender touches and loyalty. In quiet moments of trust and earnest adoration. In honesty. It's that silent care that speaks the loudest.

It’s your voice that breaks him from his own thoughts, “When this whole thing is over and Sakaar is ruined and Thor will have the throne, where will you go?”

Loki falls silent at that question, he brushes a thumb over your knuckles, pursing his lips and tilting his head as he thinks over what response would fit best. Then he comes to the realization that it wouldn’t matter where he lies as long as he has comfort that lies with him. Comfort that sleeps inside the woman beside him is what he wants.

And so, he mumbles out, “Where will you want me?”

There’s a laugh pulled from you as your head shakes, “You wouldn’t want to go to Earth. Unless you’d like the Avengers up your ass.”

There’s a shared laugh as Loki relents, speaking before laying a kiss to your knuckles, “I wouldn’t be fond of that… but for you, my dear, I’d tear the universe apart.”

“That sounds like exactly why they wouldn’t want you. Sorry to say they’re not fond of universe-tearing.”

A sarcastic huff falls from the prince, “I’m charming and romantic and this is how I’m repaid?”

“However, I can’t say that’s not excellent bargaining to keep you on a leash,” you grin.

“Like a dog?”

“Well, now,” looking away, your lip is tucked between your teeth to muffle possible laughter.

Loki doesn’t follow your example, instead he studies the planes of your face. The curve of your cheek and the way your eyes are lit up by the stars and lights that flow in this city. You’re beautiful. That, he knows. And despite being trapped on Sakaar, he also knows he’s grateful to have someone like you. To have you.

Strong, both in emotional resolve and psychical capability. It’s nice to have someone who can stay level-header and offer support. It makes him want to care and provide for you as well, and that’s what scares him.

You make him want to return sentiment when all he’s cared for before was letting things burn.

[pbaintthetb]

quick fic

wrote this because i need to write but lack motivation, and I’m not posting it because it’s not neatly wrapped up but anyway

“I’m here to see the Sect Leader,” Xichen tells the Nie disciples who greet him at the gates. He’s greeted with a nod and a fond eye roll, his presence here is not unfamiliar, frequently coming to drag poor little A-Sang out of trouble.

(How much of that had always been a lie? How much had these disciples known it was a lie. Is it all an act? All of them?)

“He’ll meet you in his office,” one of the disciples tells him pleasantly, “Feel free to wait for him there.” In the corner of his eye he can notices a flurry of green, but he nods and walks the familiar path.

A-Sang, A-Yao. It’s too late for Da-ge, Mingjue is gone, and it’s like a gaping hole in his chest, but maybe he can stop the rest of the tragic story playing itself out again. Stop Huaisang from ruining himself.

“Er-ge?” Huaisang says warily as he enters the office to find Xichen standing there. His fan is up over his mouth and his eyes are wide, but this is just how Huaisang had looked in the temple, and it sends eerie chills down Xichen’s spine.

His silly, foolish, lazy, idle little brother is none of those things. At least not anymore, but maybe Xichen can restore it. Now that he’s looking for it, now that he knows it’s there, he can see it in Huaisang’s eyes. A certain sharpness, warily tracking him.

Or maybe Xichen’s imagining it, so desperate for it to be there, for there to be a sign of everything Huaisang was and will be (won’t be, Xichen will fix it) again. But if even A-Yao had never noticed...

There is no point in wasting more time, so he swallows everything down and lays his cards out on the table. Mingjue had always valued forthrightness and honesty and had tried to instill those in Huaisang. Huaisang had hated Jin Guangyao because he had lied. Honestly should work, it has to.

“I know what you’re planning, A-Sang,” Xichen says, doesn’t whisper it, says it bravely and solidly so his confidence doesn’t abandon him. He needs to do this properly, needs to save as much of his brothers as he can. He can’t watch themselves tear themselves apart once more.

“Planning?” Huaisang says after a short pause, “I don’t know what you’re talking about? I really don’t know. I promise Er-ge! What do you mean?”

It was one thing to listen to Huaisang’s frantic denials and confusion when he had thought it real. It had been almost endearing, if sometimes a little worrying or irritating. Now, when he knows it has so much falseness in it, it sends a trickle of ice down his spine. He resists the urge to shudder, but maybe not enough because Huaisang’s eyes go wider still.

Xichen reminds himself that his sword is at his hip and his erhu hangs on his other side. Then he mentally prods himself, because why does his brain think he’d need protection from Huaisang? No matter what, Huaisang, his da-ge’s didi, would never hurt him. And, not to be rude, but Huaisang never had a particualry  strong core.

He shakes himself to get over the silliness and takes the plunge.

“I know about Da-ge and what you’re planning with A-Yao. How you want to destroy him, make sure he could never come back and-” He doesn’t finish his thought before Huaisang interjects.

“Er-ge? Are you okay, what about Da-ge? I don’t know what  you mean?”

“No, Huaisang.” He blocks off once more, he won’t play this game now. He fell for it before, in the temple, and A-Yao had died. He had done unforgivable things, but he hasn’t necessarily done them all yet this time. Maybe he can be saved, and he didn’t deserve to die.

“I have,” he pauses, “certain knowledge, Huaisang. I have seen, some things.” He swallows, and sees Huaisang watching him like a hawk over his fan, but his brow furrowed to keep up the illusion of confusion. A-Yao had said he’d never see through Huaisang’s mask, but Huaisang is still early in his game, and Xichen knows, he thinks he might now.

“San-ge led to Da-ge’s death.” Xichen tells the other man, as though  Huaisang doesn’t already know. “And I know you want to destroy him for it.”

There is no response, just the feeling that every inch of him is being measured and none of it is being deemed good enough.

“But why would San-ge hurt Da-ge?” Huaisang asks him eventually, voice trembling- and was Xichen too early? Has he ruined everything? Would Huaisang never have come for A-Yao? Or maybe this is right, and they can talk it over, and get justice together and without utterly destroying A-Yao in the process.

“Their relationship was very strained by the end,” Xichen acknowledges heavily. It didn’t make it right, but it made it make sense in hindsight. “I think San-ge...” he trails off, unsure how to continue. He shakes his head, this isn’t the point anyway.

“I know what you’re going to do, Huaisang. I’ve seen it. You’re going to trick him, and trap him and kill him. But you’re smart- no, I’ve seen that too. If we work together we could help him.” He swallows, “please, A-Sang.”

There’s an odd laugh.

“The way you talk, Er-ge. You make it sound as if you’re from the future,” Huaisang chuckles lightly again, and it is an absurd thought.

Xichen nods.

“Oh,” Huaisang tells him, ugly and flat, fan snapping shut to reveal a very displeased expression. “So tell me, Zewu-jun, did it hurt, what I did to him?”

Xichen gapes, he hadn’t expected this, at least not this fast.

“I’m not an idiot-” Xichen knows that now, “And I’m guessing, despite everything. Despite probably knowing more than me about what that bastard had done, you’ve still come to me first? He murdered my brother, and you’ve come to me to tell me to stop?!” Huaisang’s voice is full of venom, but no louder than a hiss.

The smaller man stands up loudly and clumsily, knee banging into a desk as he does so.

“Leave, Xichen,” Huaisang tells him, full of anger and rage. Xichen doesn’t know how it went so wrong so fast. “I thought you just didn’t know, and that was damning- but this?” Huaisang spits, such an unrefined action for such a carefully composed and elegant man.

“Huaisang,” Xichen says a little warningly himself, “I don’t think you want to challenge me either. A-Yao needs to be brought to justice, but you want isn’t justice. It’s barely revenge- it’s blood thirsty vengeance and I cannot condone it.”

He thins his lips, deciding whether to say his next sentence as Huaisang glowers at him, knuckles whitening around his fan. He needs to save as much of A-Yao as he can, it’s clear Huaisang is mostly gone, but maybe saving A-Yao will help save A-Sang.

“You don’t want the Lan as an enemy, Huaisang. My reputation is far better than yours, I could say all kind of things and they wouldn’t be lies. Please, leave him alone, let me deal with him.” It only feels a little wrong on his tongue, Xichen can live with it.

He’s met with a spluttering laugh from Huaisang, but his eyes are so very firm and steady and hard. Huaisang really is like Mingjue, but not in sharing honesty.

“If you tell anybody about this, about the Headshaker plotting, Zewu-jun, you think anyone will believe you? The only person who would is Jin Guangyao, and then you’ve signed my death warrant as well. Do you want this on your conscience? Can you live with the deaths of both my and Da-ge on your head?

Xichen steps back, his mind screaming at him, and Huaisang takes that as an opportunity to move around his desk and slither up to his side.

“Come back to me with his head, or don’t come back at all, Er-ge.” Huaisang strides back to his desk. “After all, I think we’ve established that I really don’t need you. Maybe I’ll drip all kinds of poison about you into people’s ears. I’m a terrible gossip, and just really don’t know how to hold my drink after all. Someone really ought to stop Sect Leader Nie from spending so much time in Taverns.”

Xichen suddenly has the nasty feeling that he’s walked into a snake’s den. That he really, should never have come.

“But that won’t be you,” Huaisang continues, “Seeing that you don’t like me anymore? Or do you? In which case then I’m still so useless, and not scheming.” Huasiang throws him a clearly false beam, and Xichen just wants out.

“Nice talking with you, Er-ge, now I’m fed up of watching you squirm.”

Xichen leaves as quickly as he can, not taking his eyes of Huaisang, who locks eye contact the whole time Xichen backs out of the door. He doesn’t even try to lay on a threat or impress for Huaisang not to go after A-Yao once more. He’s said all he can say to Huaisang. Now he’s stuck here, in the past with the sick feeling he’s made everything worse.

“The Sect Leader’s a real character, isn’t he?” one of the Nie disciples on the door comments with a slight laugh as Xichen focuses on not looking like he’s stumbling out. “Can really drive you up the wall.”

Xichen looks at him, and can see nothing but friendliness and banter.

“Well-meaning, but dumb,” the woman on the other side comments. The two disciples laugh together again.

“don’t worry, Zewu-jun, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.” They snort.

Xichen looks at them both, tries to see if it’s a facade, if it’s real or-

He draws himself up, “You should show your Sect Leader some more respect,” he intones seriously. “The-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Xichen is interrupted, “We respect Sect Leader Nie. He at least knows when he’s got an enemy in front of him. He’s not totally useless.”

Xichen swallows. He’s not quite sure how. But the only thing he’s certain of is that he’s made everything worse. So much worse.

[ironmandeficiency]

dropped hints never picked up

pairing: wolffe / reader

word count: 2203

summary: wolffe’s been trying to catch your attention for a while now, but you’re more oblivious than he thought you’d be. this is the last time wolffe goes to boost for advice.

req: Wolffe x reader, #15 from the prompt list?

“Hi, I’ve been subtle at hinting that I want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and now I’m pissed.”

a/n: i had two ppl request this prompt for wolffe and it made it all the more important to perfect this piece. i changed a couple of words but the meaning is still the same so 🤷🏻‍♀️ no beta, just me on my bullshit

79’s was crowded as always, the music loud and the smell of booze permeating the air. it was comforting when paired with the company of the wolfpack, the battalion you worked under as a medic serving as both pleasant company and a deterrent for unwanted visitors. wolffe had a hand resting on your knee, the commander occasionally giving it a soft squeeze throughout the night.

three nights prior, wolffe found himself sitting on boost’s bunk, head in his hands. for weeks he’d been grappling with the emotions running rampant through his body like a raging blurrg. they were emotions he never wanted to feel, ones he’d been trying to repress to no avail.

boost, oddly enough, seemed to know exactly why wolffe was waiting on him before the commander had even opened his mouth. wolffe wanted to make a move and boost was going to be the one to help him. he advised wolffe on ways to be subtle but still show more affection than normal, things like extra physical contact and some offhand but sweet compliments to kinda nudge things along.

it made sense to him; you weren’t one for big showy signs of affection and he wasn’t a showy kind of guy. you had a way of knowing what he wanted to say when he wasn’t in the mood to speak, seeming to pick up on his moods with a familiarity he didn’t expect to share with someone outside of his brothers or even general buir. there were times where you both would complete each other’s sentences (it was disgustingly cute in the eyes of the rest of the ‘pack) and the blood would rush to your cheeks, wolffe immediately turning away to hide his own blush.

right now you were sandwiched between wolffe and boost, the former on the outside of the booth claimed upon arrival. drinks were passed around by comet who knew how you enjoyed your fruity cocktails with the twisty straws and umbrellas and did not fail in bringing one your way. you thanked him with a smile as you took a small sip, savoring the taste of your drink as well as wolffe’s hand on your knee.

he’d gotten quite a bit more affectionate lately and seemed to be touch starved, so you didn’t comment on the uptick in contact (you didn’t want him to think you weren’t okay with it because you were plenty okay with it) as you let yourself revel in his warmth.

“wolffe, do you wanna try?” you hold your drink towards him with a soft smile. he’d confided in you several days ago that he had a sweet tooth to rival a small child and comet did bring you one of the sweeter cocktails offered at the bar.

your hands brush lightly as he takes the drink from your outstretched hand. he briefly smells the concoction before taking a sip, and judging by the soft smile on his lips he liked the pineapple mango-rita. “not bad, cyare,” he gingerly hands you back your drink, hands once again making brief contact.

“if you like that one, i think you’d also like the nubian smile. it’s a favorite of mine.”

“i’ll have to try it some time.”

then warthog mentions wolffe’s name in whatever story he’s begun and the moment’s broken.

conversation flowed as freely as the bar’s beer tap. you sipped lightly at your single drink and listened more than you spoke. there were several stories shared that you hadn’t heard before, like how sinker got his name and the time boost tried to prank commander cody, that had you laughing uncontrollably and leaning closer to wolffe’s side. he responded in kind and soon moved his hand from your knee and wrapped it around your shoulder, subconsciously pulling you into him. it was more relaxing than you would like to admit.

wildfire had finished ratting out boost for sneaking bubble wrap into dozens of bedrolls when you went to sip your drink and got surprised when the pineapple wedge bonked you on the nose instead.

your face scrunched at the prickly skin of the fruit and wolffe thought it was the cutest face he’d ever seen. the offending fruit wedge was then plucked from the rim and glared at for a brief moment as if it could feel shame for its actions.

the plan was to eat it as punishment for its crimes but wolffe had other plans, playfully snatching it from you and taking a chunk out for himself. he was smug about it, eyes holding yours captive in a “what’re you gonna do about it?” look while his mouth twisted into a playful grin.

“hey, that was mine!”

“gotta be quicker than that, dear,” he replied as he took another bite before sliding it back onto its previous perch.

everyone else at the booth was about to vomit but it wouldn’t be from the booze.

————

you were glued to wolffe’s side the rest of the night at the bar and on the way back to the barracks. neither of you had enough to drink to completely explain the constant small smiles and excessive contact, but you didn’t care. wolffe was here and might as well have been holding you and you were living for it.

he had asked to walk you to your quarters with a gentle hand in yours, thumb smoothing across your knuckles tenderly. you were so absorbed in the skin to skin contact that you could only nod in consent.

the walk there was filled with small talk and nervous touches, both of you leaning into each other without realizing that’s what you were doing. before you knew it, you were in front of your door. neither of you acknowledged the arrival until wolffe grabbed your hand in both of his, tightening his hold briefly.

“sleep well, cyare. i’ll see you tomorrow.” his voice was soft and rumbly, attesting to the late hour and the evening spent drinking.

“see you in the morning, wolffe, goodnight.”

he lifted your hand still grasped in his toward him, placing a feather-light kiss to your palm. it was the gentlest thing you’ve ever seen him do and the fact it was with you sent warmth through your veins. his eyes were locked onto yours as he placed the kiss, keeping you in place.

you were desperate to give something, to reciprocate the tender way he touched you, but he was already leaving you in front of your now-open door for the night. when did your door open? and since when was wolffe so soft towards you?

————

the goodnight kiss wasn’t acknowledged aloud after that but you both thought about it constantly. you had no idea where it came from yet your entire being seemed to yearn for him to do it again when in his presence.

since then he became more open with his affection, even holding your hand in front of his brothers (that would tease a tiny bit before being shut down with a glare that dared them to question his happiness). you responded in kind, holding his hand right back and always finding a way to him after long nights when you were all sent to one planet or another. it was pure bliss and you weren’t going to question it.

but then, while planetside somewhere in the mid-rim, he seemed to not have anything to do besides trail you in your work.

the morning (very early morning) began like many of them had started to since the night at 79’s, you cradled by wolffe’s arms where he clung to you in your sleep as if to keep you from flying away. a fellow medic seemed timid to wake you once they noticed whose arms were keeping you down, the newer woman repeating flustered apologies for the interruption as if it weren’t your job to be woken up like this.

from that moment on through the rest of day, you didn’t spend more than a minute with wolffe at a time. not for his lack of trying.

he would appear seemingly out of nowhere every couple hours or so while you were bandaging one wound or cleaning another, words precise but tone gentle.

“hey cyare, the locals invited several of us for lunch to celebrate our arrival. wondered if you wanted to come with me.”

“you’ve been on your feet for hours, come have a seat for a minute.”

“sinker was playing a game with some of the kids, you shoulda seen his face when they beat him.”

turning the invitation down hurt more than it should have, but you had too many wounded and too few hands to help you with the workload. there was nothing in you that could justify going to a dinner prepared by the people you were here to serve.

a few hours later, he brought a plate back for you so you didn’t completely miss out on eating something that wasn’t rations. it took some convincing but he was able to sit you down and get you to take a moment for yourself to eat. while you ate, he gravitated around the medtent and offered his services where he could to alleviate the guilt he knew you felt for sitting. it was touching to see him talk to the various patients so gently, the children having not an ounce of worry about the giant, strong soldier.

with more effort than you thought it would take on your end (because part of you simply didn’t want to), the commander was shooed out of the tent so you could continue to work.

a couple hours later wolffe showed up again, telling you about a beautiful view one of the scouts found while on patrol that he wanted to show you. the flowers he described were vibrant in color and scent, decorating the landscape with hues previously unknown to many of his men. he wanted to show it to you, help you relax because you had indeed been on your feet nearly the entire day.

when you turned him down yet again, his eyebrows furrowed together and he looked upset. it was a reaction you were not expecting by any means. the other times you didn’t accept his invitations he simply tucked you under his arm briefly and pressed a kiss to your temple. this change in mood was unsettling.

“wolffe, what’s wrong? talk to me.” it worried you to see him distraught, the reason unknown. approaching him slowly, you rested a hand on his shoulder that he quickly moved away, choosing instead to grip it in his a bit tighter than usual.

he took a deep breath to steady himself before answering you, trying to dispel the anger and hurt to avoid making you feel guilty. it didn’t work as well as he wanted it to because his voice was gruff when he answered. “i just-“ he took another breath to steady himself. “gods, y/n, i’ve been subtly hinting that i want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and i’m pissed.”

that’s what he’d been trying to do? it made so much sense now! how did you miss it?

your other hand met his that still held you, smoothing over the skin on the top of his hand in consolation. “wolffe, i’m sorry. i just got so wrapped up in work today that everything else just passed right over my head.” you felt guilty. he was only trying to help you and spend time with you and there you were just turning him down!

“and that’s why i kept trying, cyare. you work so hard and while i admire it, i would much rather you spend time with me than the bacta patches.” the smile returned to his face at your ministrations but his eyebrows didn’t soften.

something was clearly confusing him but questioning him before he had his thoughts in order would do nothing to help. so you stood with him and continued to hold his hands as he thought, hoping that whatever he was thinking about wouldn’t hurt him when fully realized.

“do you… want to spend time with me?”

you were shocked. how did he not realize that every time you didn’t go with him today you lost a little pep in your step? each time he came in, your resolve weakened and if he had pushed just a tiny bit more to get you to come with him, you would have given in. you explain this to him with a soft smile.

“i’m sorry for pushing you away today, wolffe. i’d love to go with you.”

the smile that lit up wolffe’s face could have powered the entire planet of coruscant with its radiance. “i’d love to take you, cyare.” you let the commander guide you out of the medtent and towards the promised landscape, too wrapped up in each other to notice the sergeant and lieutenant watching them.

“about damn time! shit, why did it take so long?!”

“shut up, sinker! they were trying to take it slow, be subtle about it!”

“whose dumbass idea was that?”

a pause. “mine.”

“okay, it wasn’t that dumb.”

“thank you.”

“i’m kidding, it was extremely dumb.”

[augment-techs]

I DON'T KNOW HOW THE WRITING PROMPT MEME WORKS REALLY

but it's WAYYYY too CUTE to not do. Sooooo how about I toss ya some numbers! ^^

Hand holding: 12 and 10! 33,

Hugs: 2, 18, 27

Hope it isn't too much!!! ^^

Kim was emotionally fluctuating between feeling sorry for Tommy, and trying not to go into shock whenever she walked into a room and found her older, alternate universe, badass-self kissing an older, Coinless General Bulk. Watching them seemed more perfect than she might have dared hope for whatever fate was allotted to the Ranger Slayer. When they'd first dropped into their Command Center and explanations had been given, Alpha had allowed Bulk to lead his Kimberly to the medical bay, and Kim had followed after them in case they got lost. Bulk was incredibly good with the damaged woman that could probably beat him into the ground at any moment. Kimberly hadn't even huffed when he'd offered her a piggy-back ride and then insisted on bandaging up her hand that'd been cut open when she'd gone after Tommy and he'd had to defend himself with Saba. He'd sterilized the wound, wrapped it tight but not without sympathy and hadn't bothered untangling their fingers or letting go when they'd wandered back into the room Zordon occupied so they could all talk and argue and occupy themselves with searching the data banks for ways out and locating their other friends for hours. The kissing was on the extreme end of their affections, though. In the days that followed, Kim didn't see them lock lips as often, as they usually found themselves training or cooking or reading with just one hand, as the other one was invariably found more often holding onto the other; like two magnets that would always find themselves connected if given enough time.  It was, admittedly, adorable as anything she could have imagined, but still a surprise she couldn't help but balk at. Tommy underwent the same amount of shock with the random displays of affection that he often stumbled into with Kim, but he had more pressing issues: when he left to walk into a room with one of the Coinless universe alters, he always had to keep his movements to a minimum, hands far away from his pockets, and eyes to the ground. With the older Trini, Zack, and Bulk, it wasn't so bad; with the Omega Rangers out in space and their history with this smaller Tommy helping them before Drakkon shattered the Morphin Grid, they were more willing to acknowledge that the evil despot and the teen weren't the same. With those Coinless who had never been Rangers--Rocky and Aisha in leather and combat armor with battle scars, had looked very shocked when they'd met their younger selves in Ranger gear, Adam being given the oddest looks from the elders--it was much harder, because they hadn't even spoken to Tommy. And they'd all been dumped through a hole in space and time that the Eltarians and Zedd had caused when Zelya had gotten away from the moon, so everyone was still reeling--especially with them being separated into three groups around Angel Grove. Perhaps they'd make up their minds when the stragglers from Drakkon's universe arrived at the Command Center... * * "He's very strong, and very sure, but he's no Drakkon." "No offense, Skull, but how--" "Could I know that?" The spy--spy, spy, actual double agent who had to relay messages and blend into the background and not die a horrible painful death at the slightest misstep, how the fucking hell--smiled with benevolent pragmatism. Rocky nodded, mouth tightening into a line as Aisha stood her own ground in their questioning. They would have loved not to have come to such an awkward position with having to use Skull to calm down their worries, put them to bed, and smother them to death, but they couldn't find solace and reassurance in Zack and Trini's words and it didn't seem fair to keep putting the kids in defense positions just because they could calm the fuck down. Skull flicked his hand open and made a motion for Tommy to come closer to him, which he did with only a slight hesitation. He wasn't wearing his suit, but Skull had been the only person so far from the other dimension who hadn't looked at him and gone fully rigid, so he had a good sporting chance of not being injured here. When he was only a

step or two from walking directly into Skull, the man offered up his open palm, harmless and dangerous at the same time, and Tommy blinked, unsure and afraid, before deciding it was better to get everything that was going to happen one way or another out of the way. He lifted up his own hand and laid it flat in Skull's. There was dirt under his pointer finger and he only had a single twitch of a moment to be embarrassed before the much bigger fingers circled his wrist and wound around his knuckles, brought his hand upwards, as if he was little more than an infant fresh from a tub, or a sun warmed kitten.  Tommy felt a coil behind his belly bunch up all of his nerves at once when Skull's fingers slotted between his own in a possessive kind of way that sparked familiar-unfamiliar thoughts--those all fading away when the man kept their palms together and brought his head down, breathing out like a gust of a train through a mountain pass, and inhaling at Tommy's wrist. Nose tip to his skin raising all the goosebumps Tommy thought he even had. He's pretty sure his ponytail sparked at the end when he jerked a little back. Which swiftly brought him to absolute internal humiliation that showed across his face like a goddamn Muppet. Just because he'd seen that Skull let the Coinless drink his blood right from his finger and they all ate it in bread and stuff after he'd let a tube from his arm pour into the batter of whatever he made them, didn't necessarily mean the man would bite him. ...He hoped. Then, as if that hadn't been the weirdest thing, Skull lifted his head to grin at him, but didn't let go of his hand as the man addressed Rocky, Aisha, and all the other adults--and Tommy was too confused to ask him to let go, so... there was that, "He doesn't smell like he's rotting from the inside; like he needs to be wearing five layers of Axe Body Spray. And he isn't getting all put-upon and squirrely with me holding onto him. And, if you'll humor me a moment?" He was looking at Tommy directly at the last bit, but didn't let the teen answer before he found himself being wrapped in arms that had way more muscle than Skull had any right to have in any universe holy hell--and Tommy was suddenly in a bear hug, feet off the ground and spun around twice as much as he had ever been even at five years old; three times around and around, before he was planted on the couch like a sack of flour right next to Kim (his Kim, who looked utterly stunned and far too amused). The giggle that left his mouth when he smiled at her smiling at him should not have come into existence, and if he hadn't been red before, he was practically blazing as he brought his hands up to cover his mouth.  Skull's hand patted him on the head as he ducked his head as much as possible at the sounds of snickering and the other adults choking on their own reactions. He definitely felt like a kitten. "See? Totally harmless to us. Now let them take us to the Juice Bar and feed us; I'm hungry and Ernie's alive here to make me that banana-marshmallow smoothie I haven't had in over a decade." * "I...played the right politics." It would have been so fucking nice if Billy would stop asking Skull questions about the past and present the Coinless had to live through. He didn't mean to make the adults with faces he knew and worried over angry or tired, but Adam was getting very, very annoyed with how he always seemed to find the core root of things that made Skull look... All the emotion left Skull's face at that word, every single time. Politics, like a euphemism for something else entirely.  (And it was.) Adam remembered, because he was there when Zack and Trini, Aisha and Bulk, Rocky and the others weren't; inside the fortress Drakkon ran and imbibed in terrorizing whenever he got especially bored. The monster loved to play games with his sentries, with his prisoners, but rarely with his staff, because it took time and effort to train up new ones. But the sentries were his favorite, because they had to prove their loyalty each and every day. Some in

little ways, some in big ways. And Drakkon remembered Skull. Zack and Trini hoped he wouldn't, and Skull, when he was giving help and clues and time that he could to them, made it seem as if he never even crossed Drakkon's mind from being a punk that wore a spiked collar back in high school to becoming one of the higher-functioning members of the red sentries. Oh, being a spy made him so good at pretending nothing was wrong, how to be cool under pressure, how to avoid danger on all sides with one way out or none at all; how to think ahead, think like his opponent, pull facts and plans out of instinct and thin air (because what other choice was there, after all). That was why he was the best; probably why, too, he was revived from death by the universe and multiverse reshaping itself with the Grid's renewal. Politics translated so well to Games in Drakkon's palace. (It was amazing how often the horrible bastard made the sentries fight or fuck each other in his presence; the threat of his being displeased getting them through most of the time, and out the door when he was finished with himself to go vomit or find a shower or smoke so many cigarettes. As far as Adam knew, Skull was one of the very rare few who were made to fight or pleasure Drakkon himself. Skull and Adam and one yellow sentry that died before Kim returned to their world. If Kim was ever made to do as they were, she didn't tell or didn't remember, and Adam was thankful for that. And thankful for Skull. When he fought other sentries, he injured with care to avoid it being permanent or knocked out the other in a show of force that Drakkon appreciated that didn't lead to brain damage but made a good show. When he was made to fuck the others, he carried necessary aids to protect them from hating themselves or leaving much of a trace behind--condoms made from animal skin by Finster-5 he bribed out of the little freak; lubricant so there wouldn't be blood or bruising; an aptitude for pleasing other people as thoroughly and as quickly as he could while being on top and leading them through it with hands calloused but still soft. When he had to use his mouth on Drakkon or submit to the tyrant--often in front of others and while being degraded with his real name being used like words from a djinn or an immortal snake--he did so efficiently and made it seem as though he wasn't being forced at all.  Adam hated Drakkon more than anyone those times he had to be there and watched Skull pull his armor back on and resume his place in line among the other sentries like nothing had happened. He hadn't known him before the world came crashing down, but before he'd traded his loyalty for the hope that his family might survive--what a stupid hope that had been--he'd heard that the man had cried over Billy Cranston's gave for a week after his death and been good.) But this small, wide-eyed Billy Crantson, alive and well and looking at Skull with so much awe and respect that Adam could spot it from a mile away if he was goddamn blind, didn't need to hear that. Did not need the thought in his head like a rotting wound festering with so many white little maggots. So Adam continued sipping his coffee (pumpkin spice; which was so fucking good after years of straight, bitter instant black) and remained in his usual place beside Skull in the daytime, watching him go through the motions in this time out of joint from their own. Gladder still to be in the Juice Bar, watching the teens enjoy themselves, play at their video games, ramble on about tests they had to take in school; watch the Coinless eat their food and drink their smoothies, enjoy watching their young reflections practice gymnastics or martial arts. When Billy excused himself to talk to the Stone Canyon Trio about some notes they'd asked for from Ms. Appleby's class, eyes still sparkling with information given and listening to Skull like he would have listened to him even if he knew everything out of his mouth could have been a lie; nobody saw Adam wrap an arm around Skull's waist and squeeze

him from the side. It was just as well.

[whenimaunicorn]

Training Exercise

The Mandalorian x female Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is testing you. Again. This time you hit him with a strategy he doesn’t expect, and he comes back with an equally unexpected response.

Content Tags: Explicit, roleplay, dom/sub vibes, dirty talk, bondage, armor kink (I didn’t think I meant to do that but damn if it isn’t all over this fic), slight gunplay, slight breathplay, rough sex

Cold metal cuffs slam around your wrists, the sound of the locking mechanism a loud, ominous snick.

“What the fuck, Mando?” you sputter, dropping your spoon into the bowl in front of you.

“How would you get out of this?”

Stars. Another test. You push down your rising irritation with a deep inhale, sitting up straight and letting your imprisoned forearms rest on the edge of the table down in the hold of the Razor Crest. “So I’ve been captured?” you ask, probing for the parameters of the exercise he has in mind.

“Yes.” He stands a few feet away from you, leaning against the bulkhead, settling in to observe. “Now you’re in a holding cell. One guard.”

You smirk at him. “You’re the guard?”

His helmet inclines a few inches. “What’s your play?”

The question is delivered evenly, soft and simple, with only the tiniest note of challenge. He still doesn’t believe you can handle yourself as well as you say you can. The reminder gets your hackles up. “I’m not really in the mood for this.”

“You think I care if you’re in the mood?” The modulator does little to smooth the harshness with which he barks the statement.

You try not to flinch. Getting into his role already; at least, you try to tell yourself that’s all his change in tone means. Plus, it’s kind of hot when he yells at you. Not that you’d let him know that.

You sigh, and prop your elbows up on the table, examining the cuffs. They are a solid piece, two inches thick in a figure eight shape with a seam in the clasp so flush that it’s almost invisible. There’s an interface on it above your wrists, placed where your own fingers couldn’t possibly reach but would be convenient to your captors. You know enough about this model to know there’s a way to hack the lock, but not enough to actually be able to do it.

You look over at the Mandalorian. He’s facing you squarely now, thumbs resting in his utility belt, the helmet’s eye slit angled like he’s watching you closely. He doesn’t move a muscle, just waiting to see what you’ll do.

You do your best to ignore the tingling feeling his intimidation sends washing through your body. You feel the weight of his gaze like the heat of a sun against the cheek and shoulder that are angled toward him as you look back down at the cuff around your wrists.

What’s your play? he had asked. You arch your back a little more, giving the Mandalorian a better view of your body. You’ve got tricks he can’t teach you, and your irritation has turned into an overwhelming urge to rub that in, now. You sit poised like a pin-up girl as you pick up the spoon from your abandoned meal and stick it backwards into your mouth, then use the chisel-shaped back end of it to probe clumsily at the locking mechanism.

Mando shifts in the corner of your vision, moving just a little bit closer. “You know I can see you, right?” The edge of derision in his voice only spurs you on.

You look up at him, shifting the spoon in your mouth so he has to watch your pink tongue lick out along the edge of it. His upper body pulls back with a start. “I know.” You smile lasciviously around the stick of metal. “If I was alone with one guard, I’d convince him to step closer to me.”

The lower edge of his helmet drops in acknowledgement, and then his blaster clears its holster, in his hand and pointed straight at you faster than you can blink. “Cut that out. Drop the spoon.”

You turn in your chair, knees spread just a little immodestly, so the bottom edge of your tunic creates an intriguing little darkness between your legs for your “guard” to ponder. It’s hard to decide if the man behind the helmet is taking the bait, but you’re going to carry on your demonstration as best you can. You hold the spoon between your teeth and then relax your jaw, turning your lips into a pouty little ‘o’ as the spoon falls straight down into your lap. You suck in a big breath that makes your breasts swell as you look down at it, nestled between your thighs. “Come and get it.”

The Mandalorian seems to hesitate. “Is this really your best strategy?”

“You’d be surprised how often it works.”

His visor is angled just a little too low for you to think he’s looking at your face. He could, of course, take the exercise in any direction that he wants. He could play a guard that’s smarter than his libido right now, or one that doesn’t find you attractive at all. So maybe it means something when he chooses to relax his grip on the blaster, and steps closer, playing along. “It’s no use trying to escape,” he intones, resuming the game as he looms over you, blaster still pointed at your head, though at a lazier angle.

It shouldn’t be as hot is it, to stare up at the enigmatic Mandalorian warrior from your helpless position like this. Though the warm, prickling feeling that spreads through your lower body only makes the game easier. You form your lips into a little pout. “I’ve got to do something to pass the time.” You extend one foot, ankle making contact with the inside of his knee, then slide it up between his legs, past the defense of the metal plates on his thighs. You stare at his eye slit the whole time, tongue peeking out to play at the bottom of your teeth. “You want to put something else in my mouth?”

You feel him flinch. But to his credit, he leans into his discomfort, and into your personal space. “You’d like that.” His words come out in that flat, measured way he has, but the underlying tone is somewhere between brusque and incredulous.

You’re not sure if you’re freaking him out or turning him on, but a heady rush of excitement propels you forward. You give him a slow, sultry shrug as you stare up at him. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for being tied up.” You rock your ankle back and forth against his inner thigh.

The Mandalorian stares down at you, maddeningly still. His body language only shifts when he finally speaks. “Did I mention the guard is a Gamorrean? A particularly ugly one.”

He’s teasing you. You can just imagine a shit-eating grin extending behind his beskar mask. You reach your cuffed arms up, refusing to back down. “Then I’d be sure to stroke a finger down his tusk.” His helmet is cold under your fingertip as you dare to mime the action, sliding your touch down the groove of his iron cheek.

The blaster pointed vaguely at your temple never wavers. You’re close enough now to see that it’s not currently armed, though that information does little to dampen the chill of having a weapon aimed at your head, in a hand that has never hesitated to kill. Mando leans in and presses his other hand between your legs, retrieving the spoon. He takes his time about it, just as a big ugly half-seduced guard would do, digging his fingers unnecessarily into your soft thighs and dragging his knuckles against the sensitive spot between.

Your breath catches. You had been bluffing; you wouldn’t actually enjoy this if he had been a real guard of any species, but when Mando is the one groping between your legs you can’t help but spread them a little wider.

His head is only inches from yours. You stare into the eye slit of his helmet, knowing that somewhere behind there he’s staring right back at you. The shape of the beskar knows only one emotion: menace. You have no fucking idea what expression lies behind the mask.

His knuckle rolls again, right over your clit, making hot arousal bloom so hard and fast that your muscles turn to jelly.

His helmet tilts, and he speaks in his quiet voice again. “You’re not making your move now?”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Mando assumed you were luring the guard inside your reach so you could whip out some kind of flashy combat skills and disable him. Of course he did. That’s what he would do.

Evidently, you take too long to respond. He removes your opportunity to act. “Get up!” The Mandalorian grabs at the cuff around your wrists, yanking you to your feet. He holsters the blaster as he crowds your body, backing you up into the wall. Cold beskar presses between your thighs, making sure your legs stay open as you slam back against the bulkhead.

You resist a little on instinct, your mind now torn between winning the game and just enjoying the feeling of his body against yours. He overpowers you easily, forcing your hands up over your head. There’s a clicking sound, and then both of Mando’s gloved palms are running down your arms, though they’re still locked in place. He’s magnetized the wrist cuff to the bulkhead. Fuck. You didn’t know it could do that.

His beskar face looms just inches above your own. His grip doesn’t flinch as his hands run down from your arms to your flanks, feeling along your ribs in a touch that’s more sexually charged than you’d thought him capable of. “You’ve chosen a strategy that can get you in over your head, fast.” His voice sounds a little tight behind the modulator. His hands slide down to grip your waist. “Would you really let it get this far?” You can hear him breathing now, fast and hard. His fingers knead at the tops of your hips. “Dirty yourself, letting a filthy guard touch you this way?” There’s a hint of a whine under his accusatory tone, and you start to think the Mandalorian might be even more turned on by this game than you are.

You don’t answer, not sure what to say that wouldn’t ruin whatever’s starting to happen. Mando’s hands travel up your body, thumbs daring to skim underneath your breasts.

“No play yet?” he challenges, voice sounding a little lower, a little rougher. “Still not ready to make your move? This is only going to get worse for you.” His palms skim over your tits, but he seems to be holding himself back, barely making contact. “Better do something before he starts taking off your clothes.”

Absolutely you want him to start taking off your clothes. But this is just a training exercise, isn’t it? You’ll probably just make things awkward if you delay any longer, sitting here enjoying an excuse to get groped by the Mandalorian. Time to make your next play. “Okay big boy,” you purr, barely keeping a straight face as you try to imagine seducing a giant pig-man, “let me make you feel really good.” You slide your cheek against Mando’s helmet, dropping your voice into a throaty half-whisper above where his ear would be. “Give me one of my hands free, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

He pulls the pressure of his body off yours, just a little. Considering. You writhe against him, whispering ‘please’ and dragging your knee up the inside of his leg to show him where your hand would want to go. Before you can make contact with your target, Mando reaches up and presses a button on the cuff. “That… that would probably work on a big, dumb guard. I’ll give you that.” His voice sounds a little breathy, but he’s rallying himself. “Let’s see what you can accomplish with only one hand.”

The steel around one of your wrists retreats. The other one remains locked to the wall. “Oh, I can do plenty,” you say, bringing your palm down to the cloth-covered opening between his helmet and pauldron. It’s hard to grope a man wearing full body armor; all you can do is massage at that firm muscle that connects his shoulder and neck, hoping that the pressure feels nice through the canvas-like fabric that covers his skin here.

His fingers flex where they span your waist, a sudden dig that seems involuntary. He can’t be used to even such a blunted touch as this one, you suppose. He turns his gesture into a more obscene caress, sliding down your hips, grinding your pelvis tighter against the beskar thigh thrust between your legs. You don’t have to fake the moan that falls from your throat.

“Definitely a dirty girl,” he says, and squeezes your ass with both hands. Now you’re really not sure if he’s speaking as the guard or himself. His voice has dropped low and the modulator can’t smooth out the pleasure that’s thickening it. “Offering yourself up like this…” His cold helmet presses against your temple as the Mandalorian brings his whole body closer, nestling his head between your cheek and your upraised arm, the one that’s still locked to wall of the ship above your head. He grunts as he digs his fingers into the widest part of your bottom, and you groan. “You like it rough?”

“Yeah,” you moan, not sure if you’re playing your character anymore either, afraid to say anything that might make him stop. You abandon his neck to slide your free hand down past the beskar chestplate, seeking warmth in the space at his flank where something approaching soft and human is accessible to your touch. You can feel him breathing here, fast and deep. His hips writhe, pressing that solid flesh above his lower ribs more firmly into your palm.

“So pliant. So soft.” His tone has gone softer, appreciative. One hand stays on your ass while the other travels up your back, scooping you closer to him, until your chest is flattened by solid metal as he all but dry humps you against the wall.

Your fingers tease at his belt line, searching for entrance. A splash of nerves cools your belly at this point; you’ve never seen the Mandalorian undressed in any way, and you worry how he might react to you trying to get under his clothes. There’s always the chance you’re mis-reading this situation horribly. He’ll stop you if you cross a line, you’re certain, but you want to go slowly enough to make sure the sin is not too egregious.

Mando seems to sense your hesitation, slowing down too. “If you’re thinking about going for my gun,” he says, “you’re telegraphing.”

Apparently, he still thinks you’re thinking about the training exercise. He hasn’t lifted his head from where it’s nestled into your shoulder, however. His hands have slowed but they’re still cupping you.

“Not going for your gun.” Your fingers skim along his lower belly, finding the buckle of his belt.

“No?” Mando breathes.

You squeeze the clasp, releasing it with a click that seems way louder than it should be in the empty galley of the ship. His exhale carries just enough vocalization for the modulator to pick it up, sounding akin to and yet wholly different from the heavy sighs that escape him when you or the child are being frustrating. He gives you no other reaction but that.

You dare to stick one finger down inside his waistband. His heavy shirt is tucked in and so you still haven’t contacted any skin. You can’t even pretend to try to read his face, with the front of his helmet still pressed into the crook of your neck. Your finger tugs at his clothes and his body shifts against you but you can’t tell if he’s pulling away or shifting to give you better access.

You lose your nerve. “And then I would,” you narrate, stopping yourself, “you know…” Your finger points down toward his cock, trying not to think about what it would feel like to scoop your hand over it, wondering if you would find it hard or soft…

He lifts his head, only far enough to stare into your face through that shielded slit in his helmet. After a short, measured silence, he speaks. “Go ahead.”

Somehow you can’t wrap your head around the statement. “Um, what?” You feel your hand curling up, starting to withdraw in an awkward defensive reflex, though one finger is still stuck inside his waistband.

He cocks his head, and you can just feel him taking your measure. His open hands caress up and down your back, and your body responds, curling into the touch. You realize your mouth is hanging open as you continue to meet his impenetrable beskar gaze.

“Don’t you want to see if your plan is going to work? I know I do.”

Well, fuck. You rotate your wrist and press your whole palm into his lower belly, fingers pointing down. You can actually feel his warmth here, and the way his breathing speeds up as you slide your hand lower against him. When your fingertips reach bare skin he moans. It sounds like he tried to keep it in but it just slipped out anyway. He clutches you closer to him again as you skim down along course hairs and hot skin.

What is happening here? Does he really want you to wrap your fingers around his cock, like you’re so close to doing right now? His whole body is tense, you realize, and his fingers are digging into your skin almost painfully.

You slow your approach, not wanting him to snap under that tension. Or for him to snap you. You scratch your fingertips softly into the trail of hairs you feel leading you toward your prize.

“Fuck,” he groans, and pushes his whole body against you, all but crushing you against the bulkhead.

Now you can’t move your hand. But in the midst of all the hard edges of his armor, you can feel one thing poking into you that definitely isn’t beskar.

So the Mandalorian does want you. His helmet presses into the crook of your neck; you just know that if it weren’t in the way he’d be mouthing open kisses all over your throat. He keeps your hand trapped between the press of your bodies, the other still cuffed up to the wall, while his roam freely all over you. This time when he reaches your breasts he lets himself feel, scooping over your pillowy flesh and trapping a nipple between his thumb and the side of his hand.

The pressure is just short of pain and you mewl at the pleasure and desire it sends blooming up through your core. Your reaction encourages him and he tears at the opening in the front of your tunic, struggling to get at your bare flesh.

The savagery pulls a gasp from your throat, and that sound makes him pause. “I said this strategy was a dangerous game.” His helmet shifts so he can get a better look at your face. “Do you want to keep going?”

You nod. “I like this game.”

His real voice, not the aggressive character, slides out soft and even from the modulator. “I like it too.”

You press your hand harder, down where it’s trapped between your bellies, tickling your fingers toward his root. “Then let’s keep playing.”

The groan that reaches your ears through his modulator might be the most delicious sound you’ve ever heard, as he changes the angle of his hips and gives you room to reach him. Well, it was the most delicious sound, until you hear the next one to come out of his mouth, even deeper, even longer, as you find his thick shaft and curl your fingers eagerly around it.

His length had been stuck a little down one pant leg. He gives a pleasured hiss as you free him from the confinement, scooping him in your palm to point straight up between your bodies. One of his hands leaves your waist just so he can hold himself up against the wall; you must have made him go a little weak in the knees. You purr a little “mmm” in the back of your throat in satisfaction, to see the Mandalorian in such a state. His cock is thick and velvety smooth and already twitching in your palm as you give him a few slow, steady pumps.

His noise of pleasure is almost a wail, and without warning he slams a palm into the center of your chest, pushing you back into the bulkhead again. His fingers slide up to bridge your throat, exerting just enough pressure to set warning bells off in your head, and to slow your hand.

“Fu-uck,” is all he says by way of explaining himself. Then he uses both hands to pull your tunic up your body, exposing everything above your leggings to the cool air jetting from the ship’s recyclers all at once. “Off,” he growls as he tugs the fabric against your armpits, forcing you to let go of his glorious cock and let him pull the tunic off over your arm and head.

With your left arm still cuffed to the wall, the shirt has to just kind of hang there on one shoulder, but Mando has succeeded in freeing the soft flesh of your neck, your chest, and your belly. He gazes down at you for an endless moment, then begins to assault everything he has exposed with hands covered in gloves and arms coated in steel.

You know that his gloves are augmented with some kind of sensors that transmit more information than the leather look of them would imply. You wonder what your pebbled nipples and rarely-bared skin feel like to him. He certainly has the touch of someone with perfect sensitivity as he sculpts and squeezes you; he plays with your nipples and adores the rest of your flesh until you’re panting for him.

You shove your hand back into his pants. You have to make him feel how he’s making you feel, to return this sweet torture. He moans again, and thrusts himself into your hand.

You strain against the wrist that’s cuffed to the wall. If only—of course. The plan hits you all at once. While you’re dying to explore these unexpected sexytimes with Mando, your pride is still itching at you to try and win the game.

“I-I want you, babe,” you say, making the sound of the words bottom out in your throat. “Want you in my mouth.” You squeeze him from root to tip and try to drop down in front of him, dangling off the cuff like you’ve lost all control. “Please let me—let me get on my knees for you.”

Mando curses through his teeth and presses the button to release your wrist without even hesitating. As your arm falls you lean into him, feigning like you’re going to do just as you said. Then you square your stance and twist, shoving him toward the wall, using your grip on his cock like a handle. In a real fight you would have hurt him bad right there, but this is just practice, just training. Just an exercise. You don’t squeeze him hard enough to do any damage.

And as soon as you’ve twisted his momentum to the side, you’re pushing off the wall, sprinting for the hatch out of the hold, and sweet, sweet victory.

A hand like iron clamps onto your shoulder; something catches your leg, and then you’re falling, with a heavy body riding you down. You twist into the fall so it’s not ugly, absorbing the impact with thigh and forearms. Then the Mandalorian is pressing your bare chest into the decking.

“Don’t think you got away with anything, there,” he says as he climbs more firmly on top of you. You turn your head to see his beskar face looming near your cheek. “I knew what you were up to.”

“Then why did it work?”

“I just wanted to feel you run.” He presses his body over yours, armor plates grinding into your thighs and back, shoving your hips flat against the deck too so you have no leverage to try and escape. “Now. What were you saying about your mouth?” His hand leaves your shoulder to grab up a section of your hair, tugging tight at the back of your head, forcing your face up toward him. “Ready to make good on that promise?”

You nod, frantically, but as much as you’d love to suck him down, the feeling of his whole body grinding you into the deck is driving you crazy. You curl your ass up against him, with the tiny amount of movement his pressure will allow. You want more than anything else for him to just fuck you through the floor right here.

Mando’s hand runs down your naked side, pushing at the waistband of your leggings when he reaches them. “Or maybe I’ll just—”

“Yes!” you cry, “oh please,” arching your back, scrambling to help him get your clothes out of the way.

His answering growl roars wild and alien through the modulator right beside your ear. You take more of his weight as his chest presses against your upper body so he can use both hands to clear all the barriers  below your waists. You can choose to help him with your hands too, or you can hold yourself up with your forearms so you have room to actually breathe under his crushing weight.

You choose to sacrifice your breath. Your bare chest crushes into the cold decking as you shove your leggings down past your ass, and spit into your fingers so you can lubricate his path. That thick cock of his might have a hard time getting in, in a position like this, but it’s going to be so worth it.

Cool beskar gauntlets slide against your lower back and ass as Mando’s hands work at his own trousers in the small space between your bodies. His panting breath crackles through the modulator above your ear, sounding even louder since you can barely suck a breath in yourself under his weight. He moans when he notices you stroking your own slit, readying the way for him. You’ve worked your hand under one hip so you can reach yourself even as he’s crushing you. You’re already wetter than you expected, but you make sure to drag that moisture all over your sensitive folds.

As soon as he’s gotten himself free you feel his fat head probing at you. Some of the pressure comes off your chest as he slams his other hand against the deck near your face, holding himself up so he has a little more control. You think at first that he’s lining himself up, as Mando swirls himself around your entrance, and so you arch your back, present your hips as much as you can for him. As he keeps moving you realize he’s playing; savoring, scooping that moisture all over his tip before finally deciding to press inside.

The stretch is intense, and it just keeps coming. Now you have another reason not to be able to breathe. The pleasure in that invasion is white-hot and overwhelming, and he feels impossibly long, impossibly deep as he flattens you into the floor like this. You relax everything and focus on just taking it, on taking him.

Finally, finally, the timeless plunge reaches its end, as his hips come to rest against your bottom. He stays there, arms scooping around your shoulders, helmet pressed against your cheek, and lets out a long, shuddering exhale. Then he starts pumping. Long, measured, relentless thrusts drill into you, each one as deep and overwhelming as the first. The pleasure rips through you like a wildfire, melting and invigorating your limbs both at once.

And in this position you don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and take it, let Mando claim you, press further and further until you feel like your entire being is nothing but the cunt he’s hammering into, a vessel for pleasure as he grunts and curses above you, losing himself just the same in the meeting of your bodies.

Your pleasure builds, clamoring for release. You realize one of your hands is still trapped under your body, and with the small movement your current state will allow you to make, you get your finger onto your clit.

It doesn’t take much, just the slightest targeted pressure, to harness the wild ecstasy that’s been building in your core. Your muscles lock, your body clamps, and all that needy pleasure spirals so intense that you hear a rushing in your ears.

“Oh, fuck, are you coming?” Mando groans, his modulated voice so close and yet a million miles away. He presses deeper, more eagerly at the very idea, and that pushes you right over the edge. You wail like an animal and curl up under him, except you can’t, the floor’s too solid, he’s too solid, and you cum with every muscle in your body straining against a steel prison that keeps you flat and helpless.

He rides you through it all, pumping faster, harder, grunting with the effort and making your orgasm feel like it’s never going to end under the relentless way he fucks you. Even when the crest passes and your body goes limp, he keeps going, driving himself like your lives depend on it, as relentless as you’ve seen him in battle. Tears form in your eyes as his cock won’t let your body come down. You feel everything inside you tensing up for another orgasm by the time his breathing goes ragged and you know he’s close too.

When the Mandalorian comes he finally lets it all go, burying himself in you to the hilt and wailing with a sound so raw it makes your heart crack and your body clench around him. Your second orgasm makes the tears fall from your eyes; all your limbs collapse together as your cunt milks every last drop of his release out of him.

The first one to move after the rush fades is him; his helmet comes into view from where you lay with your cheek pressed against the deck. His leather-tipped finger soaks up the tear that was threatening to fall over the bridge of your nose. “Was—” his voice is thick and he has to clear his throat before he can continue, “—was I too rough?”

You make a reassuring sound, the closest you can get to words for a moment. You shake your head, just a little. “Fuck. No. Loved that.”

You wonder if that makes him smile behind the mask. Your voice came out raspy, made you both conscious of the fact that most of the weight of a seasoned warrior, plus a hell of a lot of solid beskar, still lies squarely on top of you. While the sensation was a turn-on, you still make a little sound of relief when he rolls off you, laying on his back by your side.

His helmeted head rolls to face you. You’re sure you look like a hot mess, laying there mostly naked, ass up, with your face in the deck, but you feel amazing. Mando reaches up one gloved hand and presses two fingertips lightly to your lips. It feels like a kiss, so you purse your lips and kiss back, keeping your eyes locked on his eye slit. He lifts his hand to your temple, brushing his fingers through your mussed hair.

“I guess you showed me.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s referring to the training exercise. “I thought you said it didn’t work on you.”

His helmet inclines. “It worked.”

You smile. Maybe you preen, just a little. “Satisfied, then, that I can handle myself?”

“Definitely not.”

He just lays there while you pout at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He lifts his arm, beckoning you to peel yourself off the floor and come cuddle against him. You pull your tunic back on before you comply; bare skin against beskar doesn’t sound quite as appealing now that the heat of passion has fled.

You cuddle into the crook of his arm, finding a decent enough pillow on the inside of his bicep. Only once he’s got you curled against him to his liking, does he explain himself. “You are not going to be fucking your way out of trouble while you’re with me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I forbid it.”

You try not to let him feel you shiver at what his tone does to you. “Is that so.”

“It is.”

“If you don’t respect my skills—”

“I do,” he cuts you off. “But they’re only for me, now.” His body shifts where you’re curled against him, his hand clutching against your back. “We can play this game again, as often as you like, but..” he reaches over and slaps your ass hard enough to sting, “now I’ve also got to start teaching you how to actually fight.”

My Mando Smut Masterlist

Taglist is open, and I’m taking requests: @equalstrashflavoredtrash @laketaj24 @themaskismyface @pascallorian @shadowfoxey​ @pinstripeninja13​ @thatkidofwarandpeace​ @no-droids

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Chapter 4]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

A collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“there’ll be a next time...right?“

Corpse and Cora have found a nice secluded picnic table outside the restaurant, out in the sun rays’ path enough for the warmth of the day to be caressing their skin while simultaneously being a safe distance away from the other people enjoying their lunch. Their meal has just arrived, bringing a large grin to Cora’s face.

“So?” She asks as she chews the bite she took without waiting even thirty seconds. Her feet are on the bench, legs crossed, elbows rested on her knees as she chomps down, happily perched in front of him.

Corpse is enraptured by her. He’s staring a little, desperately trying to keep it subtle, hands still holding the small bag of food as he peers at her, a hood over his dark curls. Even in this quiet little part of town, he still doesn’t feel safe showing his whole face - no mask, no eyepatch, no privacy and sense of security. But as his eyes take in his lunch partner, her calm aura and leisure attitude, he can’t help but admit that his heart quickens a little. The girl moves with the grace of someone not afraid to kick ass and he is simply awestruck by her beauty and outward powerful aura. He’s never before been so captivated by a person - someone so different and so similar to him simultaneously.

Swallowing nervously, he reminds himself that she has taken on the role of his checkpoint, something like a friend, a hand to hold if he starts feeling anxious. Even if it’s just for today, he appreciates it wholeheartedly. It’s more than he’s ever been offered by others. That type of comfort is something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Surprising himself when his hand reaches out to touch her free one, he’s surprised yet again when he finds the touch so familiar and welcoming, so natural.  Despite it being just a brief movement, his knuckles softly brushing against her wrist before withdrawing and returning his focus to his meal, it is so meaningful and soothing, he’s afraid he might get used to it. Addicted to it. 

Half expecting a comment or a look, he is taken aback when she doesn’t give any sort of reaction. No movement, no expression change, just curiously watching him while she eats, waiting for his response to her previous dubious question.

 “So?” He rumbles softly, fishing out his lunch from the confines of the little paper bag. He isn’t sure what type of answer he should be expecting but he’s sure he won’t be disappointed regardless.

“Tell me about yourself! You’re not all rumbles, fear and BONES, right? You’ve gotta have a personality under that black hoodie.” She says enthusiastically, her eyes glimmering as though she’ll dig the answers out of him with her gaze alone. He’s not sure whether he’d prefer that or not. He doesn’t like talking about himself but he has an even stronger distaste for the idea of her seeing some information he’d rather keep hidden. Good thing she doesn’t seem to be capable of telepathy, but even that wouldn’t be too odd for her.

His cheeks flush faintly and he looks down for a moment to take the first bite of his food, buying himself some time to think and formulate a proper sentence. He racks his brain, looking for what would be the most vague yet satisfactory answer. 

What am I? I mean, all she stated is true, I definitely am all that...but I have a hard time coming up with what else I am? What else makes me me?  Youtube? Anxiety? Suicidal ideations hidden underneath liquor?

“I um...dropped out of school at, like, thirteen.” He finally speaks, mumbling around the small bite he worked on swallowing. 

Cora’s eyes widen and her brows shoot up. Now he is nervous, his anxiety slowly starting to creep in as he’s worrying if he has said something wrong. Or something that she could be disgusted by. 

Who would want to talk to some grown ass man who couldn’t even make it to highschool? How fucking sad is that? She has all right to judge me for it. 

However, unlike everybody else in his life who’s given him a frown of pity while internally thinking of how absolutely fucked up he had to be to drop out so young, Cora spared him from the pitiful glance he has grown to hate so much. Instead, he sees something alike amazement on her face as she sips her drink before saying:

“Damn dude, that’s intense. I mean, it sucks cause I can’t imagine you had a normal childhood if you’re bailing from school that young but, nowadays, who among us actually had a real childhood? Very few, I’d say.” She grins, putting down the soda can, her eyes leaving his for only the briefest of moments instead of the familiar awkward eye-contact avoidance he’d face when this topic would be nudged during a conversation. Still, the relief and skepticism in Corpse can never end their war so easily - there’s still that shred of doubt that she’s just good at hiding her pity or judgement. Nevertheless, she continues, “You’re doing well for yourself, you’re in an ok place right now, right? Isn’t that what matters?.” She concludes, touching his fingers as a form of yet another subtle reassurance. 

He looks down and finds himself ever so carefully curling one of his fingers around hers, just briefly before he draws back fearfully. “Yeah...guess having an apartment in a shitty part of town, and a car that seems to attract criminals could be considered ‘doing okay’.” He smiles faintly under his hood and she laughs, that bubbly little noise that he is slowly realizing he wants to hear more of. 

“You got a car, that’s more than I have.” Cora pokes her tongue out with a little growl before leaning down to take another bite of her lunch. “So, you like music and aren’t a narc. What else you got up your sleeve?”

Corpse smiles a bit and takes a sip of his drink before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I like video games too.” 

That seems innocent enough, right? Everyone likes video games...or people tend to be okay with them, at least. Video games are fun.

Another bright, sun-like smile. “Yeah? Well in that case I’ll have to kick your ass in Mario Kart some time.” She threatens playfully. 

So she might want to hang out, he thinks to himself, the thought causing his heart to do a little flip and he smiles an almost shy and timid smirk. “Challenge accepted.”

“What do you do for work?”

That question catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen a bit. He doesn’t know if it would be better to lie or just tell the truth. He narrates stories on the internet and makes and puts out music people have constantly been telling him wouldn’t be enjoyed. He doesn’t see how that would leave a bad taste in her mouth exactly but because of his inability to stop himself from overthinking he doesn’t want to run the risk of repulsing her. Then again, he doesn’t want to lie either, he’s been so honest with her thus far, why would he derail now and because of such a simple question. That’s why he chooses to answer truthfully but keep his answer relatively vague: “I do online work and make music I haven’t released yet. I honestly dunno if I ever will.” That last part felt like a harsh hit of reality coming on too suddenly, forcing him to look away from her to gather his composure and put it back together.

“I bet it’s good. You’ll have to let me hear it when you get something done. I’ve got a clearly refined taste in music, but I bet you already figured that out.” She exaggerates a wink, reaching over to wiggle the straw in her drink. 

Feeling a bit less tense now, he clears his throat and picks up the conversation once again. “What about you? You keep asking me all these questions, but all I know about you is that you’re a klepto with no car.” 

That signature bright and bubbly laughter leaves Cora’s chest, sending Corpse a millisecond away from swooning over her completely. “I’m actually a starving artist. I’m a pet photographer and I'm going back to school for advertising graphic design. When I’m not off goofing around with people getting their dogs birthday documented, I’m working at ye good ol’ Starbucks, serving all the...” Her voice lifts to a higher pitch and is now coming more from the back of her throat as she takes on the most preppy tone she could muster, “Beckys their venti mocha caramel frappuccino with TWO extra pumps of caramel, but with SOY because they’re all on a diet. Funny how that works, no? All those women with the exact same order and exact same attributes - I almost laugh whenever one of them walks in. You can smell them from a block away.” 

Corpse chokes out a laugh as he covers his mouth, hiding his half chewed bite from view. He definitely wasn’t expecting that. Then again,  he can’t help but acknowledge the warmth that has spread across his cheeks at how she giggles along with him. “And to be fair,” Cora quickly interrupts herself, “I am not a klepto, I just really liked the belt I found and thought forty five dollars was a rip off.” She smirks, finding herself absentmindedly looping her pinky with his. Corpse doesn’t look down, doesn’t comment, doesn’t want her to know he noticed, because maybe she’d put an end to their so small yet so meaningful contact. Instead, he smiles a little and swallows the last bite of his lunch, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and he briefly entertains the idea that he maybe wasn’t the only one awestruck. 

Anyhow, that thought gets pushed down real quick when he considers how absolutely out of his league she is, and how...well, how he’s in absolutely no league whatsoever. The world has done plenty to prove that to him real fast. Corpse sees himself as a nobody; he believes he doesn’t matter and everybody likes to remind him of it. But, as Cora’s pinky curls a little and one of her thumbs brushes against the arch of his wrist, all that bitter venom in his cold soul starts to slowly ease up, loosening its typically firm hold of his mind. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he would matter to someone. Someday.

@fockingwhore  @vixenl  @annshit  @wineandionysus  @wiseflamingoqueen

[nothing-but-dreamy]

ON THE EDGE ~ Pt. 2

Characters: Gavin Reed x fem!Reader; Connor; Hank Anderson;

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2.643

Two days later, yn was back in the DPD. After a quick talk with Gavin and greeting Hank and Connor on her way, she sat in the glass office of Fowler. She was always good with her Captain. There was barely a problem between them. And yet, she was nervous in the way Captain Fowler skimmed through her file. His serious expression made it impossible for her to read him. She could feel Gavin's eyes burning on her back. Beside herself, he was the next in the row of the most nervous people.

"It's good to have you back, yn.", Fowler said and gained her attention back.

"Thanks, Sir. I'm also happy to be back. I've missed this beautiful hellhole."

"I have all the results and I have to admit, everything looks pretty perfect. The test results of your shooting training are amazing and the doc report gives you a go. Then, there's nothing else for me to do than to give you your weapon and badge back. Welcome home.", Fowler said proudly and handed her the mentioned things.

"Thank you, Sir.", yn stood up and took her gun, she had missed the feeling of the typical weight, and the badge. The shiny golden badge was her pride and joy. A sign of her hard work.

As yn took the badge, Fowler held the other side in his hand and waited for yn to look at him, "But, keep it slow. Get to know the new cases. There are some. And look after yourself."

"Of course, Sir.", yn promised and then, she took the badge into her hand. Finally, she was back in the game. Yn left the office and stepped into the middle of the room to raise her badge in the air like a trophy. Everyone was clapping and cheering with applause.

**

Like Captain Fowler had advised, yn took it slow. She returned to her desk opposite Gavin’s. Her desk. The small island in the middle of the DPD where she had her place among all the tough guys. The day after she got her badge back, she sat at her desk, studying some file about a Red Ice case as someone placed something in front of her. It was a small flower pot with a smiling face on it. A small green plant grew out of it.

Yn smiled broadly as she saw this small gift and looked up to see Connor standing next to her desk with a soft smile, “What’s that?”, she asked.

“I saw it this morning on my way to work and thought about you. The smile matches yours. It’s a small welcome back gift.”, Connor explained proudly.

“Oh, thank you. That’s so cute of you! I really like that. This desk missed something green and joyful.”, yn said and took the small flower pot carefully in her hands to take a closer look. Proudly, she raised the plant up to show it to Gavin, “Look, Gavin, what I’ve just got! Isn’t that cute?”

Gavin looked at her sparkling eyes and the broad smile but all he could do was to shoot her a small acknowledging nod, “Yeah, wonderful. I’ll get some coffee.”, he said and stood up.

Yn looked surprised at Gavin who just walked away with a sullen expression. She frowned, wondering at what it was that seemed to have bugged him this time. But then, she just shrugged her shoulders and turned back to Connor who was happy to see her smiling about his gift.

On his way to the kitchen, Gavin threw the greeting card into the next trash bin. Gavin had brought it the day before as he thought it would be a nice idea to give her something for her return but unfortunately, he had no better idea than this card. Since he had entered the DPD, he had searched for the right moment to give her the card. He even had written something in it, it was a quote from one of her most favourite movies. And then, the android had thwarted his plans. There was no way his silly card could keep up with the small plant Connor had given her.

The longer the coffee needed to be done, the more anger rose inside of him. Gavin clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He had been cool with the android because he had to but this move brought his anger against Connor back. As the coffee was done, Gavin took the cup, turned around and walked through the kitchen. On his way, a young officer bumped into him and let his files fall because of the impact.

“Watch it, stupid prick!”, Gavin grunted angrily.

“S-sorry, Detective.”, the officer said, totally scared and gathered the papers from the ground with shaking hands. Gavin glared at him angrily before he left the kitchen.

“Was that really necessary? You frightened him to death.”, yn asked, crossed her arms and watched her partner sitting down.

“Yes! Now, he knows where his place is!”, Gavin grunted angrily.

Yn looked at him with raised brows. Most of the time, such an outburst was triggered by other things than just a newby who ran into him, “Wow, you’re in a bad mood. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fucking wonderful! If my mood is bothering you then, why don’t you go somewhere else? No, wait. I'll go. I need some air anyway!”, Gavin said with a fiery glance, stood up, grabbed his jacket and left the DPD without another word.

Shocked and slightly taken aback, yn looked after Gavin.

*

Yn studied some of Gavin’s open files to get back on track with the work. There was one case of prostitution but it was nothing too severe. It was just a girl who tried to come buy in these tough times with all the unemployment. She would be still there later. There was one file that caught yn’s attention. It was a statement from a junky who had snitched on his dealer to get off the hook. As yn read the statement, the name of the dealer: Joseph ‘the Joker’ was so stupid and silly that it burnt itself into her mind.

But the name rang something in the back of her head. Yn searched on her desk, plastered with different files, to find the one case file she had read half an hour before. As she skimmed through the papers, she found the same name, Joseph ‘the Joker’, mentioned again. It was an older statement but yn was sure that these cases had a connection.

“Gavin, where the hell are you?”, yn cursed annoyed. For hours, her partner was MIA. She had tried to call him several times but he never answered. All the messages she sent stayed unanswered. But yn needed someone to talk about the discovery she had made and to get a second thought about it. She let her eyes roam through the office randomly until her eyes landed on the other side of the room. She spotted one very helpful person for such a case.

“Hank, can you look at something?”

“Of course. What is it?”, Hank asked interested. Connor also stood up from his seat and joined them.

Yn sat on top of the free desk with the files in her hand. She gnawed on her lower lip. Somehow, it felt like betrayal that she was discussing this with Hank and Connor instead of Gavin but as she looked back, his desk was still abandoned, “I have three different files. A bunch of different statements. But in all statements, the same name gets mentioned. It’s a Red Ice dealer. I guess it’s just a small-time villain but… something tells me there might be more. Could you check that?”

Hank looked behind her at the abandoned desk and was annoyed that Gavin went away and let yn alone where she was just back after the long enforced break, “Sure, kiddo. Let me see what you have.”

Thirty minutes later, Hank looked up from the files, “You know what, you’re right. This Joseph is some dealer but his district seems to be very small. And I don't think he's the type of guy who's able to 'play' boss. He gets his stuff from someone. Wait a moment, I might have a statement about this guy, too."

"Does Gavin know about the connection?", Connor asked but as yn was about to answer, a loud voice caught all their attention. It was the hooker yn had seen in one of the other case files. Chris walked beside her to bring the woman in chains into a cell.

Yn jumped from Hank's desk as she saw Gavin walking right behind the couple, aiming for his desk. First, yn was mad, he had gone far too long without a word, then she saw his face and hurried over to him, "What the hell happened to you?", she asked, concerned and surprised as she saw the bloody lip and the red color on his cheek, maybe from a slap. Yn guided his chin more into the light to have a better look at his face.

Gavin moved his head out of her grip, "It's nothing. This hooker was a bit … rough as I tried to arrest her."

"You bastard! You tricked me! First, all flirty and then- bang! Some silver!", the prostitute yelled. Chris struggled to keep hold of her as she was about to jump at Gavin.

"Chris, lock her up for fuck saken! And throw the key away!", Gavin yelled and finally, Chris moved her through the DPD. Gavin slumped down on his chair, taking a file to note something.

Yn stood next to his desk with crossed arms, tapping with one foot, "So, wanna talk about this?"

"About what? That I do my job?", Gavin asked and looked up. He saw her glance and felt guilty but then, his eyes landed on Connor and the former anger was back.

"We're partners! You could have answered a call or at least, one fucking message-"

Gavin shot up and stared down at yn who didn't seem to be impressed at all. That was something he liked on her the most, that she never backed off of him, "Sorry, mom! I was busy, okay? Now, excuse me, I have some paperwork to do."

Once again, yn was surprised about this kind of outburst. She stared after him. A sad feeling spreaded through her. During her recovery, all she wanted was to go back to Gavin. To work with him. Now, as she was back, he seemed to be on the edge all the time. She wasn’t sure if it was her fault, that it was still because of the shooting or … if there was something else that Gavin bothered.

"Yn?", a soft, smooth voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Connor stood next to her and offered her a bunch of case files, "Your files. Hank added his one. Is everything alright?", he asked as he saw her glance.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fucking wonderful. Thanks for the files...and for the help.", yn said and went back to her own desk.

Gavin left the cell area and watched the interaction between yn and Connor. Ice cold anger and fiery rage shot through his veins again. But he knew, he was his own worst enemy. Like always.

As Gavin saw yn sitting at her desk, studying some files, he felt like shit for treating her like this. Of all the people, yn was the last one who deserved his temper tantrums just because he couldn't be honest about his...

He had two options: one, he could tell her the truth or two, he would pull himself together. At the moment, option two was the only thing Gavin had. So, he had to make up for his latest behavior as best as he could.

Yn studied the file Hank had given her. She read the second statement from a guy who said 'Joseph the Joker is ticking drugs in Liberty park' and so on. Obviously, the junky had been on drugs as he had made his statement because yn had to read the same paragraph for the third time to understand what the guy wanted to say. She just started the fourth try as a cup of coffee appeared slowly in her field of view. A well known, tanned hand shoved the cup in front of her.

Without a word, Gavin walked to his own desk to sit down opposite of her. He had seen her observing glance and the one raised brow but she stayed silent. He knew her well enough to know that she tried to ignore him as a punishment. So, he did something he barely does, "I'm sorry for yelling at you. And I'm sorry for not answering the calls and messages. And for...leaving you alone.", Gavin said softly.

Slowly, and somehow disbelieving, yn raised her head to look at her partner. She blinked several times. A soft, lopsided smirk played on Gavin's lips and his green eyes, rimmed by dark shadows, were looking hopefully at her. Yn leant back in her chair and crossed her arms, "Alright, who are you and where's my partner?"

"I'm serious!", Gavin said but still with a smile.

"Me too! Gavin Reed never apologizes. What did he say once? Oh, yeah: "Apologies are for chickens…". And I have seen enough movies to know what is going on. So, tell me, alien from outer space, where's my partner?"

"Okay, I get it. You're mad.", he said and leant back.

"Yes, I'm mad. Just like that, you storm out of here without a word to do- what? Arresting this hooker? I read her file. There's nothing important in her case. Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong? Because, somehow I get the feeling that all this bad-vibe-thing from you is related to me."

Gavin felt how all the color drained slowly from his face. He feared she would notice something but not that fast, "No! No, it was not because of you. Look, this...girl was getting on my nerves, okay? Yes, the case is simple and I guess we let her go anyway but…", Gavin stopped and waited. He didn't need to wait long to get the reaction he hoped for. The sign that she was distracted with his lame excuse.

"But, what?", yn asked impatiently.

"During the last weeks, I tried to arrest her three or four times and each time, she escaped-"

"Oh, bloody hell! It's an ego thing? Seriously?", yn asked and started to laugh.

Gavin raised his shoulders as an apology. Glad that his trick had worked out.

"You will never change, I guess.", yn said, still grinning as she looked down at the file again, "Thanks for the coffee, idiot."

"Always, shorty.", Gavin answered and grinned as he saw her face.

"Don't call me that!", yn said serious.

"Stop calling me 'idiot', then.", Gavin fired back.

"Nope. It suits you perfectly."

"Then, you have your answer.", Gavin grinned. They touched their cups with each other to seal this mini fight as over.

"How's she doing that?", Connor asked as he watched yn and Gavin talking about something before they touched their cups in a silly way. In one moment they were fighting and in the other they seemed to be fine again.

"Who is doing what?", Hank asked, slightly confused, what Connor was talking about.

"Yn and how she's acting with Reed. How long are they partners?"

"Two years, maybe a bit longer. But don't get tricked. They weren't always like this.", Hank said but he raised his hands as he already saw the next question in the android's face, "I will tell you the stories one day but not now. Come on, we have work to do."

[storysofmyown]

Seven stages of Love Chapter 2: Philia

Summary: Ever since the Celestial War, since they all fell, Asmodeus has  dedicated himself to his sin. Not caring about anything else, but  drowning himself in the pleasure and ecstasy of it all. But not anymore,  now he cant even handle the idea of it. But, what else is there to  want? After so long of having indulged in his sin, what is there than  Asmodeus is looking for, something that will fill him, and that wont  drive him to destruction? Perhaps his brothers can help him with that. Warnings will appear in each chapter.

Trigger Warning: Momentary anger, sadness. Let me know if I overlooked anything.

Word Count: 2683

Read on Ao3

Pondering, wondering, with a strain in the heart that no other but himself could lift. Yet, he didn’t have the means to lift it. The feeling overwhelmed him to the point where he hadn’t left the house at all during an entire week. To him it was simply unthinkable to have to submit himself to the stares and the actions of the people that noticed him. To think that all this time he thought he needed nothing more. Nothing more but those meaningless kisses that brought satisfaction.

Now the simple thought of a stranger’s hand to even as much as caress his cheek without any feeling made him feel sick to his stomach. He wanted to be cared for. But…it had to be a very specific kind of care. One so specific he didn’t know what it was but knew he wouldn’t find it any time soon. But…what even was it that he wanted? He knew what it was called, Belphegor had enlightened that much…but he didn’t know what it was. Was there a certain definition? Was there even something that would define the exact way he was feeling, with the exact solution he needed? Perhaps, something that could define all the aspects of that craving? He didn’t know, he didn’t even know what he was looking for. So, who better to ask than Satan?

He had hundreds upon hundreds of books. Surely, he must have something that defined that intense feeling. One that gave Asmodeus some sort of clarity. That defined it beyond a feeling. Beyond a lifestyle that many searched for in their lives but can never seem to reach entirely or are satisfied with. Surely, he must have something, right? Asmodeus thought for a moment as he walked outside of his room for the very first time in a while. One of his brothers had been checking up on him from time to time. But thanks to Belphegor they didn’t stay nor bother him much. He needed time to think. And he was thankful to them for caring in any way…but right now he needed some type of answer. Or something to point him in the right direction…just anything would be helpful.

He was on his way to Satan’s room. He was determined to knock, get some books, and start some kind of research…but sometimes things don’t go the way one wishes they did. Sometimes…something makes the path that one was entrusted on, divert for just a mere second…and that’s when everything in the future changes. For just that simple misstep, for just that look in another direction and the entire path that once laid in front of one is changed, unrecognizable. It might be easier; it might be far more difficult. Perhaps it was because his mind was far quieter than it had ever been, while simultaneously making so much noise it drove him insane during the nighttime, or maybe it was the way his expression had become blank and no longer was focused in maintaining that fake smile that had become permanent on his lips. Maybe it was all of them, none, a beat, a noise, a breeze…but his path changed. And with it, his quest in search of a definition, that would set his heart at peace.

Was he stalling? Was that why he was standing in front of Leviathans door, hearing the muffled sound of his older brother laugh? If he remembered correctly, there was a new game Leviathan was looking forward this week. He remembered the older demon having mentioned it a while back. He could hear the faint sound of music through the door, it was mostly muffled, and Leviathan cheers as he won made it harder to hear. He sighed once. Starring at the door before shaking his head. He should really just focus, he needed to go to Satan’s room. Besides it’s not like Leviathan would even give him the time of the day when he was consumed by one of his games or something like that.

So, he turned around, taking a deep breath for a moment as he took a step. But…as he already knew, things don’t go as they are planned at all. A plan that was set thousands of years ago when his aching body first arrived at the Devildom. A promise to enjoy himself to the last bit. A promise he had broken the moment those doubts came to mind. After all, if he had just fallowed his promise, he wouldn’t be here, in that very moment, with those particular thoughts that made his breath caught in his throat at Leviathan’s words. A certain shout caught his attention. Leviathan had won on his game, and this prompted him to shout, to celebrate, to leap in joy and exclaim to the world some words, a specific word. Words that Asmodeus could only dream of using that lightly someday.

“YES!!!  We did it! Good work, I knew we could!!" A giggle, and then a storm. "Henry, I **** you!!”

…he had to be joking, right? He couldn’t have heard that right. He must be in a state of dream or something. Leviathan…he…he wouldn’t just throw that word around like that, and to his damn fish of all things?!

“S-seriously?!” He spoke, before knocking the door, perhaps a little too sudden and harsh since he heard Leviathan gasp, a certain ache in his knuckles that he was barely aware of.

“Sorry Lucifer, I’ll try to make less noise!” He spoke, causing Asmodeus to roll his eyes.

“I’m not Lucifer.” He simply said, a pout on his lips as he crossed his arms and waited for Leviathan to open the door.

“A-Asmodeus?!” Leviathan’s voice came out shocked, he could hear struggle as Leviathan moved inside the room, something falling and him screeching before groaning, only to open the door and look at his younger brother, a small pout on his lips. “W-wha- I mean, w-when, I just…huh?” Levi was at a loss of words as he starred down at his brother, only for Asmodeus to roll his eyes a little and go inside the room. Not caring about Leviathan’s protest on how he had not said the secret password.

He entered the room. The blues and darkness within it, meant to reflect the ocean waves and the water element which his brother controlled along with all sea creatures…only reminded him of his room for a second. It was mostly the darkness. Since that night where Belphegor comforted him, Asmodeus refused to go out, his windows permanently sealed, and the lights turned off as he refused to acknowledge himself in the mirror by the pure fear he might despise what was staring back at him. By the fear that he might look and only find the lust he had started to loath so deeply.

His eyes flew to the screen that was on, the word “Victory” could be read, a controller left on the floor as Leviathan watched him with a slight embarrassed blush on the doorway. For some reason his eyes kept scanning the room. This was possibly the thousandth time he had entered to his brothers’ room and yet, this was the first time he felt like he was in the room, and not in his own head. It was a weird sensation. Entering a place so many times, but never actually seeing it. Recognizing it, or even as simply as placing his attention in anything that was not himself. It was Leviathan’s room, and if someone asked him to identify Levi’s room and showed him pictures, he could probably tell them it was this one. But if someone asked him, to number at least 3 things of his brothers’ room he would draw a blank and just point out that he only had one mirror in his bathroom, and that occasionally he could see his reflection on the big crystal wall from the fish tank. But besides that, he…he didn’t know anything else inside the room. This included himself, and his brother.

His eyes flew to Henry, as he walked over to the small fishbowl Leviathan put him in sometimes so he was beside him when playing. He kneeled in front of it as he starred at the fish. An eyebrow raised as he replayed the words he had just heard Leviathan exclaim on passing. Such a word…were…were they supposed to mean so much? Asmodeus had just started to think about them, he had yet even to find any meaning to, yet his brother was throwing it like that to his fish? He seriously couldn’t understand it, at all. He glanced over at Leviathan who was playing with his fingers while looking a little nervous at Asmodeus intrusion on what was his room, but there was something else. It seemed like he wanted to ask something, so, for that same reason Asmo decided to stay silent for a couple more seconds and see if his brother spoke. Thankfully, he did.

“…Asmodeus” He started, and by his tone the younger demon immediately regretted having let him talk. “…are you okay? I-I mean! Y-you are always partying and in clubs and talking with s-so many people…yet we didn’t see much of you t-this week…”

That…that was something hard to answer. Was there a reason for him not to be okay? Was there a reason for him to be okay? There were doubts in his mind, questions in his heart, needs that he had not been aware of until recently. But most of all…there was…there was a void that he didn’t understand. A void he had just become aware that existed within him. Asmodeus pressed his lips together, wondering for a moment. The silence filling Leviathan with anxiety as he looked down, taking deep breaths while awaiting for an answer.

“I…” he started; eyes focused on the small fish, “…heard you say something on my way here.” Was he avoiding the question? Or was this the answer in his own way? “I was surprised that the same words Belphie muttered to comfort me you would yell them at Henry.”

“Words? What are you talking about?” He wasn’t trying to act dumb; hell knew that was Mammon’s job, but he was certainly confused. Having his brother barge into his room like this, no explanation, and suddenly ask him things like this when he had been acting off the entire week…Leviathan was worried. They were all worried.

Asmodeus thought for a moment. Why was he even here? Between the two, it was entirely possible for him to know more about those words than someone who barely left the room to get food and left the house for 3 seconds every month. The idea that Leviathan, someone that was constantly so locked away from everything and anyone, would know more about that subject even though Asmodeus had put himself out in the world time and time again…it was almost insulting.

No.

No it wasn’t insulting. It just hurt to know that the loneliness he had believed to be new, turned out to be so old that he wondered if it had always been part of him. It just to think that everything he once thought he knew of himself, had started to crumble slowly.

“Levi…h-how can you say them to an animal?” His voice was soft and low, he was sure he had spoken, but the memories of the words leaving his lips was not present. For a moment, he caught his own reflection starring at him instead of his eyes focusing on the small goldfish. And in those eyes, he saw how powerful his sadness and desperation had become…his eyes damping in tears as he looked away, refusing to let anyone see that.

Leviathan eyes went wide at his younger brothers’ words. From all the things he expected him to say, that wasn’t it. Was that…what he said before Asmodeus entered the room, was that why his brother had barged in like that? He starred at him for what felt like ages, before clearing his throat a little and taking a step close to Asmodeus. Trying to wrap his head around what was happening. Normally he would ask what he meant and why he was asking something like that, but the way Asmo looked in that moment it was like he was begging for an answer and just that. An answer, something that gave him an idea of what it all meant and what he would make out of it. Leviathan sighed, closing the door behind him before sitting down on the floor, his back to Asmo as he knew he would not be able to answer the question if he was looking at him.

“H-Henry isn’t an animal, you know?” He started, taking the controller in his hands so that it gave him something to be distracted and consumed, something to help ignore the nerves he was feeling for some reason. “H-He is there for me even when no one else is, he celebrates with me when I win. And in some way listens to me whenever I'm rambling or even feeling down... I-I know I’m an anti-social otaku that no one cares about and that barely gets out of his room, but…Henry is here with me. Henry isn’t an animal or a pet.” He paused, thinking over his words, a small smile creeping to his lips as he chuckled a bit. This all probably sounded so dumb to someone like Asmodeus but to him it was his truth. “…Henry is my friend. W-which is why...which is why I **** him...”

Levi looked at his brother, a genuine smile as his hands gripped the controller a little lighter now. Expecting to hear him laugh and talk about how ridiculous he was, thinking such a thing. But nothing came from Asmodeus side for a long minute. Instead, there was only silent as he thought about it. Trough the fish tank reflection Asmo looked past himself, something he wouldn’t even consider to do before, but now, his eyes were focused on Levi's reflection, who was looking at him. But he couldn’t find the words to answer him at all. Levi cared for Henry…because Henry was his friend. No matter how he looked at it, it was something so simple to understand, yet Asmodeus couldn’t properly comprehend what it all meant.

“…friend, huh?” He finally spoke, now looking at the small fish that seemed to be completely uninterested in Asmodeus presence. “…you can feel that way towards your friends?” He didn’t know if he was answering Leviathan or if he was talking to himself. All he knew is that he felt a pang of loneliness when the realization settled as his eyes feel to the floor, shoulders visibly slumping.

He didn’t have anyone like that. Sure, he had people that admired and envied him, that wanted to talk and have a connection with him but, nothing was genuine. Nothing would be as sweet and sincere, as the care Leviathan felt for Henry because…because Henry was his friend. Asmodeus chuckled. Perhaps at the irony of the situation or maybe at his revelation, either way, he finally turned to Leviathan, a smile that his brother had never seen pestered in the face of the younger demon as he slowly got up. Walking to his older brother and planting a kiss on Leviathan’s forehead. Only to walk over to the door and opening it. Leviathan wanted to protest, to ask him why had wanted to know about that, or to just try and comfort his brother, but before he could say anything, Asmodeus spoke.

“…thank you, Levi. For telling me.”

It was the quietest he had ever heard his brother being. And yet, there was such a plead in his voice, asking to be left alone, asking to be given the time and space to think. Leviathan didn’t know what was the best option here, but who was here to deny his brother the comfort that came with being alone, to someone that needed it so much?

Philia: Deep, authentic bond. Pure and kind. From which friendships are born.

****

Hi~

Here is the second part of this fanfic! Overall, I really enjoyed writing Levi in this chapter, and I really hope you all had liked it as well! Next chapter will be up next Saturday as well, until then!!

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[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 02 | Crosstalk | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst [later on], humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 10.2K

Last time on SR01: Namjoon introduced you to his friends and you find yourself absorbed into their little group rather quickly. While on your way to a Halloween party hosted at Jimin’s beautiful condo, you admit to your best friend Jennie that you have a crush on the sweet, shy, nerdy Jungkook. This just happens to be the same night he reveals his true nature: fuckboy. Now that’s just embarrassing, isn’t it?

Tags: Fuckboy Jungkook, let’s play some drinking games, dirty jokes, innuendos, friendship feels, jealousy, flashing, sexual tension, dumbBitch reader is drinking her dumbBitchjuice tonight, Tae makes things weird for half a sec, hint of foot fetish?, flirting with Hobi, flirting with Jin, embarrassedJoon who is also a mediator part time, tsundere softYoongi, Jimin is a traitorous snake who lives for the drama, Jungkook is like the kid pulling the pigtails of the girl he likes, tiniest glimpse at softboyeJK underneath

CW:  excessive drinking,  filthy language

Series: Activate your SIMCard Fic: Swipe Right (2/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost. masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It's been months since the fiasco with Jungkook. You do your best to avoid any opportunity to hang with the group in a stationary setting when he’s present, but he’s kind of an unavoidable obstacle at this point. Pissed doesn’t begin to cover your feelings towards him and hurt doesn’t quite do it either. You’re angry about the things he did, the things he said, the way he covered up his true self, but most of all, you’re furious that your feelings didn’t just evaporate with the shift in his persona.

You thought time would heal everything, but so far it’s only turned you bitter about the whole thing. He still smells so fucking good. He’s still got a body like the weightlifting champ he is. He’s still dorky and funny in ways you wouldn’t expect a tool of his calibre to demonstrate. But he’s also a player and a crass asshole. A crasshole. Has he ever stayed with the same girl for more than a few days? You’d wager a confident sum of money that he never has.

Even though you hate his guts, your brain still finds ways to remind you that even if he’s a dick, he’s a dick you’re still attracted to. He’s the kind of dick you suck one night after getting drunk on cheap beer, and in the light of day you are disgusted with everything about it. So don’t get drunk and don’t suck that dick. Easy peasy, especially since fury overtakes you any time you look at him.

Pissed at him? That doesn’t cover it. Pissed at yourself? That’s closer, but it's still not quite all-encompassing. It’s some sort of culmination between the two that has you absolutely livid with the entire situation any time you think about it. He made you feel like a fool. You genuinely liked the person you thought he was, and he embarrassed you. That made not talking to him the way you did when you thought he had the emotional capacity of an actual decent human being hurt even more. At least you know now that he’s got more in common with a lifeless, unfeeling rock.

Not that he hasn’t tried to get you to talk to him. He has, texting you jokes, sending articles on upcoming game titles, spamming invites to a party on xbox live any time you log on, making a point to stand next to you, interrupting all of your conversations with an obnoxious “Hi, Princess!” and pestering you until you acknowledge him. Thankfully Namjoon has kept him from sitting next to you when you carpool, whether it be for dancing, dinner, karaoke, or any other external hangouts. Nevertheless, he still finds a way to annoy you despite the barriers in his path, and you are ready to claw his eyes out at a moment’s notice.

To keep your mind off how your last crush, well, crushed you and continues to let you down, you’ve been downloading and trying out a few different dating apps. You figure it’s time to find someone to connect with, and this is definitely how people do it these days, but your experience has been less than stellar. Jennie helped you set up your profiles and mentioned it in passing to Namjoon, mistakenly believing you told your other bestie about it. He's been teasing you about it every week since, but has been sworn to silence around the others under fear of you telling everyone about the time you caught him making out with a couch pillow.

He doesn't crash on your couch anymore.

Ever since Hoseok and Yoongi moved into the apartment down the hall, he's spent more evenings on their comfy sectional than you can count, but always after binging Kung Fu movies and bringing gratuitous amounts of takeout over your place. You’re grateful for the solitude so you can attempt to converse with strangers via text — maybe even flirt a little. Most of your conversations have become stagnant, but there’s been one guy texting you back and forth for a month now. You’re waiting on him to ask you out since you’re too much of a chickenshit to make the first move.

Now, as you walk down the hall with Namjoon, he elbows your ribs. “So... how’s your Jay-Jay?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Jason is fine.”

“He text you this week?” he asks, stopping in front of the apartment door.

Kind of.

“Mm-hmm!” Your reply is overly enthusiastic and it makes him suspicious.

“Did you text him first?” he questions, pausing before his knuckles touch the door.

Yes. But only because I saw a meme I could use as an excuse to talk to him.

“No.” The tone is questionable so you shake your head violently, scoffing. “I told him I wanted to meet in person.”

“Good. Good. Either he responds or he doesn’t,” he surmises, as if what he said isn’t the most obvious thing in the world. He snakes his hand around the back of your neck, massaging his fingers in circles over muscles you didn’t realize you’d tensed up. “And either way, I’m 100% certain you’re way too good for him. So don’t worry about it so much, okay?”

He snickers when you cast your gaze at the floor with a shy smile. “Joonie… That’s really sweet of you to say. I... Thank you.”

He shrugs off the gratitude with a smirk, trying to not let it get to his head. It’s true and you need to hear it. He clears his throat and knocks, nervously glancing over at you with his other hand still working small circles into the back of your neck. You’ll figure out soon enough that he’s also buttering you up since Jungkook is definitely home tonight, contrary to your belief that he certainly would not be.

The door swings open and a very sweaty, very shirtless Jungkook stands with his leg propped against the door, showcasing every glistening muscle of his body in the dim light. He dons an innocent smile, spreading his stance to push the door open wider and making sure you get a good look at the muscles tensing in his thigh. Your eyes helplessly scan the sculpted lines of his stomach, even as he purposefully flexes to draw the tiniest gasp from your lips. Pert brown nipples threaten to steal your attention, but you drag your eyes to the ink splattered across his skin instead. The myriad of tattoos that line the right side of his body tell a story you don’t have time or desire to explore, and you hate the way that your brain notes the curl of black ink disappearing beneath the band of his shorts and reappearing across his thigh.

“Princess, you made it.” He clicks his tongue with a devilish smirk as he watches you look him up and down with your mouth hanging stupidly agape.

Feeling your fight or flight response kick in, Namjoon’s fingers clamp down hard on your neck to keep you from bolting.

“What is he doing here?” you hiss in your friend’s direction, too distracted to fight against his iron grip on your neck.

“I live here,” Jungkook snorts, crossing his arms. “What? Didn’t you come here to see me?”

The anger on your tongue short circuits the connection your mouth has with your brain. Your jaw snaps shut and you roll your eyes, mirroring his action by folding your arms across your chest.

Jungkook seems amused by your irritation, offering a small laugh. “Client canceled so I decided to do a little exercise at home. Problem?”

He lets his hands drop to his sides, knowingly hooking his thumbs beneath the band of his shorts. Your eyebrow twitches and your jaw tightens. He knows the effect he has on women. He knows the effect he has on you. You’re determined to deny him the satisfaction so you simply stare him down. Douche.

Namjoon forces a dimpled smile to cut the tension. “So... I brought jenga! Do I smell pizza?”

You attempt to push past Jungkook, but he makes sure to bump a sweaty shoulder into you. “I’ve gotta shower. Wanna join?”

If you roll your eyes any harder, you might sever your optic nerve. “Don’t touch me.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Somehow you’ve been stuck with the worst jenga player in the world as your teammate. Namjoon may be a good friend and smart as fuck, but he is terrible at anything requiring coordination. He’s been the only one to knock the tower over. Four times now. That’s four times you’ve had to drink the disgusting gin offered in the form of a shot by Seokjin.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” you declare, wiping the taste of evergreen trees from your mouth as you set the empty shot glass back down. “Jin, jump in for me?”

You sit back in your chair and pulling out your phone to check your messages.The man grimaces at your request. “Do I have to? The odds seem stacked against me. I can only compensate so much, you know.”

Hoseok and Yoongi snicker into their beers and Jimin laughs out loud as he reaches into the communal bowl of popcorn possessively wedged between his teammate and himself.

“I think these teams are very fair,” Taehyung says, licking the salt from his fingers as he sets the last of the blocks back into position.

“I feel like my luck is changing. Different teammate, different energy, come on,” Namjoon assures him, making the first move.

The block slides out without issue and he drops it on top of the tower with a grin. Hoseok hums a thoughtful sound as he pushes a middle block with the tip of his pointer until it falls onto the other side of the table.

“I’m not sure you’re paying enough attention to be the referee,” Jin pouts.

“Are you really so mad that she’s not looking at you?” Jimin teases with a giggle while making his move. “This is one game where you can’t use your face as a bargaining chip, Jin. It’s all skill.”

The older man scoffs, rolling his eyes as he takes a side block and wagging it in your direction. “How will you know if someone cheats if you’re looking at your phone the whole time, hmm?”

“I’ll know,” you mutter, not bothering to look up. “Besides. How do you cheat at jenga? You knock the tower over or you don’t. Team that knocks the tower over does the shots. Those are pretty simple rules.”

Seokjin grumbles something unintelligible underneath his breath in response. You ignore him as you reach for your bottle of spiked root beer, trying to figure out some clever joke that might impress Jason enough to respond to you. You rack your brain, furrowing your brow in contemplation as you stare at the blinking cursor and take a big swig.

Out of the corner of your eye you catch the flash of white and subconsciously spare a glance up. Your stomach flips like it’s trying to win a gymnastics competition and you wish you could press undo on the double take your eyes have just performed without prompt. Maybe he didn’t notice.

Jungkook pauses in the hall, adjusting the white cotton towel around his waist. He’s grinning at you like the cat that ate the canary as he slowly drags his fingers over the edges of the fabric, peeling it from its resting place on his hips. Of course he fucking noticed.

You force your eyes back to the safety of your phone screen just in time, barely missing the flash of his glossy ink-covered skin. When he realizes you’re not watching the show he’s putting on, he fastens the towel around his waist and walks into the light of the den. You swallow, feeling his eyes rake over your form as he passes the table with a loud sigh.

“All clean,” he announces in a singsong voice as he continues towards the kitchen.

You hate the way your jaw threatens to betray you by attempting to drop at the sight of the rippled muscles carved into his upper back and the thick line creased into the meat of his spine. Even with the broad artistic strokes of color swathed across his back in the shape of a phoenix spreading its red-orange wings wide, you can still see the definition of his form chiseled beneath it. You try not to lose yourself in the flawless details painted into his flesh and grind your teeth to keep your jaw wired shut.

Wet, tangled locks of hair fall into his face as he reaches into the refrigerator. When he stands up straight, he arches his back to stretch his chest towards the ceiling. He’s got a tiny jug of banana milk in his palm and he’s working on chugging it down.

He pauses and licks remnants of the cloudy liquid from his lips. “Thirsty. Relatable, right, Y/N?”

You scowl, tapping furiously on your keyboard. “Put some fucking clothes on.”

Jungkook throws his hands in the air in defeat as he casually wanders out of the room. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

Your eyes settle on the tower. Minutes pass and still it hasn’t fallen. Turn after turn around the table, the game has gone on far longer than anticipated. Namjoon is determined to not lose this time; it’s actually kind of impressive how careful he’s been. You’ve almost forgotten about Jungkook until he reappears, this time fully covered in black sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. The tension in the room is palpable. You’re afraid to even breathe in the direction of the wooden blocks precariously stacked on one another.

Hoseok is sweating as he prods the stack with his index finger, making a high-pitched whining sound as he tries to determine his next move. Jungkook wedges himself between Jin and Taehyung, forcing you to acknowledge his presence as he sits on the opposite side of the table and steals a fistful of popcorn.

After a few seconds, Hoseok sighs at Yoongi. “I give up. You do it. We’re a team. I’m gonna knock it over if you don’t,” he whines.

Yoongi rolls his eyes and quickly shoots his finger out at a random block. It flies across the table at Seokjin, causing him to dramatically duck out of the way just in time. The table erupts with laughter.

“Damn, that didn’t do it. I was hoping we could play cards now,” Yoongi mutters to himself.

“Hey, what are you doing? You almost hit me with that! You have to put that on top! Go get it!” Jin yells across the table, mind already heavily clouded with booze. At least he’s laughing so you know that heightened tone doesn’t indicate any serious animosity.

“It’s right next to you. Pick it up and give it to me,” Yoongi replies while leaning over the table, which causes the tower to immediately wobble. Hoseok dramatically gasps, bringing his hands to his mouth. Seokjin picks up the block and slides it across the surface as he gives you a pointed look.

"Isn't this cheating? Don't they forfeit since it was on Hobi’s turn?"

"They're technically a team.” You shrug.

"You are a terrible referee," he groans, rubbing his temple as Yoongi carelessly throws the piece on top.

Taehyung and Jimin fervently whisper to each other over their strategy before Taehyung reaches out for an easy-looking target. The slightest touch sends the blocks crashing down, causing the man to blink in disbelief.

“Time to drink up your handsome competitor. Gin served by Jin.” He snickers.

Jimin and Taehyung cringe as Jin slides two shot glasses full of the vile liquid towards them. They link elbows and tilt their heads back, downing the burning liquid in solidarity. Jimin seems unaffected while Taehyung’s face scrunches up and he coughs.

“It burns!” he sputters, clutching his chest. He walks into the kitchen, dragging his tongue across his palm as though it will remove the taste from his mouth.

“Thank god. I don’t think I could have stomached another,” Namjoon murmurs, rising to his feet. “Be right back.”

As soon as he heads off in the direction of the restroom, the others start cleaning up the mess of blocks scattered across the table and Yoongi begins shuffling a deck of cards. Jungkook takes the opportunity to slide into the empty seat beside you. You toss an annoyed glance his way in warning. “Can I help you, Jungkook?”

“You could if you weren’t so busy pretending like you don’t want to look at me.” His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he smiles innocently when you look up from your phone to glare daggers at him.

“You’re in Namjoon’s seat.”

He ignores your statement, peering over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your phone screen. “Who are you texting? Is it your hot friend?”

“She doesn’t want to bang you, dude,” you tell him in a flat tone, flicking the power button to hide the message.

“Oh, just like you?” he asks, unable to hide the amusement striking his features.

After years of practicing this song and dance with other women, he’s grown accustomed to everyone wanting a piece of this cookie. There’s no way you’re immune, especially after his performance on the ocarina a few months ago. He charmed you before you could sink your teeth into his neck and do the same to him, and now you're mad about it. That’s your category, right? Your spite is obviously a cover for your disappointment.

Unless it isn’t. His conviction wavers as your jaw tightens and you take a swig from the dark bottle on the table. People don’t get close unless they want to get fucked. Literally. But you are Joon’s ‘friend’ and you seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him, at least for a little while. Most people are good at faking the first time, but it’s been a while and you’re still here. What if you’re actually hanging around his friends for all the right reasons? What if you had something other than shallow intentions? What if he actually hurt your feelings? He sinks back in his seat, silently stewing in his assumptions.

You set your phone face down on the table, a forced manic smile settling on Yoongi. “What are we playing?”

The man spreads the cards face down over the table in a circle, placing a single shot in the center. “It’s called the circle of death. There are a bunch of ways to play so I’m just gonna pick my favorites.”

He gets up, taking the magnetic whiteboard off the refrigerator and furiously scribbling notes on its surface. You crane your neck to get a good read, but it’s still fairly challenging to make out his chicken scratch.

“There’s a lot you can pick up after hours at bartending school. I had fun playing this with the other people in my class but it’ll probably be even better with you guys.”

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ  RULES:

A - Face

2 - You

3 - Me

4 - Floor

5 - Jive

6 - Forehead master

7 - Heaven

8 - Hate

9 - Rhyme

10 - Social

J - Never

Q - Eat

K - Rulemaker

Joker - Waterfall

Your eyebrows furrow at the words you can make out. “This seems complicated.”

Yoongi scoffs, setting the board on the counter and leaning it against the wall. “Trust me. It’s not as bad as it seems. Besides this will be right here in case you forget.”

“Does that say eat? Yoongi, what the fuck does that mean?” You tilt your head to the side and try to read the list in its entirety but still at a loss for what it means.

Hoseok scratches his head, equally as stumped by the list.

“I’ll go over the rules once everyone is back at the table. I have a feeling I’ll be repeating them enough once we start.”

You slump in your chair with a pout as you proceed to polish off your beverage. Namjoon returns and sees his spot has been taken.

"Kook," he warns, tapping his friend in the shoulder to try to get him to move over.

Namjoon isn't stupid in the slightest. He may lack common sense at times and he definitely is the clumsiest person in the room, but perception is his strength. What do you get when you add up the subtle glances, the nervous stutters, and shy smiles? Multiply that sum by the times you've tucked your hair behind your ear needlessly, gotten starry-eyed while talking, or claimed a seat nearby. Tallying your distracted behaviors yields a simple answer: a crush.

You don't have to say anything. You never have to say anything because you wear that shame so well. Even subtracting the stunt Jungkook pulled on Halloween and the distance you've put down since then, it's not enough to negate the total. You say you hate him, but those glances are still there. Pressing your lips tight to keep yourself from smiling has become your default defensive tactic. Playing with your hair quickly turns into tugging loose strands back into a ponytail. It’s almost painful to watch. He wonders if anyone else sees it for what it is because Jungkook sure doesn’t.

Staying out of it is tough because he knows both sides. But it’s not his place to spill the tea to either one of you. You’re both his friends and it’s hard not to feel like the mediator that he definitely doesn’t want to be. You’re adults. You can figure your shit out without him to take care of every little thing. Yeah, it would be easier just to do it all for you, but you’ll never learn that way and neither will he. However, that doesn’t mean he can’t drop some caution tape out every once in a while.

Jungkook digs his heels into the floor and huffs. “But I like this seat and you got up so it’s mine now.”

“Joonie, it’s fine.” You manage to keep the irritation out of your voice, talking over the man to your left like he’s not even there. “He’ll get bored eventually. Don’t feed the troll.”

Namjoon shakes his head and takes a seat on the opposite side of Jungkook, grumbling how you’re going to come crying to him later when Jungkook snaps your bra straps or some shit and his friend is gonna end up with a black eye but whatever not his problem. At least that’s the gist of what you get out of your friend’s griping. He may have a point, but you’re not going to acknowledge that. You’re busy looking at the plastic cup full of beer set down in front of you.

You crinkle your nose at Yoongi but he answers before you can ask. “Everyone is drinking the same thing. Even playing field. Not really fair if someone's got more alcohol in their drink."

You catch Taehyung's eyes across the table and mirror his disgusted expression, both of you sticking your tongue out at the liquid.

"Alright. There's only one rule you really need to be worried about in the beginning: my rule to keep you all from getting distracted. If you touch your phone, whoever catches you is allowed to send any message to any contact in it.”

Jungkook grins wickedly at you, noticing the way you drop your mobile device on the table and leave it where it lands face down. Yoongi goes over the rules one by one and gives an example of each being used. Everyone blinks at him stupidly once he gets to the Queen and delivers a deadpan explanation that whoever pulls that card has to eat it. None of you are drunk enough to believe him, so he scribbles the rule out on the whiteboard and writes a question mark instead. He sets the board back in place and continues with his explanation, looking at everyone expectantly.

He points at the board behind him, not bothering to look back at it. "This is here in case you forget what any of the cards mean, but we’ll go slow since there are eight of us.”

A full round around the table and you are all feeling pretty comfortable and giggly. Some of the more tame cards have made their way into the discard pile beside Yoongi.

Jin pulled an eight and made Tae drink until he said stop, which was hilarious and equally terrifying when you realized someone could do the same to you. Luckily the enemy beside you didn’t have the pleasure.

Taehyung pulls a King and tries to make a weird rule that any time a four is played and you’re all scrambling to the floor, the last one to touch the ground has to kiss the feet of the cardholder. When you collectively agree you are not doing that he huffs and makes a rule that for the rest of the game if you have to drink, you have to dirty talk your beer before taking a sip. This rule makes you determined not to lose any rounds.

Laughter erupts from the table when Yoongi calls his drink a filthy little slut before having to take a sip. Hobi is so thrilled when Yoongi pulls a five and starts dancing immediately after that he ended up cackling instead of focusing on the game. He’s less than thrilled about needing to drink after missing the opportunity to dance so he ends up glaring at his drink.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, you filthy bitch? You want me to put my hands around your throat, put my tongue on you and drink up? Alright then.” He coos a ridiculous sound at his cup and guffaws before taking a huge swig.

Jimin covers his eyes and laughs, downing the rest of his drink like it’s water without a thought of whether he was supposed to or not. He gets up to refill his cup as an excuse to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“Hobi’s upping the game. Woooooow.” Jin leans back in his chair, mouth agape with wonder before bursting into a squeaky laugh.

You gulp, hoping everyone is too distracted by their own laughter to notice the way your legs clamp together. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual. Fuck. Hobi. I gotta text Jennie. She’s not gonna believe this. No, don’t touch your phone. Don’t look at anyone. Just wait for your turn to pick a card.

Hobi pulls a three and has to drink again. “Ah. This slut wants more. Here we go, baby.”

You desperately scan the circle of facedown cards, a smile forcefully smattered on your features. You strain to reach the one you’re trying for. Hoseok slides it towards you with an innocent smile, as though those lips weren’t just spewing absolute filth. “I hope it’s a good one.”

Your eyes drop to the card as you flip it back on the table. Jack. You squint at the board, trying to figure out what “Never” means when Yoongi puts three fingers up.

“Alright, Y/N. This is Never Have I Ever. We all put our fingers up like this. You come up with something you’ve never done and say it out loud. If any of us have done those things,” he pauses and drops a finger so he only has two standing tall, “then we put them down. First one to have no fingers up has to drink.”

Oh no. What haven’t I done? What haven’t I done? The guys all expectantly wait for you to say something. You purse your lips as your mind blanks on every moment you’ve ever experienced.

“Never have I ever…” your mouth is dry. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi laughs. “Don’t think too hard. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy, but it does have to be true. It’s not fun otherwise. People have different goals. You can use it to learn or you can just try get as many people to drink as possible.”

Suddenly a lightbulb goes off in your head. They’re all men. “Never have I ever peed standing up.”

Everyone around the table puts a finger down. The mirth in Yoongi’s face becomes strained and his eyelids flutter as he sighs. “Careful. There are a lot of cards left and you’re about to make yourself a target.”

You press on anyway. “Never have I ever had sex with a woman.”

A few of them tut in annoyance as they’re all left with one finger up.

Jungkook pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek. “You’re not living your best life then.”

You furrow your brow while trying to think of another easy thing that could get them all to lose. Tapping your fingers on the table, you make an effort to focus on each one’s concentrated gaze. It comes to you and you filter your bottom lip through your teeth for a moment. Have they...? You’d bet they all have.

Jungkook rolls his eyes at you. “Come on, Princess. Just say whatever it is.”

“Never have I ever been to a strip club.”

There’s a collective sigh as their hands drop and they stare at their drinks. You grin like a maniac, taking in the garbled sounds of each one dirty-talking their drinks like it’s a goddamn orgy.

Jungkook looks over at you, making sure he has your attention as he offers an amused smile. “You really haven’t been to Wings?”

You’ve seen signs for that club, hating to admit the ads garnered intrigue. It’s split down the middle, supposedly one side angelic and the other hellish. “Nope. Drink up, Jungkook.”

He maintains eye contact with you, bringing his drink to his lips. “Maybe I can get you to come. Will you give me permission to taste you?” He tilts his head back and makes a show of closing his eyes and slowly slurping his beverage. You narrow your eyes at him before he puts the cup back down. “Delicious. My turn.”

He flips the card. “King. Ooh. My rule. Starting now, every time you say something you have to start with the word hashtag and end with dotcom.”

“Jungkook, that’s so stupid,” you say without thinking.

“Hashtag, drink up Princess, dotcom,” he replies with an impish grin.

You bite your lip and stare at your drink. How could you be so careless? They all lean in, waiting for the words to leave your mouth. You hold your hands up in a T-shape. “Hold up. Time out. Pause the game. I need some clarity. Do I have to say hashtag dotcom thing WHILE talking to my drink?”

Namjoon looses it, laughing like a maniac. “Hashtag, I think you fucking do Y/N dotcom.”

Jungkook just smiles, crossing his arms and waiting for you to continue. God, you fucking hate him. This is the dumbest rule you’ve ever heard. It’s going to get old fast. Still, you stare down at your cup. “Hashtag… Uh… I’m gonna... s-slurp your fluids out now, dotcom?”

Jungkook’s obnoxious laugh is piercing your eardrums as you down a few big gulps. The rest of the table roars with laughter and heat burns your cheeks, not daring to make eye contact with any one of them.

“W-What was that?!” Jin yells. “You sound like an alien! Can I give you some pointers, please?”

“Hashtag, Seokjin! You forgot dotcom!” Jungkook says, pointing to his friend’s cup.

Jin curses under his breath and stares at his cup. “Hashtag, this is how you do it, Y/N.” He focuses on his cup without missing a beat, raising it up to the sky longingly like he’s about to start serenading it. “You wish you could hear me say this every day, don’t you? You love how my mouth feels on you. I can tell by the way you’re dripping for me, my lovely. Dot. Com.” He makes a point to run his tongue along the rim of his cup and takes a sip.

Fuck these guys. But also… Fuck? These guys? You’re one dirty comment away from soaking your panties, but they don’t need to know that.

“Hashtag I’m sorry I’m not a slut like the rest of you. Also Seokjin, you’re a bitch, dotcom,” you grumble, gripping your knees to keep your hands off your phone. Jennie will absolutely scream once you tell her about this night. She’ll be sad she missed out.

Jin’s eyes go wide as though you smacked his ass in front of the world, a smile is taking over the corners of his mouth. “Hashtag, stop trying to flirt with me, dotcom.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help the shy smile that creeps in. Jungkook sits up straight and sighs dramatically. “Hashtag let’s keep going so we can get the rest of this bread dotcom.”

Jimin pulls a king and has made the rule that hashtag dotcom is abolished. It comes as a relief when you’re a few more rounds in, and everyone has already consumed way more booze than expected because of Jungkook’s rule. An uneventful round of drinking passes before Seokjin pulls the last King out.

“A rule, hmm? Alright. When you ask someone to drink you have to hold their chin, stare longingly into their eyes, and ask them to drink.” He demonstrates, holding Taehyung’s jaw in his fingers. “Like this. Will you please drink for me, my dear friend, Taehyung?”

Tae bashfully giggles waving his hand away. “You’re too much sometimes. I think you need a girlfriend.”

Since it only applies for certain cards, you end up forgetting about it as multiple turns come and go without utilizing it. Your turn rises again and you slide the eight face up across the table. After kicking your chair with his feet for the millionth time, you completely forget about the rule Jin made and pick based on your irritation. Eight is hate indeed.

“Jungkook, go until I say stop.”

The words feel satisfying as they leave your mouth, but Namjoon grimaces, anxiously baring both sets of teeth.

“Uh… You gotta…” Namjoon taps his cheeks twice with his fingertips.

Horror replaces that smug satisfaction in the pit of your stomach and it churns a sickness deep inside that pit.

Jungkook cocks his head at you. “You really wanna put your hands on me that badly, huh?”

You exhale loudly and tightly grip his chin with sweaty, hot fingers. Your eyes threaten to burn holes into his. “Jungkook, go until I say stop.”

He’s stunned into silence for a second, adam’s apple bobbing ever so slightly. He blinks at you a couple times before regaining his composure. Who knew princesses can breathe fire? Grabbing his cup, he grins and chuckles an amused sound even as you’re tearing yourself from him.

“Don’t worry I can go all night when you taste so good, baby,” he says, tilting his head back as he drinks.

You keep an eye on his cup, watching the liquid slowly disappear. You have to be careful not to let him finish, but you kind of want him to suffer a little bit. Even though he drinks like a fish, he’s still not on Jimin’s level. This has to be affecting him somehow. He watches you through an annoyed side-eye when you don’t say a word, not allowed to stop until you say so or until he finishes his drink. Your phone chooses this exact moment to vibrate a long sound against the table and your concentrated gaze wanders for a second too long, allowing him to gulp down the remnants of his drink.

Jungkook slams his empty cup down in time for you to look back at him in horror before looking at your own full cup. The room fills with the sound of everyone “ooooh-ing” like this is the sixth grade. With a heavy sigh, you bring your cup to your lips.

“I was distracted. I would have said stop.”

Jungkook leans his elbow on the table and rests his head on a folded palm. His smile tells you he’s ready to dish it back. “Mmm-hmm. Go on. Oh… Wait.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw in his hands so lightly, like it could disintegrate at the slightest touch. He leans his head back slightly, soft eyes imploring you to move closer. He slides his fingers up your jawline, nestling them behind your ears like he’s about to draw you to his lips. “Will you be good and drink that for me until I ask you to stop?”

Jin scoffs. “Wow. Look at this guy.”

The others hold back their snickers. Your eyebrow twitches, smacking his hands away from you. Instead you focus on the cup in your sweaty palms.

“I can’t wait to feel you… dripping from my mouth,” you whisper to your cup, trying to redeem yourself for earlier and doing your best not to think about how fucking good it felt having Jungkook’s hands wrapped around the sides of your face. You don’t spare a look at any of them as you tilt your head back and start gulping the liquid down.

“Much better,” Yoongi says with a smirk, but you don’t hear him over the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Namjoon smacks his hand to his forehead. “Yeah... I’m gonna need you to dial it back just a bit. I still have to see you at work.”

Jin pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “Ah, maybe our Zelda isn’t so bad at this after all.”

Jimin, Taehyung and Hobi all have their elbows on the table, cheeks in their palms as they watch your throat make its swallowing motions. They simultaneously grunt differing words of affirmation. About three quarters through, Jungkook puts his hand on the bottom of your cup.

“Stop.”

Mercy? From Jungkook? You don’t believe it, but you’ve been struggling so you’re kind of grateful. Just as you’re about to put the cup down, he taps the bottom of it, forcing liquid to splash upwards onto your chin. You slap his hand away as he cackles and you wipe your lips.

“Fuck you, Jungkook.”

“What time, sweetheart?” He grins when you glare at him.

“Just pick your fucking card before I strangle you.”

“Kinky. You know, I might let you if you asked nicely.”

You get the pitcher of beer from the fridge and start refilling everyone’s cups. He pulls a card that has him whispering dirty words into the rim of his empty cup, holding it out for you to fill. At least most of the cards seem to be gone now. You hate to admit you’re feeling a bit dizzy and out of sorts, but you reason that it’s just a few more rounds, so maybe you just sip on water after this game is over.

Just as you get back to your seat, Namjoon throws a sheepish grin your way. “Joker.”

“There’s only one of these,” Yoonngi begins, looking around the room to make sure he has everyone’s attention. “Waterfall is when everyone starts drinking and you can’t stop until the person to your right stops. Namjoon can stop whenever he wants, but Jin has to wait until he’s done. Then Taehyung waits until Jin is done. Make sense?”

Normally the waterfall card is played in the opposite direction, but there’s so much tension between you and Jungkook tonight and he’s so used to his friend getting his way with women that he can’t help wanting to give you the edge on him. Everyone nods. The realization dawns on everyone that before this can happen, they all have to do two things per the rules.

One after another the guys ask the person to their left to drink while gripping their chins. It would be a fairly intimate scene if people weren’t giggling every three seconds. Still, your heart damn near skips a beat when Hobi’s slender fingers curl under your jaw, drunkenly pulling you closer to his face than you’ve ever dared to get. Heat builds in your stomach and travels up your chest, spreading across your back and prickling your neck. You hope it doesn’t move into your cheeks.

“You gonna take this drink, Y/N?” he aks, unable to hold the giggles in as he wags your head back and forth in his steady hands.

Oh… He’s fucking gone, isn’t he? “For you? Maybe,” you flirt, rubbing your shoulder against his as you turn away.

Jungkook sits up straight, muscles tensing as you twist your body towards him. Suddenly, he looks a lot bigger than you remember. Is he puffing out his chest? You wilt under his irritated stare but are determined not to let it show. You slip your fingers underneath his chin, just barely registering the stubble there. Your slow blink hides the flutter of your eyelashes, alcohol clouding your brain with desire. But damn if the room isn’t still spinning. He flashes you boyish grin when you clap your palm to his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Yes?”

“Drink up, buttercup,” you giggle, pinching your fingers closed beneath his jaw.

A choked laugh escapes him. “You should sit this one out. At this rate, you’ll be passed out with your face on the toilet seat in an hour.”

You spin back to your drink with fury in your eyes; if there’s anything you hate more than Jungkook, it’s being told what to do. Especially by Jungkook. I’ll show you, asshole.

Everyone turns to their cups and mutters a few dirty words before Namjoon begins the circle of drinking. One by one the cups come down, everyone seemingly grateful for the person before them showing at least some kind of mercy. You slow your gulping when you realize Jimin is dragging it out in an attempt to annoy Yoongi. Both of them still seem surprisingly sober for the amount they’ve ingested. Maybe they don’t wear their intoxication as easily as the rest of you. Hobi exchanges a worried glance at you, trying to not let it slip that he’s only pretending to down his beverage, but you can tell by the steady level of the liquid in his cup that he’s pretty much ready to tap out.

As soon as Jimin finally pulls his cup back from his lips, Yoongi stops, immediately followed by Hobi. Yoongi is keenly aware of his roommate’s inability to hold down liquor in large quantities. He doesn’t fare much better with beer. Saving his friend means you can be saved too. He looks at you, raising his eyebrows in warning. You spare a fleeting glance in his direction, but it’s long enough to catch his message loud and clear: Don’t be an idiot, Y/N. Don’t go overboard.

But you turn your attention to Jungkook, who is still effortlessly allowing his beverage to slither down his throat. You gulp in segments, a commendable attempt to keep yourself going. Even for all your efforts, booze spills from the corners of your mouth and leaves cold sloppy trails down your neck as you watch Jungkook. He’s not even struggling. Fuck. You finally give up, allowing the cup to smack down on the table with a messy splash.

He keeps going just to spite you, polishing off his drink with a smack of his lips and a satisfied sigh. He rises from his seat, patting your shoulder as he gets himself more to consume. “It’s cute how hard you tried.”

The final round passes and you are ready to strangle Jungkook for the way he keeps knocking his knees against yours. It’s gotten to the point where you’ve moved your chair so close to Hobi’s that he’s put his arm around you, thinking you are just as sleepy as he is. Truth be told you kind of are. The room is a little too spinny for your liking, but you can’t seem to persuade your brain to make your legs get up and get yourself a glass of water.

“You want to nap too?” he whispers, rubbing the eyes he can hardly keep open. “Come here. Let’s sleep together.”

The innocent words make your stomach spin in place but you don’t have time to ruminate on them. Jungkook hooks his ankle around your chair and jerks it back towards him. Furious eyes flicker on him in warning just as Hobi’s cheek slumps over your shoulder and draws your attention away. Luckily Yoongi springs into action to keep his friend from falling any further into your personal space than he already has.

“Okay, Hobi. We get it. You need to sleep,” he chuckles, cradling his friend’s arm around his shoulder as he helps him to his feet.

Hoseok weakly grumbles a sound of acknowledgement as they shuffle down the hall into what you assume is a guest room. Their apartment is bigger than any you’ve seen so you find yourself wondering just how many guest rooms they could possibly have. Then you remind yourself that it doesn’t matter because you are definitely not staying because getting an uber is always an option.

When Yoongi returns alone, people have started migrating into the living room. Jungkook and Jin are still seated, heatedly talking about some game nearby, but you’ve elected to ignore them in favor of checking your messages. Jason has sent you a few messages that have piqued your interest, including one finally asking you on a date. Does ignoring guys really fucking work? Was Namjoon right about something in his life? You don’t want to believe it.

The words in Jason’s message blur together, despite how hard you’re concentrating on them. You’d told him you were out with friends. He must have known you’d be relatively unavailable so maybe it’s okay that you’re in no shape to formulate a coherent response. Still you stare at the keyboard, jumping when an arm reaches over you to place a glass of water on the table for you.

You blink a few times at Yoongi, who simply whispers a gruff “drink” before grabbing the shot left in the center of the table and downing it as he joins the majority of his friends in the other room. Jungkook looks over at you, eyes dropping to your open conversation when you absentmindedly set your phone down. You take the cold glass in both hands and narrow your eyes in Yoongi’s direction as you swallow down a good portion of the liquid.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It’s been an hour and if you’re honest you’ve just barely teetered back into the moderately drunk category. Yoongi had offered to take you home when he was getting ready to leave since he was already chauffeuring Namjoon. At the time you declined because you were certain that your natural predisposition to motion sickness would be amplified by the liquor in your system. You didn’t want to make Yoongi’s new car smell like puke. Namjoon has this habit of texting when he’s worried. Even after he left you’d been going back and forth about the night. Honestly it’s kind of helping keep you from passing out and you’re reminded how grateful you are for his friendship.

Sitting on the couch next to Jimin may have also influenced your decision since the man literally smells how vacations feel — and god do you need to relax. He’s also acted as a barrier between you and Jungkook, who has his legs stretched out across the cushions to Jimin’s right. Jungkook has been engrossed in his phone since you left the table, opting out of switching off with Taehyung when he dies in-game. You’re kind of thankful for it. Maybe he’s finally settled down for the night. Does he get more polite with drowsiness?

Jimin smiles softly at you, his arms draped over the back of the couch. The pair of you have been quietly conversing and giggling over the platformer Seokjin and Taehyung have been playing. Jimin’s face still looks a little flush with alcohol, but he only just finished his last beverage for the night. How the hell can someone so tiny pack away so much liquor? You hold in a shiver as his fingertips playfully dance along your shoulder, trying not to let on how the action affects you. His harmless flirting only bolsters confidence hiding in the depths of your mind and you stretch your arms up with a yawn and lean against him, knowingly giving him a better view of the cleavage poking out from beneath the v-cut of your shirt.

Jimin allows a devilish smile to curl at his lips as his fingers walk down your arm. He puts both hands back on the couch, like you’d made the move unprompted by his touching. “Hmm. You’re pretty bold, aren’t you?” His whisper is low and breathy, so quiet you almost miss it. What a tease.

“Hey. Jimin. Come here.”

The unusually quiet Jungkook knocks his foot against his friends knee, which pushes Jimin’s thigh up against yours. You softly sigh at the contact and the subsequent loss when Jungkook sits up and Jimin apologetically scoots away. You plant an elbow on the armrest beside you and prop your cheek up on your palm. Seokjin is carrying Taehyung through this level it seems.

“Do you think I should tap that?” The words are loud enough to distract you so you can’t help but turn your head in their direction.

“I think she might be out of your league,” Jimin giggles. “Besides she’s older than you. I thought that bothered you?”

“Oh. No way. I love it. When they have more experience I don’t have to work as hard,” he replies with a lofty sigh.

“Are you sure about that in this case? You’re very presumptuous.”

Your blood heats up the back of your neck. Why are men so disgusting? You grit your teeth, unable to hold in the sound of disgust that makes its way through them.

Jungkook’s head snaps up and he locks eyes with you. There’s something smug about his expression, like he’s stupidly proud of pulling that reaction from you. “Aw, are you feeling left out, princess? Here, see for yourself. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

When he flips his screen around your own profile is staring back at you. Straightening your spine and reaching across Jimin’s lap for him, you hiss, “Jungkook, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Why?” He tilts his head to one side, feigning confusion and looks at the profile again. “I think she’s pretty hot.”

“If you match with me, I will not swipe right on you. You know that, right? So this whole thing is pointless,” you reason, more for yourself than the two men beside you. “You’re not gonna get to me. It’s not gonna fucking work, Jungkook.”

Jimin’s shoulders tremble with soft, mellifluous laughter that spills from his lips as he takes in the exchange. It’s apparent that Jungkook has already gotten under your skin. Denying it is only making you angrier.

“Fine. Fine. It’s gone now, see,” Jungkook says, briefly flashing you the home screen of his phone before putting it away. The image of that big tiddy anime girl behind all those icons is going to haunt your dreams; you can feel it.

You get up to get yourself more water. “I hate you so much.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It’s late. Seokjin left a few minutes ago and Jimin rubs his eyes, unsure what to do. The selfish part of his brain tells him he should claim the other guest room. The horny part of his brain tells him he should suggest you share with him. The exhausted part of his brain tells him to just pass out in Taehyung’s bed and let him figure it out.

“You’re welcome to stay, too. We have room for you,” Taehyung says with a kind smile. “There’s another guest room.”

You still don’t feel well enough to drive or sit in a cab. You sit with your hands folded in your lap, pondering your shitty life choices. You’ve become pretty good friends, but a sleepover seems a bit strange without your bestie Namjoon to buffer out all of the awkward moments.

You smile as sweetly as you can manage, your voice small and borderline whiny in its need for sleep. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want to be a bother. Thank you, Taehyung.”

The man rolls his eyes. “I won’t allow you to sleep on a couch when we have beds.”

“Your couch is comfier than my actual bed,” you joke, patting the plush cushions on either side of you.

Jungkook walks in, shirtless and scrubbing a toothbrush furiously in his mouth. He tries to speak but it’s unintelligible, so he turns back around to finish up.

“It’s really okay. I should stay up and finish my water anyway and I don’t want to keep you guys up. I drank a little too much.”

“No shit,” Jungkook sighs as he rounds the corner and leans against the wall. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay up with you, Princess.”

Taehyung flashes his friend a pointed look and opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when Jungkook continues.

“You guys go on. I’ll make sure she drinks up her water and gets to bed.”

You glare at him as Taehyung moves in to whisper something to him, but you lose focus as Jimin pulls you into a tight hug that you can’t help but return.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he mumbles into the fabric of your hoodie. “I’m glad you’re a part of our family.”

You squeeze his shoulder before he shuffles down the hall and disappears into the bathroom. “Goodnight, Y/N!”

Taehyung offers a boxy smile and a small wave, demeanor changed after his side conversation with Jungkook. “Don’t take off without having breakfast. Seokjin will come back and make something tasty. Also I put your keys in my studio so good luck finding them if you try.”

You half laugh, half scoff. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. ‘Night.”

“Goodnight,” he says, passing Jungkook a tight lipped smile on his way down the hall.

Jungkook waits until he hears the door close before he speaks and for the first time since you met him, his tone borderlines concerned. “Be honest with me. How sick are you right now?”

Your throat swallows down a thick mass of air. “I’m fine.”

“Tch. Okay, Princess,” he scoffs in disbelief, taking slow steps towards you with his hands buried in the pockets of his black sweatpants. “Do you need a bucket?”

“No.” You drink down your water, trying to focus on anything but the way your body is producing enough sweat to make you want to discard your hoodie as soon as he leaves you alone.

A door opens down the hall and Jimin shuffles out before disappearing into another room. The quiet click of the door closing causes Jungkook to sigh. 

Spinning. The room is spinning again. You hold the cold glass in your hands like it’s your lifeline, shut your eyes and throw your head back to rest it against the couch. You don’t notice when he leaves, but you definitely notice the cold cloth pressed to your forehead when he returns.

“Do you want comfier clothes?” he quietly asks, voice bereft of any humor as he sinks into the cushion beside you.

You open your eyes and glare at him like this is some prank he’s playing on you but you’re not sure how. “No.”

He rolls his eyes. “Suit yourself. I get hella hot when I’m drunk off my ass. Figured I’d ask.”

“I’m not...” you begin, trying to bring your head to rise. It feels heavy and plops back down on the seat.

“You’re drunk,” he states plainly. “And miserable. So drink up the rest of the water and I’ll show you to the guest room. It’ll be embarrassing if any of my friends wake up to you looking so pathetic. Come on.”

He helps you bring the cup to your lips and tilts your head forward enough to safely consume the rest of the water in your glass.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“If you think this is what nice guys are like, I feel bad for you.” He puts the glass down in the kitchen sink, briefly rinsing it.

“Jungkook,” you whine, an exasperated sigh passing your lips with his name.

“What? Your judgement of character is way outta whack. It’s just sad,” he explains, crossing the room while rubbing fresh lotion up his arms. Washing dishes makes his skin feel itchy.

“Alright. Come on. Up.” He waves his arms lets them weakly smack his thighs when you don’t move.

A whiff of sweet peaches and soft jasmine pervades your nostrils. Why does he have to smell so fucking good? He removes the cool cloth from your forehead, earning a whine from you.

“You’ll get a new one when you get in bed. I can carry you, if that’s easier.”

“Tell me why you’re doing this. I don’t get it. What do you want?”

“I want to go to sleep so I can be lazy tomorrow and do nothing but play video games.” When you don’t budge he sighs and sits down beside you again. “And... because... you’re Namjoon’s friend and he asked us to look out for you... And now you’re all of my friends’ friend… And I guess that makes you my responsibility.”

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting you to just decide you’re gonna be nice out of the blue,” you weakly smirk and let your head roll to the side so you can look at him. “Should have known it was Namjoon.

He hums an amused sound. “Yeah. Now are you going to let me get you in bed?”

You’re able to force your head up at that. “I can get myself in bed just fine thanks.”

He laughs. “Your loss.”

You stand on unsteady legs. “Where am I going?”

Jungkook grins, entertained by your lack of coordination. “That’s a good question. Where are you going, Princess?”

You stumble a bit, reaching out to steady yourself with a wall that is definitely too far to grab. Long, tattooed fingers grip your shoulders in an instant. The heat of his massive chest presses against your shoulder blades. Even through your layers of clothing you can feel how hot his skin burns and it makes you shiver, despite the way you’re soaked with sweat.

“Don’t make me ask you for help,” you plead. “Please don’t.”

“Do you want me to pretend like you didn’t beg for it, too?” he whispers, curling a muscular bicep around your back and guiding you down the hall. As he passes the thermostat, he makes a point to lower the temperature a few degrees. Jimin, Hobi, and Tae will survive. But then again, he’s not worried about them at all, is he?

“Haven’t you embarrassed me enough?” You voice cracks and you’re barely managing to hold back the tears threatening to spill out.

He doesn’t say a word as you cling to the strength of his body, looping your arms around his neck and waist as though he isn’t the last person in the world you want to tangle yourself in. He pushes the door to his room open with his shoulder, making sure you get across the threshold okay before helping you awkwardly waddle over to the unmade bed. You don’t seem to notice, and if you do, you definitely don’t comment.

Your hoodie is falling from your shoulders as you climb onto the mattress. Jungkook grabs the fabric and slings it over his shoulder. You’ve landed at a weird angle across the pillows and show no signs of correcting your position so he moves the pillows beneath your head to comfortably accommodate you. You slowly blink at him, but you’re not seeing him. Silent tears rolling down your cheeks as he grabs the thinnest sheet on his bed and pulls it over your form up to your shoulders. He chooses to ignore the way you quickly swipe them away and instead goes to get the cold towel he promised.

Standing in the sink with ice cold water running over the cloth in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the air around him, knowing no one will ever hear it.

When he returns he waits a moment, looking for the steady rise and fall of your chest. He smooths the hair from your face before pressing the cold cloth against your sweaty forehead, turning your head to the side just in case your body decides it isn’t quite ready to rest. He lightly pats your head a couple times and leaves the room, delicately closing the door behind him.

As he makes the journey back to the couch, he feeds his arms through the sleeves of your hoodie. He settles down on the couch, feeling the warmth of the space you’d been occupying all night beneath his head. Pulling down the blanket from atop the back of the couch, he brings his knees to his chest. He bunches the soft, excess material of your hoodie in his palms and turns his head into the fabric, allowing himself a subtle inhale.

Why do you have to smell so fucking good?