#IM NOT DOING IT TO MAKE YOU GUYS WORK FOR ME I SWEAR I JUST HAVE ALOT OF IDEAS THAT ID LIKE TO SHARE WITH ALL OF YOU GUYS

[mageofmadness]

◞♡ nsfw

caleb’s definitely a just the tip type of guy you cannot tell me he wouldn’t beg for it like anywhere and everywhere all the damn time. does not matter where you are, what time it is, etc. sometimes he doesn’t even care to come...he’s not trying to fuck you and fill you up, he just wants inside of your cunt because it’s been a long day and surely you missed him too and he can’t help it, it’s his favorite place to be. so warm and you’re always so wet and sweet and he’s got such a silver tongue “just the tip, honey. i’m sorry, you just look so good. i can’t stand it...can’t wait ‘til we get back home" so of course you agree because you did miss him, but you also know his tricks by now and it’s hardly ever just the tip.

sure, it might start that way. maybe you’re pressed up against the bathroom wall, having both slipped out during an important work gala because “i didn’t like the way they were looking at you. i haven’t left your side all night, who do they think they are?” and you know you don’t have enough time to fuck so you agree because caleb looks so handsome, how could you deny him anything? he hurriedly hikes your dress up and you give him some credit when he lifts your hip, notching the tip of his cock against your hole, but then he presses in and in and in until the tip he’d promised is so deep inside of you, your legs are starting to shake.

“im sorry, fuck. i-i'm sorry, i can't help it. fuck, how are you so tight? always so tight. it’s not my fault, baby. if you didn’t want me this deep, why are you trying to fuck yourself back on my cock, huh?” and you are. you're squirming and trying to adjust to his size and now you wish he’d move instead of pinning you against the wall with his cock splitting you open.

or maybe you’re on the couch, worn out after a long day, and he’s promising just the tip. nothing more this time...he swears.

“you don’t have to do anything, baby. i know you’re tired, i’m sorry. i know, it’s been so long, though, honey. please, pips. all i could think about all day was coming home to you and you smell so nice and and and…” and maybe caleb really does mean it this time, but either way, he always takes care of you. he can have whatever he wants.

his cock is so heavy when the tip rests against your hole, both of you already weeping for it, and he groans, sliding in just enough. he starts to jerk his cock as you whine on the couch, moving your hips because now you want more and right now is the time caleb decides to stick to his word?

“stop moving, baby. fuck, look at that…look at you. you want it that bad? but i promised, didn’t i?” he moans, and you writhe, feeling the jerky movements of the tip of his cock, your cunt begging for something to fill it but he doesn’t. caleb doesn’t give in this time, having to shush you because this is unfair. how dare he suddenly deprive you, and when he comes, he comes with his cock pressed just enough inside of you for nothing to spill out. admiring his work, panting, “thank you, fuck. missed you so much, baby. gonna make you come now, kay? don’t think i forgot about you...just needed to come in this pretty hole. what? i just gave you...oh, you want it it all? my whole cock? you’re the one always saying ‘just the tip��� sweetheart, you’ve gotta be more clear, then.”

you have half a mind to argue with him, opening your mouth to explain clearly you guys both have a moderation issue, but he’s sliding into you a moment later, filling you up in one swift thrust. his last load slicks the way, and you whine. you whimper. it’s so much more than just the tip, his entire cock filling you up as caleb grins, knowing he won this game that’s not really even a game.

“there you go, yeah? maybe you'll remember this moment the next time you roll your eyes, telling me 'just the tip,' and acting like you don’t want it, pips.”

[waechan]

nct dream's love languages (hyung line)

i was just thinking ab what my love language was and was like...wait this could be cute for my tumblr

fluff! sry if im rusty its been ages

ׂׂૢ

mark lee - words of affirmation

i thought about this one for a while bc i feel like he could be many things

mark is always busy and at first i thought quality time bc he's such a fun guy to hangout with but i don't think he has much time to spend:(

i finally decided on words of affirmation cause this man is always telling people "잘했어요!" (good job) or "수고했어!!" (you've worked hard) or literally anything else he can think of with a big ass smile on his face

he's so sweet im like awh even just thinking about it

if you were in a relationship w mark i could only imagine he'd be there to talk about anything and everything with you...the deep talks would be so intense but so amazing to have

he'd make you think of life differently, truly

he could also be an acts of service boy as he's always helping his members with things they need, it'd probably be the same for you!

text example: "you did great today babe, i'm so proud of you."

2. renjun huang - acts of service

i feel like in dream renjun gives off such a mom vibe and he's so nurturing and caring to them

i see him always doing things for you, bending down to tie your shoe, holding your things for you, planning on the entire day when the two of you hangout, ordering your food for you

he's such a chivalrous guy and i think he'd be that way as a boyfriend too

he'd be so quick to fight for you too like if someone talked shit about you behind your back he would RUN to beat whoever up omg i swear

could see him being a physical touch boyfie too bc he's always cuddled up with whoevers near him

hand holding when walking, you leaning on his shoulder when you're sitting down, it's the little things for this guy

he's adorbs

he will always always ALWAYS pay for your meals i already know that for a fact. he won't even let you get NEAR the bill

text example: "hi my love, how are you doing today? did you need anything? i'll be right there"

3. jeno lee - quality time

i was looking for pictures of him on pinterest and it honestly just pissed me off

he's so fine it makes me angry lol

i had a feeling he'd be quality time because honestly i feel like it doesn't matter what you do together he'd just want to be with you

he's always so happy and in a good mood and i feel like you being there would make everything a hundred times better for him

i think he'd love going on dates with you and he'd have something different planned everyday

but i also think he'd cherish the moments the two of you would have together just chillin on your own at home...gaming, watching movies, doing work..literally anything

he'd 100% be the most loyal boy in the world

i see him being an acts of service guy too, like lifting things for you or running errands for you...he just wants to make your life as easy as possible!

text example: "what do u wanna do today! i mean we could stay home too...whatever you want i just want to see you:)"

4. haechan lee - quality time

he's a loverboy and i already know he'd want to be around you 247

while jenos more of a calm presence, i feel like haechan is such a huge ball of energy

late night talks and walks, going to the grocery store, anything as long as he's with you

he'd hate being left out of any plans you have with other people...he'd sulk omg it'd be so cuteee

he's also definitely a night owl so i could see him wanting to talk with you until morning comes

i could also see him being physical touch because i mean, come on. have you seen the guy?

he's ALL OVER whoever he's talking to, even if it's in the most subtle ways

if your feeling down i already know he'd try to make you laugh, and treat you like his princess

text example: "soo when are you gonna stop ignoring me and tell me that you love me and you're coming over:) or i could come over!"

ׂׂૢ

i missed writing this was so funnn

lmk if u guys like it and i'll do a maknae line:) miss all of u and this community so much <3

[marauder-misprint]

hello hello tis me again, the regulus fanatic. im not aware if you saw my message yet but i ADORED your regulus fic and so i’ve prepared another if you’d like

get this, regulus x (once again, im obsessed) whimsy slytherin reader where she’s touchy and affectionate towards everyone especially close friends and one day regulus finally works up the nerve to ask her iut and shes just like ‘sure😃’ thinkings its just a normal day and reggies just acting weird

cut to like a week later when regulus leans in for a kiss and readers all like ‘WHOA😲’ cue awkward conversation about how they’ve been dating fir a week then readers rushes to tell everyone because she’s been pining for him for YEARS

sorry if thats a lot and have a wonderful wonderful morning evening and night!

Hello again! I had so much fun writing this! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎Still getting used to whimsy!reader so I hope it's okay that reader is highkey a yapper. They are both pining in this and just, augh! Fluff.

My turn to yap: I had a similar situation to this when I was younger. Fully convinced I was dating this guy for a few weeks before finding out that he had a girlfriend and he thought we were just "hanging out" despite going to very date-like places.

This story is nothing like my experience - Thank you for this very cute request ❤︎

Mr. 'Allergic to touching'

Regulus Black x Whimsical!reader

4k words

cw: fluff, pining,

Personal space isn’t a concept you’re familiar with. Well, it is but you like being in everyone’s, especially those you are close friends with. You’ll lean over the backs of chairs and couches as your friends sit in them, often reading or occasionally doing homework. You are always holding hands with your friends as you walk to class together. When you are relaxing somewhere, you are either draped over someone’s lap or pulling them into yours. That is just the edge of it too. You greet everyone with a hug, even if you are meeting them for the first time. It is just how you are. And you are blissfully unaware of how it bugs some people. 

Regulus, however, isn’t one of those people. Everyone expects him to be with his cold demeanor, how he snaps at first years for being too loud, and the fact that he doesn’t tolerate that amount of touching from anyone else. There is something about your touch that makes Regulus feel warm and content. That’s why he doesn’t mind it, but he won’t tell anyone that. Barty and Evan would call him ‘soft’ if they heard that. It would be even worse if they knew how Regulus fully feels about you; they know that he’s friends with you and tolerates your touches, but that’s all they know. 

Still, the idea of having your gentle touches and words of affection to himself makes Regulus smile. It’s a vice, he tells himself. He’s supposed to keep a plain expression, to be indifferent toward frivolities of his peers and their petty drama. You have a knack for breaking his resolve, especially when it’s lap you’ve laid down in or his chair you’re leaning over to see what page he’s on in his book. 

“Oi, Regulus, you coming?” Barty calls from across the common room. 

“Yes,” he replies dryly from where he is sitting near the fireplace.

Your friends are going to the library in an attempt to study and actually get something done. A group of third years playing exploding snap in the common room wasn’t allowing any of them to focus. Dorcas had been the one to angrily slam her hands into her book and swear at the younger students, and then you suggested the library. At least Dorcas would be able to study there. Regulus assumes that he’ll end up sitting across from you, or next to you, and he won’t be able to focus. 

Regulus follows behind the group. You’re in the middle holding hands with Pandora. You have a floral print tote bag slung over your shoulder that likely has Pandora’s things in it as well. Maybe he’d be the one holding your hand and carrying the bag one day… And now he’s smiling. 

“Excited to write that essay for Slughorn or something?” Barty asks, falling into step with Regulus. 

The smile disappears as quickly as it appeared. “Because essence of dittany uses is such an interesting topic,” he says sarcastically. 

“You’re the one who was smiling, mate. Something made you crack.” 

“Remembered something funny. Merlin forbid…” Regulus gives Barty a sideways glance, hoping that his answer would satiate him. 

Barty just flexes his eyebrows and adjusts his stride to match Evan’s. Regulus doesn’t mind that the rest of the walk is silent for him. The rest of his friends, including you, take part in livelier conversations, but Regulus is content just listening in. 

Just as he predicted, you sit down next to Regulus in the library. You place a hand on his arm.

“Could you help me with this Charms assignment? Unless you’re doing Potions with Junior?” you ask. 

He had already finished that assignment, but it is you asking. How could he say no to you?

“It’d be my pleasure. Have you started it?” 

You shake your head.

“Alright. That’s no problem. Let’s get the books you need.”

He stands up and you follow him into the shelves. You hum to yourself as he selects a few books. You like how easily he finds everything in the library and that he just knows which books you’ll need for the assignment. He doesn’t hold them out for you to carry. You see it as a polite gesture. Regulus is just nice like that. 

Back at the table, Dorcas is working earnestly on her homework. Evan, Barty and Pandora are having a hushed discussion that gets even quieter as you and Regulus retake your seats. Regulus starts flipping through the books to find the pages you’d need to reference. You watch him for a minute before realizing that you should be taking the assignment out. 

Once you look ready, Regulus moves one of the books right in front of you and explains which part of the assignment the passage relates to. Instinctively, you scoot your chair impossibly closer to his. Regulus tenses slightly; being so close to you will certainly make focusing on your assignment. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. You don’t notice. You’re too focused on trying to understand the point of a knitting charm. 

“But I can knit. I enjoy knitting. Why would I bother learning a charm to do it for me?” you ask in a defeated voice. 

“Well, what if I needed something knitted? I don’t know how to knit,” Regulus says in a fairly quiet voice, being that you are in the library. 

You tilt your head slightly and rest your chin on your hand. “I could knit it for you. I’m quite good. Remember that shirt I knitted for Cas’ girlfriend?” 

You casually leave out that you charged Dorcas for the shirt. You wouldn’t charge Regulus. If he needed something, you’d be more than willing to make it for him. 

“Then it’s for all the poor sods who don’t know the same wonderful people I do,” he says before realizing that he’s just called you wonderful. Outloud. To your face. 

His face burns in embarrassment.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” you coo, hugging Regulus and being completely oblivious to the red shade of his face. Then you school your own emotions and turn back to your assignment. “Right, poor sods who are lonely and friendless.” 

Regulus puts all of his attention on the assignment. He needs to ignore the way his body still feels your warmth minutes after you let him go. 

“Right, ‘m bored. Kitchens?” Barty announces after some time. 

Pandora and Evan agree immediately and stand up. Dorcas waves them off, still working on her homework. The three don’t even wait for you or Regulus to respond. You both had your heads down, exchanging whispers about your assignment. Regulus is trying not to think about how close you are, and you’re grateful that Regulus is being so patient with you. 

After a while, Dorcas excuses herself and says she’ll see you back in the common room. It’s just you and Regulus now. You’ve almost finished your assignment. You’re tired of it, if you’re being honest. You would have given up a while ago if it was anyone else helping you, but it’s Regulus so you’re trying your best to stay focused. 

“And you’re done!” Regulus says with a small smile. “You did it.”

“Thanks to you,” you tell him. “I would’ve turned in a half-finished assignment.”

“Do you do that often?” 

You shrug. “When the assignment is stupid and pointless.”

Regulus chuckles softly as he stands up to put the books back. He wasn’t expecting you to follow him into the shelves but you did. You don’t say anything, rather humming to yourself again and watching Regulus. You like the way he carries himself and he’s just pretty in general so who wouldn’t want to watch him? Once your things are packed up from the table, you walk back to the common. In your usual fashion, you’re holding onto Regulus’ arm, which means you’ve unintentionally disabled his ability to think clearly.

“Sorry you didn’t get to work on your Potions essay,” you say.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have made much progress on it anyway.”

“You know, I find dittany to be quite pretty. Wish it grew naturally around here. My mum grows them at home, a large section of our garden actually. It’d actually be helpful if our dorms weren’t in the dungeons. Then I could grow it in our dorms. I’m sure Pandora agrees with me,” you ramble and you keep going. 

Regulus can’t help his smile as he listens to you. He fully meant what he told Barty earlier; he didn’t find dittany, nor its essence, all that interesting. Your appreciation for the plant? He’d be willing to write down every word that was coming out of your mouth. Before you start to descend down the final staircase before the common room, Regulus puts a hand on yours where it's holding onto his arm. His gut is telling him it’s now or never. 

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he asks, his voice steady but stomach flipping with nerves. 

“Of course! If the weather’s anything like last weekend, it’s going to be beautiful out. Although, I wouldn’t mind if it was a tad less windy.”

“It was windy last weekend, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” 

You give his arm a little squeeze before you head down the stairs and into the common room. Once in the common room though, you spot Pandora and Dorcas and rush over to them. Regulus doesn’t mind your sudden departure. The warmth of you on his arm not only lingers, but the fact that you agreed to go on a date with him? He could catch a snitch without his broom. His smile doesn’t falter as he strolls through the common room and disappears into his dorm. 

“Oi, you’re smiling again,” Barty says when Regulus sits down at his desk with the intent to work on that stupid Potions essay. 

“Smiling illegal now?” he deadpans. 

“No… but it’s weird when you do it. You’re not a smiler.” 

Regulus doesn’t answer, but he knows what Barty means. He can’t help it though. You agreed to go on a date with him.

---

You meet Regulus at breakfast on Saturday, dressed nicely and casually at the same time. Regulus outdressed you easily, but that was to be expected. Even his most casual outfits tended to be more formal and expensive. He is a Black, afterall. 

Regulus did eventually tell Barty about the date. After some teasing in their dorm, Regulus managed to convince him to not make a big deal about it. If it didn’t go well, Regulus didn’t want everyone knowing about it. He fully hopes it’ll go well, but given the chance it doesn’t, he wants to be able to move past it without any issues. 

You grab Regulus’ hand when you leave for Hogsmeade. Holding his hand rather than his arm makes Regulus’ heart pound in his chest – oh, the effects you have on him. 

“Do you need to go into Spintwitches? Didn’t you say you were running low on broom polish?” you ask.

Regulus stares at you for a moment before nodding. He barely remembers having said that sometime this week, before he even asked you out. He appreciates that you actually pay attention to what he says more than he can express.

“Okay, so we’ll go there and then, if you don’t mind, can we walk around Tomes and Scrolls? I’ve been talking to the owner about expanding his stock on Divination products and I want to see if he’s got anything in yet.”

“Erm, yeah. Anywhere you want to go, darling.” 

Even though you’re on a date and holding hands, Regulus’ face still heats up when he realizes he let a pet name slip. He silently thanks the fates that Barty and Evan didn’t “just happen” to tag along today; if they had heard him call you that, Regulus would never hear the end of it. While you notice him looking away from you, to hide the blush, you don’t think much of it. It’s just an odd quirk that he’s been doing around you more and more. 

Regulus tries to not take too much time in Spintwitches. He only ever uses one brand of polish, but since he’s buying it, he has to mentally debate if he needs more rags or a sharpener for his tail-twig clippers. He decides against both. The whole time in the store, you held onto his hand until he needed it to get out his money to pay. 

You swing his arm a little bit as you head to Tomes and Scrolls. As soon as you step into the shop, you pull Regulus toward a “New!” stand. Regulus feels apprehensive as he eyes the stand. It has more mainstream Divination books, but also ones that are more focused on crystal energies and aura readings. Regulus has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from scoffing at a “Nargle Repellant Kit.” He is fairly certain that nargles don’t exist. You scan the whole stand, even dropping Regulus’ hand for the second time so you could crouch to see the lower items.

“This is brilliant!” you exclaim, pulling out a book with depictions of constellations and crystals on its cover. “Dora will be thrilled when I show her this!”

You almost make a comment about how you’re surprised that she didn’t come today. It’s rarely ever just you and Regulus. You like that it is, but the point still stands. It’s not common. 

You grab two more books and head to the register. When the owner tells you the cost, you go to grab your money, but before you can even open your coin purse, Regulus has placed the correct amount on the counter. 

“Oh, I could’ve gotten that,” you say, a bit shocked.

“It’s my treat.”

“Then thank you, kind sir.”

Regulus gives you a soft smile and takes the bagged books from the owner. It wasn’t your tote of school supplies, but it was close enough – Regulus would carry it until you returned to the common room. 

“Anywhere else you want to go or should we go for butterbeers?” Regulus asks. 

“Hmmm…” you hum, taking Regulus’ hand again and giving it a squeeze. “Butterbeers. And then Honeydukes before we go back to the castle. I will eat all my Bertie Beans in the Three Broomsticks if we stop at Honeydukes first.”

Regulus chuckles. “That I know. Nothing like butterbeer to wash down the delightful flavor of earwax.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand again. The Three Broomsticks is busy, which isn’t surprising in any way. You find a booth for the two of you and a small wave of guilt falls over you. It feels wrong to take up an entire booth with just two of you. You make a mental note to invite any of your friends over if you see them. 

“Tell me, how did you get Mr. Brown to order these books?” Regulus asks, patting the Tomes and Scrolls bag next to him.

“It was so difficult. But really, I think Dora and I just wore him down. You know, asking and asking for these type of books and telling him it’s vital to our education. Little bit of forgery…”

“Forgery?” Regulus repeats.

“Well, he wanted a note from Professor Dawntry saying that they were necessary, or beneficial at least. And do you think she’d write that? No. So… we took it upon ourselves to write it. It’s all thanks to Junior for forging her signature. I think that really sold it to Mr. Brown.”

Regulus smirks. “And what if he ever talks to Dawntry in person? Asks her about the books that she’s endorsed?” 

“I already purchased the books, silly,” you say with an affectionate eye roll. “You purchased the books technically. But what’s he going to do? Force me to return them?”

“I suppose business is business.”

“Exactly! And it’s not like I’m requesting books on the Dark Arts.”

Then you start to explain the more intricate details about this particular branch of Divination that you’re looking into and how the Hogwarts library only has so many books on it. You’ve even read the books on it that are in the Restricted Section with real notes from Professor Dawntry. 

“That’s where we got the signature for Junior to copy,” you say.

Regulus nods and you continue. He’s more than fascinated while listening to you ramble. He hopes his staring is more ‘attentive listener’ than ‘creepy stalker’ or ‘you have something on your face.’ 

You’re pleased that Regulus doesn’t look bored with you right now. You’ve talked about this subject in the past to a variety of people and most of them give you skeptical looks and try to change the subject. And then there are the few who look more bored than the average student in Professor Binns’ class. Regulus is just attentive and it fuels the butterflies in your stomach. 

After a few butterbeers, Regulus hands Madam Rosmerta a few galleons before you head over to Honeydukes.

“I can pay you back for that,” you say, once again reaching for your coin purse before Regulus puts his hand on your arm.

“Don’t. Told you, it’s my treat.”

“What? The whole day? Reg, you already got my books!”

“I invited you, darling. Today’s on me.” 

A faint blush dusts your cheeks. “Damn, you should invite me to Hogsmeade more often.”

That’s the plan, Regulus thinks. He feels it would’ve been too forward, too flirty to say out loud, but it is the plan. If today continues to go well, he plans on being your Hogsmeade date quite often and being your date to the Yule Ball and asking you to wear his extra jersey to quidditch games and being your study buddy and… He is getting ahead of himself. He needs to finish the first date strong before he can plan out the rest of your relationship. 

You don’t take long in Honeydukes. Both of you know exactly which sweets you want and where they are. Having stopped there every visit since you started going to Hogsmeade in third year, it’s a well rehearsed visit. Once more, Regulus pays for your things. You don’t protest at all this time, knowing that he’ll insist that it’s his treat. It’s a tad bizarre the longer you think about it; you don’t recall him paying for anyone else that often. Usually when the whole group goes to the Three Broomsticks, everyone throws a galleon or a few sickles on the table before you leave, based on how much each drinks or if someone ordered food. Your solution? Just don’t think about it. He’s being nice and you don’t complain when someone is being extra nice to you. Definitely not when it’s Regulus. 

On the way back to the castle, you tell Regulus about the games you used to play with cousins using Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Some of the games you’ve played at Hogwarts through the years, but your cousins have their own rules and methods of telling the flavors apart. Regulus tells you about the Chocolate Eternals that Sirius would sneak him when they were younger.

“He’d have to remind me not to chew them every time. Mum’s only given me enough to get two so we each get one. They don’t melt. Make it last.” 

You give him a slightly pitiful look. “I guess sweets weren’t too common growing up?” 

“No. Mother believes they are for special occasions and even then, they are limited… Come to think of it, I’m not sure Mother actually gave Sirius the money for the chocolates. He probably nicked it from her purse.” 

Regulus chuckles at the idea and you’re glad the conversation returns to its previous light-hearted nature. Regulus is able to keep his unspoken promise to carry your things all the way back to the common room. 

“Thanks for everything, Reg,” you say, giving Regulus a hug before taking your things back to your dorm. 

Regulus smiles to himself as he heads back to his. He feels proud of himself. He had a great first date with you and you seemed to enjoy yourself. 

---

Regulus starts placing himself next to you as much as he can. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. You’re not complaining by any means. It’s nice and you like it. It’s just different. But you do notice that he’s becoming more relaxed around you, more himself. There have even been a few times where it’s just the two of you and you fall into easy conversation. 

After dinner on Friday evening, you sit next to Regulus on the plush couch in the common room. He’s got out the Transfiguration textbook, clearly doing the assigned reading. You have no intention of doing so. Regulus becomes less stiff as you sit down. It’s a miniscule change but you notice it. You scooch closer to Regulus and he moves his arm around you, holding you closer into his side. 

Pandora and Barty, having witnessed this, exchange curious glances. Regulus had told Barty that the date went well and he just assumed you were on the same page, that you are now dating. You had told Pandora about Regulus buying and how sweet he was the entire time, followed with a desperate ‘Do you think he might like me?’ Both Pandora and Barty had never seen Regulus put his arm around someone like that and he definitely never pulled someone in closer to him. His apparent tolerance of touches applying to only you was one thing; this was a whole new level. 

“You smell good,” you mutter into his chest. 

“Hm, thank you,” Regulus says quietly. 

Then he musters all his courage and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes go wide and you sit up, staring at him. Pandora and Barty have similar looks of surprise on their faces. Their quiet and previously boring evening in the common room just got interesting. 

“You… just… You kissed…” you stutter out.

You’re unable to actually finish your thought. You aren’t completely oblivious. You know that Regulus doesn’t give affection. 

“Erm, is that okay?” he asks, suddenly looking bashful and unsure of himself. 

“You don’t… You don’t… do that?” you say, sounding very, very unsure of what just happened. 

He wets his lips nervously. “I thought it’d be okay, with you, you know, since we’re dating?” 

You sit up even straighter. 

“We are?” you gasp. 

Regulus’ face burns bright red and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Barty trying not to fall out of his chair with suppressed laughter. 

“Since when?” you add. 

“Last week? I asked you on a date and it went well? At least, I thought it went well… I had a good time. Did you not?” 

You gasp louder and throw yourself at Regulus, burying him in a hug. 

“Merlin, I didn’t realize! No, it did go well!” You pull back from him with the widest grin he has ever seen. “You like me?” 

Regulus adjusts himself next to you, turning slightly to be more facing you. So apparently you weren’t on the same page about everything, but you seemed open to it.

“He doesn’t go around kissing everyone, sweetheart,” Barty chimes in, earning himself a glare from Regulus.

“Is that why you paid for everything? Because it was a date?” you ask Regulus.

He nods and you pull him into another hug. 

“So we’re dating,” you say.

“If that’s okay with you?” Regulus says, still sounding unsure of himself.

You pull back again and this time it’s you nodding. Then you get off the couch and practically jump onto Pandora’s lap.

“Did you hear, Dora? I’m dating Regulus!” you say happily. “Oh, I need to find Dorcas! She needs to know!”

And you are bounding away in search of your friend. You don’t hesitate to tell everyone that you pass that you’re dating Regulus Black, yes, the Regulus Black. You can’t help it – you’re just so excited that this yearslong crush has manifested into something real.

“About time too,” Pandora says once you’ve disappeared up the stairs toward the girls’ dormitories. “She’s been smitten with you for years.”

“I’d say you’re perfect for each other. Mr. ‘Allergic to touching’ and Ms. ‘Always touching,’” Barty adds. 

Regulus throws a pillow at Barty, which sends him into a cackling fit. Barty knows that Regulus must really like you to let him get away with that comment. After all, Regulus could’ve thrown his Transfiguration book at him. 

Tags: @navs-bhat

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

these damn dialogues…. i swear… gets me every time.

huh… just one to comment on some things:

1- yoongi you’re awesome! sometimes we just need someone like him in our lives

2- every new chapter makes me feel something new for jungkook, this one is just… you’re boring 🥱 (LET ME ELABORATE THAT) like it’s just me or in this chapter he is being portrayed as one of those guys we meet in life, who are handsome but have the personality of a door? zero brain but great chemistry. i don’t know i felt incredibly related to her…

3- yes girl! do what you want to do! and i’m actually glad that she didn't give in to Jungkook... (actually she did give in, but it didn't happen anyway) AND IM GLAD it didn’t work out because she deserves better than that situation.

4- “It's not a big deal... "That's what family does.' SO YOURE TELLING ME THAT YOU CONSIDER HER AS FAMILY YEAHHHHHH 😝😝

5- definitely not least:

“That waiting is just another form of letting fear make your decisions for you”

“That you know what you want”

are you seriously giving me advice about my academic/general life in front of so many people? I kind of feel a little embarrassed right now…

i will write that in my journal. i mean it.

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 16

˗ˏˋ choosing yourselfˎˊ˗

"You deserve better than a quickie in a musty bathroom stall, and Jungkook should know that, even when he sounds earnest and literally kisses your shoulder. But whatever, because it doesn't last long—he's back to being an asshole after Jason takes you both home. And then it's time you make a choice for yourself, because you can't allow to second-guess yourself like you've done multiple times in the past."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 9k

content: self-recrimination on a mirror, jungkook being a horny fuck, shoulder kisses, jungkook being irrational and paranoid, jason being a gentleman, coffee date plans, fighting, gyno appointments, yoongi being weirdly supportive and feeling like finally making a choice for yourself.

✧ author's note ✧

HO-HU-HEY.

WELL. Here it is. Chapter 16. The girlies (and the girlies include me) took forever to reach the last goal, so naturally I gave in, lowered the bar, and got my cheeks clapped by the consequences because it took you all of five days. Five. Fucking. Days. I hate you all (affectionately). The bar is going BACK UP and this time I’m standing on business. Don’t test me. (You absolutely can. I’m weak.)

Anyway. Let’s talk about the chapter.

I loved writing this. Like genuinely. As much as I enjoy the pining and the tension and Jungkook being the absolute worst, this one hit different. There are so few stories that actually show characters doing normal life things—especially uterus-having characters dealing with the reality of taking control over their bodies. I wanted to write that. I needed to write that.

But more than the appointment itself, this was about Y/N. About her doing something for herself, on her terms. About taking back agency, making an uncomfortable but important decision because she knows if she walks away from it, she’ll never come back. She’ll spiral, overthink, talk herself out of it. So she does it now. Impulsively, but intentionally. And like... that’s growth, baby. That’s real.

Also?? Yoongi. My beautiful, quiet king. I didn’t know how to write him into this initially but I knew—I knew—he had to be the one who went with her. Because he’s not loud, he’s not overbearing, he doesn’t project his shit onto anyone else. He’s just present. He’s calm. He listens. He helps because he wants to, not because he needs to be thanked or seen for it. I loved deepening their bond this way, giving her a moment of safety that doesn’t come from the people we expect, but from the people who show up. He’s so important in that apartment and I feel like this chapter gave him the spotlight he deserves.

Anyway. I hope you enjoy it. I hope it makes you feel seen. I hope it makes you feel like your choices matter, and your body is yours, and it’s okay to be scared and still do the thing anyway.

Now go comment. I'm watching you. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The thing about standing on business is that it’s a lot harder when Jungkook texts you like that.

Not that it matters. Because you are standing on business. You’re in the bathroom, alone, which is exactly where you should be after dealing with a full thirty-five minutes of Jason’s smooth eye contact, Jimin’s shit-eating grin, and Jungkook’s insufferable, cocky-ass messages.

And before anybody even thinks it—no, you’re not here because of Jungkook.

You’re here because you’re tired. That’s it. Because this damn building is too hot, and your eyes were practically sliding closed during that last poetry discussion. Because you just needed some cold water on your face, a minute to wake yourself up, to breathe.

Not because of his texts.

Not because the way he talks to you does anything.

And definitely not because your thighs were pressed so tight together under that table that even Jason’s deep, articulate voice wasn’t enough to drown out the low thrum that Jungkook might have been right about something.

You glare at your own reflection. Point a silent, accusing finger at yourself.

“Be so fucking for real right now.”

Your reflection does not respond.

You splash more water on your face. Cold, crisp, refreshing. But also kind of not refreshing, because all it does is make you hyper-aware of how warm your skin feels. How annoyingly wired your body is.

You don’t like his dirty talk. You don’t. It’s embarrassing. It’s cringe. It’s the kind of thing that should have you rolling your eyes and shutting your phone off instead of, you know, letting him keep going. Letting him pull you into it.

It’s not arousal, okay?

It’s secondhand embarrassment.

It’s your brain cringing so hard that it doesn’t know what to do with itself, so it misfires and sends weird signals to the rest of your body.

That’s all.

Because you’re not one of those people who fuck in gross library bathrooms. You’re not desperate. You have standards. You deserve better than some icky stall, no matter how kissable someone’s lips are. 

No matter how good their dick game is. 

Or their tongue.

Or mouth. 

Or hands.

You groan. Plant your hands on the edge of the sink and lean in. Stare at yourself, deadpan, through wet lashes.

“You deserve better,” you say flatly, like the universe needs the reminder as much as you do.

The thing is, you’ve always prided yourself on your self-control. On knowing exactly what you want and how to get it without messy entanglements. Feelings complicate things. Feelings lead to expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment, and disappointment leads to that pathetic, hollow ache you've made an art of sidestepping.

And yet.

And yet, there was something about the way Jungkook looked at you in that goddamn laundry room. Something almost… soft. Curious, even. Like he wasn’t seeing you as a sparring partner or a mild inconvenience but as—what? Someone worth watching? You’d laughed at something dumb, something fleeting, and for once, his response hadn’t been smug amusement or provocation. 

It had been real. Bubbly. Almost fond.

Which is, obviously, a problem.

Or at the very least, it’s becoming one.

Because these observations are unwelcome intrusions into what should be a straightforward arrangement. You don’t want to see Jungkook as a person with layers and complexities and actual human qualities. It was much easier when he was just ‘the sexy Pulse stranger with the great arms’ who happened to be excellent in bed. An object of convenient lust and equally convenient disdain.

And now he’s Jungkook. Jungkook, your insufferable roommate. Also Rogue. Also Griffin’s human, also the guy whose vinyl collection is a shrine to John Mayer, for reasons you refuse to unpack.

With each passing day, he trespasses further into familiarity.

And the knowing drapes itself across your sternum like Griffin at dusk—silent, insistent, impossible to ignore.

You exhale. Straighten. Shake it off.

Push the door open.

That’s it.

You’re done. Over it. Whatever.

The door swings open, and you step out, chin high, pulse steady. Or—well. Steady enough.

And then there he is.

Leaning against the wall next to the men’s bathroom like he has all the time in the world. One ankle crossed over the other, hands tucked into the pockets of those stupidly well-fitted jeans. The overhead light casts shadows along his jaw, sharpening the already unfair angles of his face, but the smirk softens them—lazy, knowing.

Roguish.

You almost roll your eyes so hard they might never recover.

“So,” he drawls, tilting his head. “Finally gave in?”

You blink at him. Then, with all the dignity you can muster, you gesture back toward the bathroom door you just exited. 

“Yeah, totally. Gave in so hard I went to the women’s restroom instead of the men’s. I really let you have your way, huh?”

Jungkook chuckles, deep and quiet, like he’s indulging a particularly entertaining child. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muses, dark eyes sweeping over you. “Took a while in there. Thought maybe you needed a little extra… motivation.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Heat flares up your spine because you know exactly what he’s talking about—his texts, the ones you definitely didn’t let affect you, no sir.

And Jungkook knows you know. He always does. Which is exactly why his smirk widens when you scoff, brushing past him like he’s the least interesting thing in this godforsaken building.

He follows, of course. Falls into step beside you, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach tighten. “Bet you thought about it, though.”

Your breath stutters. Just barely. And his grin? That infuriating, cocky thing? It widens.

“You’re annoying,” you inform him, as if he doesn’t already know. 

As if he isn’t enjoying the way your steps falter for half a second, the way your fingers twitch at your sides like they’re itching to grab something—his wrist, his shirt, the stupid gold chain he’s wearing right now—

“Mm.” He makes a sound of mock consideration, eyes flicking down and up, lingering at the hem of your skirt before dragging back to your face. “And yet, here we are. You in my text messages. Me in your head.”

He doesn’t need to specify what part of your head. He’s an asshole, but not an idiot.

You exhale sharply through your nose. “God, you think you’re so slick.”

“I am so slick.”

“You’re the least slick person I know.”

“So how do you explain,” he hums, leaning in just enough for his breath to graze your cheek, “the fact that you keep coming back?”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. Because—because technically, yes, but also, no, because this thing you have? It’s not about coming back. It’s about convenience. About stress relief. About what you both need, when you need it, nothing more.

So you school your face into something unimpressed, flick him a look, and say, “Your dick isn’t that good, Jungkook.”

And fuck.

He laughs.

He full-on, throaty chuckles, low and pleased and—fuck, the way it rolls through his chest, how it practically purrs out of him, like you just told him the funniest joke in the world.

His hand flexes in his pocket, like he’s restraining himself. His teeth catch his bottom lip for a second, his tongue flicking against it as his gaze devours you, and he exhales a slow, amused…

“God, the things you do to me, woman.”

And you shouldn’t feel that in your knees. You shouldn’t feel it in your stomach, in your throat, pooling low and warm and dangerous.

But you do.

And he knows it.

Which is why he takes another step closer, all effortless heat and bad decisions, and murmurs, “Say the word, Phoenix. I’ll take you right back in there. Won’t even lock the door.”

And goddamn it.

You hate him.

So you move. 

Not away from him, exactly, but toward the nearest bookshelf like you suddenly need a distraction. 

A book, a title, any excuse to look busy. 

To look unbothered.

Jungkook follows. Of course he does. He’s right there at your back, trailing you with a slow, measured step like a fucking german shepherd that already knows the outcome. He doesn’t cage you in with his arms, doesn’t press you into the shelves or block your escape.

Doesn’t need to.

Because he’s close. Just enough that when you reach for a random book, you sense him. The heat of him licks at your skin, his presence a weighted thing against your spine. 

You try to ignore it. 

The way he leans, just slightly, the way he tilts his head to let his voice skate over the shell of your ear.

“You’re so mean to me, Phoenix,” he murmurs, and it’s not fair how smooth his voice is. How it drops into something lazy and indulgent, like he’s stretching out the syllables just to see how they sound against your skin. “Act all tough, but I know you. Know what you like.”

Your fingers tighten around the spine of the book. 

Stupid. 

Reckless. 

Should’ve grabbed one with a title that could at least pretend to justify this whole act. Not Introduction to Microeconomics. 

Jungkook exhales a soft laugh, like he can see your poor choice, like he knows. 

“You’re funny,” he muses, and then—because he’s the worst—he dips his head, close enough that his nose nearly brushes the slope of your throat. “But I’m serious. Want you on my lips so bad right now.”

Your pulse slams against your ribs.

“Don’t even need to fuck you,” he goes on, like his own words are making him drunk, like he’s just thinking out loud. “Just wanna drop to my knees, put my mouth on you, make you all messy.”

You swallow. Hard.

“And you’d let me.” He whispers. “Wouldn’t you?”

Your jaw locks. Because fuck him. Because he’s right. 

Because you can already feel it, that slow, humiliating heat coiling low in your stomach, the weight of his words settling between your legs.

And Jungkook knows it. Knows your silence isn’t no. Knows the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers tighten around the stupid fucking book, the way you’re not moving away.

He shifts. Subtle, barely there, just enough for his chest to brush your shoulder. Enough to make your breath catch when his lips ghost over your pulse.

“Wouldn’t even rush it,” he continues, and he sounds wrecked by the idea, voice rough with it. “Would take my time. Make you fall apart real slow.”

You should tell him to shut up. You should shove him off, roll your eyes, something.

But you don’t. Because you hate him. And worse—you want him.

You want him.

It’s a humiliating truth, one that settles in the pit of your stomach like something molten, something that licks up your spine with every exhale he spills against your skin.

His breath hovers, a phantom thing, barely-there warmth that seeps through the fabric of your long sleeve. A cruel contrast—how your body ignites under something so light, how your nerves spark like kindling when he isn’t even touching you properly.

Not yet.

Then—his fingers. 

Slow, deliberate, reaching. Not for your wrist or your waist, not for your throat or your hip—no, that would be too easy. Too expected.

Instead, they find the fabric at your bicep. A simple touch. A barely-there tug.

And then another.

Torturous. Measured.

The sleeve slides down, inch by aching inch, and you know—you know—this is your moment. This is where you shove him off, where you huff and scoff and tell him to fuck off with his slow-burn seduction act.

Except you don’t.

You just stand there, staring at the shelf in front of you, trying not to melt out of the way the air feels against your bare skin. How exposed it is now, how Jungkook’s gaze lands heavy where the fabric used to be.

“Wanna taste you so bad right now, Nix.”

Your other hand finds the bookshelf. Not to grab a book. Not to turn the page on this whole situation.

For balance.

Because your body betrays you, trembles—just slightly, just enough that you can feel it.

And he sees it.

Feels it.

His breath dips lower. Warmer. Until his lips graze the bare curve of your shoulder.

And then he presses in.

A kiss. Featherlight. Barely there.

But devastating, because it cracks through you, sends goosebumps skittering down your arms, shivering at the nape of your neck..

“Ro—”

“I’d seriously drop to my knees right here,” he interrupts, voice quiet but wrecked. “Wouldn’t even think twice.”

Your fingers tighten against the bookshelf.

And then—

“Y/N?”

Jimin’s voice.

You move first. Swift. Normal. Like nothing just happened, like your knees weren’t about to fucking give out. Jungkook straightens, smooth, unhurried, expression lazy and unreadable.

When you turn, Jimin is there, brows furrowed, completely oblivious.

“Hey.” You clear your throat, tilt your head, something, anything to make yourself feel normal again. “What’s up?”

Jungkook stays quiet. But you can feel him. His warmth still lingers. His gaze still burns.

And it’s only when Jimin starts talking—some filler, something meaningless—that you realize your sleeve is still slipped down, fabric bunched at your elbow.

And Jungkook is still looking.

Jason appears before you fully process it, stepping into your periphery with that calm, inquisitive expression of his, eyes skimming over your face like he’s assessing something.

“You good?” His voice is gentle, curiosity laced in his tone.

You nod. “Yeah. Done for the day.”

His eyebrows quirk. Just a fraction. “Oh.”

Jimin, standing a little to the side, shifts his weight. “Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

“Oh, no,” you answer smoothly, already toeing the conversation in a different direction. “I took the bus today.”

Jason hums. “I can take you home if you want.”

And then—movement.

Jungkook. 

Shifting. Sliding in, looping an arm over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His body radiates heat, casual in its weight, but you feel the deliberate nature of it. The timing. The message.

“Sure,” he drawls, voice all syrupy amusement. “Taking us home, Teach?”

You barely resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs, but you do shove his arm off with a sharp shrug, angling an elbow against his side—not forceful enough to hurt, but definitely not subtle.

Jason blinks. “You two live together?”

You don’t hesitate. “Roommates.”

Jason smiles, nodding, like the answer pleases him. “Well, in that case, I’d be glad to.”

You hear Jungkook chuckle behind you.

You flip him off.

But you both start walking.

Jason's car smells like expensive cologne and ambition.

You're sitting shotgun whilst Jungkook's sprawled across the back seat of Jason's immaculate SUV, taking up more space than seems physically possible, one arm slung across the headrest as he stares out the window with half-lidded interest.

The leather beneath you is that specific type of luxury that feels both comfortable and like you shouldn't be allowed to touch it at the same time—and Jason's got one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift, and he's telling you about his dissertation—something about modernist literature and the fragmentation of self-identity in post-war narratives.

It sounds impressive. It probably is impressive. 

You're nodding along, asking questions in the right places, and generally pretending that you're not stupidly aware of Jungkook's reflection in the side mirror, watching.

"What about you, Jungkook?" Jason asks suddenly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "Y/N mentioned you're studying film?"

Jungkook's reflection shifts, his posture straightening just slightly. 

“Yeah," he says, voice easy, unbothered. "Film and Media Studies."

"What year?"

"Dunno," he answers, and you can practically hear the shrug in his voice. "Taking classes from different years. Whatever looks interesting." 

Of course he is. God forbid he follow any sort of structured plan like a normal student.

"Planning to go into academia too, or straight to industry?" Jason continues, clearly trying to make polite conversation despite Jungkook's lackluster responses.

His response is a mere sound in the back of his throat, something between a chuckle and a scoff. Then:  "Industry. Theory's nice and all, but I'd rather be behind a camera than writing about one."

Jason nods thoughtfully. "Smart move. The academic route isn't for everyone. It takes a certain patience. Methodical thinking."

You immediately note how Jungkook's expression shifts—just for a second—into something sharper, more focused.

Then it's gone, replaced by that same lazy half-smile he always wears.

"Yeah," Jungkook drawls, leaning back. "Guess I'm just more of a hands-on learner."

The way he says "hands-on" shouldn't feel loaded. 

It doesn't, really.

Except that your mind immediately flashes to those same hands on your skin, and you have to resist the urge to shift in your seat.

Jason seems oblivious, continuing. "What kind of films are you into?"

"The good ones," Jungkook replies, and you can hear the smirk without even looking.

"That's... vague."

"I'm a visual guy. I like things I can see."

Jason laughs, a polite sound. "Fair enough. Any directors you admire?"

"Too many to list," Jungkook answers, and there's something in his voice now—a subtle tightness, like he's getting bored with the interrogation. "But hey, I'll give you one. Wong Kar-wai. His use of color and the way he frames longing? Unmatched."

You blink, a little surprised. Not by the answer itself—you know Jungkook's capable of actual intellectual thought, even if he pretends otherwise half the time—but by the genuine passion that briefly flares in his voice.

Jason nods, seeming genuinely impressed. "Interesting choice. 'In the Mood for Love' is a masterpiece."

"Yeah, it is." There's a beat, and then Jungkook adds, "What about you? You a film guy?"

"I appreciate it as an art form, but literature's my passion." Jason's hand moves from the gearshift to the steering wheel as he navigates a turn. "Though I teach a module on film adaptations of classic literature occasionally."

"Cool," Jungkook says, in a tone that suggests it's anything but. Then, abruptly changing the subject: "How'd you end up TA-ing for Y/N's class?"

You shoot Jungkook a look through the mirror. 

What is he doing?

"I'm not actually Y/N's TA," Jason clarifies smoothly. "I just run study groups for students across different modules. Help where I can."

"Just out of the goodness of your heart, huh?" 

“Something like that. Plus, it looks good on the CV."

You jump in, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters. "Jason's been really helpful. I was drowning in all that Sylvia Plath symbolism before today."

"I'm sure he has," Jungkook murmurs, and when you catch his reflection again, his eyes are narrowed slightly, focused on the back of Jason's head.

Then the rest of the ride passes in a…strange, stilted rhythm—Jason asking questions, Jungkook giving just enough of an answer to seem polite before flipping the question back around. 

You filling the gaps with comments and questions of your own, trying to figure out why the air suddenly feels too… saturated?

By the time Jason pulls up to your apartment building, you're exhausted from the mental gymnastics of trying to parse what the fuck is happening.

"Here we are," Jason announces unnecessarily, putting the car in park. "Nice place."

Jungkook's door opens before the words are fully out of Jason's mouth. 

“Thanks for the ride, man," he says, climbing out with easy grace. But instead of heading straight for the building entrance, he pauses, one arm resting on the car roof, waiting.

For you.

Jason turns to you, one hand still on the wheel, the other now resting on the center console. "Listen, Y/N, I was wondering if you'd like to grab coffee sometime?”

He smiles, and you like the way the corner of his lip tugs upward genuinely, a dimple forming on it.

It’s cute.

It’s attractive.

Then he smiles. Gaze briefly flicks to Jungkook, then back to you, whispery. Adds: “Just the two of us, I mean."

Your stomach does a pleasant little flip because—wow. An attractive, intelligent guy who can discuss poetry without making dick jokes? Asking you for coffee? Like a date?

Is this real life?

"I'd like that," you say, smiling.

"How's Saturday? There's a café near campus that does incredible pour-overs."

Shit. Saturday. Jungkook's stupid surprise birthday dinner.

"I actually can't Saturday," you say, genuinely disappointed. "I have this... thing I can't get out of." No way are you telling him it's for Jungkook's birthday. "But maybe Sunday?"

"Sunday works." His hand moves then, fingers wrapping lightly around your wrist. "It's a date, then."

His touch is warm, brief, and makes your chest flutter. 

You nod, gathering your bag. "Thanks again for the ride. And the study help."

"Anytime."

Stepping out of the car, you see Jungkook still standing there, watching. His posture is relaxed, his expression unreadable as he pushes off from where he's been leaning against the car.

You walk over, and together, you head toward the building entrance. Jason's car idles behind you for a moment before pulling away, and only when the sound of his engine fades does Jungkook speak.

"I don't like him."

It's so abrupt, so matter-of-fact, that you almost laugh. 

"Okay? Did I ask?"

Jungkook doesn't respond right away. His lips press together, jaw tightening for a split second as you reach the elevator. He hits the up button with more force than necessary.

"He gives off vibes," he finally says, as the elevator doors slide open.

You step inside, hitting the button for your floor. 

“Vibes," you repeat flatly. "What are you, suddenly psychic or some shit?"

"Don't need to be psychic to see he's fucking weird."

The elevator begins its ascent, and you lean against the wall, eyeing him. 

“English major and almost a professor. Makes sense why you don't fuck with him, don't you think?"

Jungkook's head snaps toward you. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just saying," you shrug, "you're clearly threatened by anyone with a vocabulary that extends beyond 'fuck' and 'vibes.'"

"Oh fuck off," he scoffs. "He's not that impressive."

"More impressive than you pretending to hate classic films to sound edgy."

His eyes narrow. "I never said I hated—"

"Whatever, Rogue. Keep your weird opinions to yourself. I'm going on a coffee date with him Sunday."

"Great," he says flatly. "Have fun with Professor Stick-Up-His-Ass."

The elevator dings. You push past him, digging in your bag for your keys.

"What is your problem?" you demand as you walk down the hallway. "He was perfectly nice. He gave us a ride home. He actually listens when people talk."

"I'm just saying I don't fuck with him."

"And what's that to me? Why do you think I care who you fuck with?"

"Nothing," Jungkook says, fumbling for his keys—so you stop rummaging through your bag. "I'm just stating my opinion. I'm allowed to not like people."

"Yeah, but you're telling me like I should care?" You follow him through the door. "Like your opinion matters to me somehow?"

"No?" He turns to face you. "I'm just fucking saying. That's it."

"Well, don't."

"Don't what? Talk?"

"Don't act like your shitty opinions on my social life matter."

The apartment feels too small suddenly. Like the walls are closing in. 

Why is it so hot in here? Did Yoongi crank the heat again? God, you're going to have another fight about the thermostat after this.

"Look," He sighs exasperatedly, and the sound makes you want to kick him on the shin. "I get it. He's all polished and proper and talks about dead poets with you. Fucking fantastic. I'm just telling you he seems like a fake-ass bitch."

"A fake-ass—what are you even talking about?" Your voice rises because what the actual fuck? "You're literally making shit up. He seems perfectly normal."

"Normal? Did you miss the way he kept cutting me off? Or that weird laugh thing he does?"

"Oh my god." You throw your bag onto the counter. "You're so full of shit. He was trying to keep the conversation going while you gave one-word answers like a sullen teenager."

"Yeah, because he kept asking me the same basic-ass questions like I'm in a job interview or some shit."

"It's called making conversation, dickhead. Something you clearly know nothing about."

Jungkook tosses his keys onto the counter with a clatter. "There's making conversation, and then there's whatever the fuck he was doing. Dude's weird. Period."

"He's weird? That's your whole argument? That's the hill you're choosing to die on?"

"You didn't catch it?" Jungkook looks at you like you're the dense one. "That whole thing about teaching 'occasionally?' The way he kept touching the gearshift? And the fucking wrist grab at the end? So fucking unnecessary.”

"Oh my god." You're actually laughing now, incredulous. "You sound completely unhinged. He barely touched me!"

"It's not about—" Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "It's the pattern, Nix. The whole vibe is off."

"The pattern? The vibe?" You mimic his voice. "Are you listening to yourself? You sound like a conspiracy theorist."

"Fine," he throws his hands up. "You're so fucking right, as always. Go hang out with Captain Control Freak. See if I give a shit."

"Captain Control—what are you even talking about?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Go on your little coffee date with Professor Perfect."

"Why are you being such a dick about this?" Your voice rises, frustration boiling over. "It's just coffee!"

"And I'm just saying he seems like an asshole!" Jungkook's voice matches yours now. "But sure, ignore me. What the fuck do I know, right?"

"Right! What the fuck DO you know? You met him for twenty minutes and suddenly you're an expert?"

"I know enough to spot a fucking red flag when I see one."

"A red flag? Are you kidding me?" You make an incredulous sound. "Because he has a nice car and uses big words? Those aren't red flags, those are called being an adult!"

"No, because he's putting on a whole act!" Jungkook's gesturing wildly now. "The scholarly bullshit, the fake interest, the—"

"Maybe he's actually interested in literature? Have you considered that possibility, genius?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's very interested in 'literature,'" Jungkook makes air quotes. "Along with controlling every fucking conversation and situation."

"You're being ridiculous." You give him a blank stare, accompanied by a chuckle. "Completely ridiculous."

"And you're being naive!" 

"No, I'm being NORMAL!" The word echoes off the kitchen walls. "You're the one having some weird meltdown over nothing!"

"It's not nothing! The dude's giving off major control freak energy and you're too busy swooning over his vocabulary to notice!"

"I am not swooning over anything!" 

"Whatever. You clearly can't see what's right in front of you."

"And you clearly can't handle not being the center of attention for five fucking minutes!"

Jungkook's eyebrows shoot up. "The center of—what? That's what you think this is about?"

"I don't know what it's about! That's my whole point!" You're making no sense!"

"I'm making perfect sense! You're just not listening!"

"Because you're not saying anything worth listening to!"

“Fine! Go ahead. Do whatever the fuck you want. It's your life."

"Yeah, it is my life. And you know what? I WILL do whatever the fuck I want."

"Great! Awesome! Have fun!"

"I will!"

"Good!"

"GOOD!"

You glare at each other, both breathing hard—and Griffin chooses that moment to saunter in, meowing loudly as if to say ‘what the fuck is all this noise about?’

"Your cat wants food," you snap, needing the last word.

"He's not just my cat, he lives here too," Jungkook fires back, because apparently he also needs the last word.

"Then maybe you should focus on feeding him instead of my social life."

"Maybe you should focus on not getting involved with pretentious assholes!"

"I live with one, so I think I can handle it!"

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too."

You turn away, stomping toward your room. "You're such a jerk."

"And you're a stubborn bitch."

You flip him off without looking back, slamming your door with enough force to rattle the walls. You hear him mutter something through the thin wood—probably another insult—before the sound of cabinets opening and closing tells you he's probably feeding Griffin.

Dropping onto your bed, you stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

What the hell was that about? Since when does Jungkook care who you hang out with? And what the fuck was all that ‘vibes’ and ‘energy’ bullshit?

It shouldn't matter. 

It doesn't matter.

Except now there's this annoying doubt in the back of your head. 

Not because Jungkook's right—he's definitely not—but because he seemed so sure. So genuinely worked up about it. 

Not jealous, just... concerned? 

Angry? 

Something.

God, you need to get a grip. This is exactly what happens when you live with people too long. Their crazy starts to sound almost reasonable.

Jason is fine. He's normal. 

Jungkook is the one being insufferable and childish because he can’t stand not being the center of attention for five minutes.

So honestly? 

Fuck him.

You deserve to go on a date with someone who actually listens to what you have to say.

So you will.

And if he wants to whine about it, well. That’s his problem. Not yours. 

Staring at the confirmation email on your phone should not be making your stomach turn like this.

It's just an appointment. A totally normal, adult thing to do that people handle every day without breaking a sweat. Just another checkbox on the grand list of things labeled ‘Taking Care of Your Body’ that you've been putting off for... well, forever.

But there it is: Appointment with Dr. Camila Rivera, Wednesday, 4:45 PM.

You'd done it yesterday night, after the fight with Jungkook, after slamming your bedroom door hard enough to rattle the walls. 

You'd sat on your bed, fuming, and somehow that anger had propelled you toward something productive for once. A quick Google search for ‘gynecologist near me,’ a few clicks, and suddenly you had an appointment.

Easy-peasy. Totally casual.

Except it wasn't. Not really.

Because the truth is, you've never been to a gynecologist before. Not once in your life.

And it's not like you're some kind of prude. You're not. Just ask Jungkook. Or, you know, don't—his ego is inflated enough as it is. But the point stands: you're sexually active. You know your way around a condom. You're not completely clueless.

You're just... inexperienced in certain areas. 

Official areas. 

Medical areas.

Because going to a gynecologist meant telling your parents you needed to go to a gynecologist. Which meant admitting you were having sex. Which meant watching your mother's face crumple into that specific blend of disappointment and judgment she'd perfected over the years. The one that said, ‘I raised you better than this’ without her having to speak a word.

It was easier to just... not go. Stick with condoms. Cross your fingers. Hope for the best.

But things are different now. You're living on your own. Making your own decisions. Sleeping with your insufferable roommate whenever the mood strikes. Planning coffee dates with hot TAs who might—if things go well—become another notch on your metaphorical bedpost.

The thought sends a little thrill through you. 

Jason. With his deep voice and thoughtful gaze and ability to analyze poetry without sounding like a pretentious asshole. Would he be different in bed than Jungkook? Less demanding, maybe. More measured. Or maybe he'd surprise you.

God, when did your brain become so fixated on sex? 

That's what freedom feels like, you tell yourself, stretching your legs out across your bed. It's natural. Healthy, even. You've spent years living under your parents' suffocating expectations—their carefully crafted vision of who you should be, the life you should lead, the choices you should make. Always excelling, always proper, always in control.

Well, fuck that. You're done being controlled.

Hence, the appointment. 

Because if you're going to be sexually liberated (the phrase makes you cringe a little, even though it's just in your head), you should probably be responsible about it. Birth control pills, or maybe an IUD—something more reliable than condoms alone. 

Something that puts you in control of your body, for once.

That's what this is really about, isn't it? Control. Wresting it back from the people who've held it for too long. 

Your parents. Their expectations. Their constant, stifling presence even when they're miles away.

You glance at the time on your phone: 3:32 PM. About an hour before you need to leave.

And suddenly, your chest feels tight. Because while making the appointment had been an act of defiance, of independence—actually going feels different. More real. More intimidating.

You've done your research. Read all the ‘What to expect at your first gynecology appointment’ articles online. You know it will involve questions about your sexual history (complicated), your family medical history (boring), and a physical exam (terrifying).

The problem is, you'd planned to ask Yeji to go with you. She'd been to gynecologists before. She'd know what to expect, how to act, what was normal. But she texted this morning to say she'd caught some stomach bug and could barely make it to the bathroom, let alone across town to a doctor's office.

Which leaves you... alone. 

And you shouldn't need someone to hold your hand through this. You're an adult, for fuck's sake. People do this all the time.

But the anxiety bubbling in your stomach doesn't care about logic. It's there, persistent and nagging, making you wonder if you should just cancel and reschedule for when Yeji's feeling better.

No. That's the old you talking. The you that let other people's expectations dictate your life. You need to do this, and you need to do it today.

But maybe you don't have to do it alone.

Jimin is in class right now. Emma's too far away. 

And you and Jungkook are still not talking.

You glance at your bedroom wall, the one that separates your room from Yoongi's. He's home today—you heard him shuffling around earlier, the familiar sound of his bedroom door closing, his music faintly filtering through the walls.

Yoongi's different from Jungkook. Quieter. More observant. He doesn't waste words or gestures. He doesn't fill silences just to hear himself talk.

Would it be weird to ask him? Probably. But also... maybe not. 

Yoongi has this way of making the strangest things seem normal, simply by refusing to treat them as strange.

Before you can overthink it any further, you're on your feet, moving toward your bedroom door, then to Yoongi's. Your knuckles rap against the wood before your brain can catch up with your body and tell you what a ridiculous idea this is.

There's a pause. Then shuffling. Then Yoongi's voice, slightly muffled: "Yeah?"

You open the door tentatively. Yoongi's seated at his desk, headphones on, one ear now pulled back as he swivels in his chair to face you. His expression is neutral—not annoyed, exactly, but definitely interrupted. Behind him, his computer screen glows with what looks like a complex audio editing program, tracks upon tracks stacked neatly in multicolored rows.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," you start, hovering in the doorway. "I, uh, I was wondering..."

Yoongi blinks at you, his gaze tracking over your face for barely two seconds before his eyes narrow slightly.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and just like that, you hesitate.

Is it that obvious? Do you have ‘first-time gynecologist panic’ stamped on your forehead in neon letters? God, this is embarrassing.

"Nothing's wrong," you say, too quickly. "I just—" You take a breath. "I have a doctor's appointment, and I was supposed to go with Yeji, but she's sick, and—"

"What kind of doctor?" Yoongi's already slipping his headphones off, setting them on his desk.

"Gynecologist," you admit, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. 

You brace for awkwardness, for judgment, for that subtle shift in his expression that says this conversation just got weird.

It doesn't come.

"When's the appointment?" he asks instead, like you just told him you're seeing a dentist.

"Four forty-five."

Yoongi glances at his computer screen, then back at you. A slight furrow appears between his brows—not judgmental, more like he's calculating something.

"Is it your first time?"

Your mouth opens, then closes. 

Is there a neon sign above your head that says ‘VIRGIN TO WOMEN'S HEALTHCARE’ blinking in hot pink? How does everyone just know these things about you?

"Yeah," you admit, heat creeping up your neck. "First time."

Yoongi nods like this confirms a theory. "I can take you."

You blink at him, confused by the easy offer. "You don't have to—"

"I've done it before," he says with a small shrug. "My sisters. Lost count of how many times I've sat in waiting rooms while they got checked out."

"Your sisters?" This is new information. Yoongi has barely mentioned his family in the few weeks you've lived together.

"Two of them," he says, shrugging. “Older and younger. They'd kill me if they knew I was calling them a pain in my ass, but..." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Pain in my ass."

"I didn't know you had sisters," you say, still hovering in the doorway, surprised by this glimpse into his life.

"East Village, you said?" He inquires, stretching his arms over his head. "On 14th?"

"Yeah, but—seriously, you don't have to. I can go alone. It's fine."

Yoongi looks at you, really looks at you, his gaze direct but not unkind. "But you don't want to. That's why you're here. Give me ten minutes to finish this section, and we'll go."

The simplicity of it knocks the air from your lungs. 

No questions about why you need to go, why you can't go alone. 

Just acceptance. 

Just help.

"Thanks," you manage, your voice smaller than intended.

Yoongi makes a sound—something between a grunt and a hum—that you interpret as 'you're welcome' before focusing back on his work. You linger for a moment, uncertain, before backing out of the room and gently closing the door.

Fifteen minutes later, you're sitting next to Yoongi in an Uber, your knee bouncing nervously as you watch the city blur past the window. 

You've barely spoken since leaving the apartment, the silence between you not uncomfortable but definitely... present.

"Have you been to this doctor before?" Yoongi asks suddenly, his voice quiet in the confines of the car.

You shake your head. "First time."

"First time ever?"

There's no judgment in his tone, just curiosity, but you still feel a flush creep up your neck. "Yeah. My parents were... strict."

Yoongi nods like this makes perfect sense. "Mine too. Different things, though."

"Like what?"

He shrugs, his shoulder lifting in a smooth, controlled motion. "Music. They wanted the classical route—Juilliard, orchestra, all that. Not producing. Definitely not hip hop."

"But you did it anyway."

A small smile quirks the corner of his mouth. "Eventually. Took a while."

There's more to it, you can tell. You recognize it because it mirrors your own experiences—the rebellion, the constant calculation of how much you can take without being taken from.

"Are your sisters musicians too?" you ask, curious about these siblings he's mentioned.

His eyebrows lift slightly, like he's surprised you're interested enough to ask. "Mina and Soonhee? Nah, they got different rules. Mina's older—she got to do dance, no questions asked. Soonhee's the baby—she's in med school now, but she did competitive cheerleading through high school. I was the only one who got the 'practical career' lectures."

"That's fucked up."

He huffs a laugh, soft and low. "Yeah. Parents, man."

"So how'd you end up being the gynecologist escort service?"

This time, the laugh is fuller, unexpected enough that the driver glances in the rearview mirror. "Soonhee. She was seventeen, terrified of going alone, and didn't want our mom knowing yet. So I took her." He shrugs again. "After that, it was just... normal. Picked her up from appointments sometimes when our parents were working. Drove Mina a few times too."

Something about this image—Yoongi, quiet and steady, sitting in a waiting room while his sisters get their reproductive health sorted—makes your chest warm.

"That's... really nice of you."

"It's not a big deal." He says it so simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "That's what family does."

The car slows as you approach your destination, and suddenly the nerves are back, coiling tight in your stomach. 

This is happening. You're really doing this.

Yoongi must sense the shift because he looks at you, his gaze direct but gentle. "They'll ask a lot of questions. Some feel invasive, but they're just doing their job. If you don't know an answer, that's okay. If something feels wrong or hurts too much, speak up. Don't just endure it."

"Okay," you whisper, and for a moment, the two of you just look at each other—you, the girl who's spent her life trying to be perfect, and him, the boy who's learned to create his own definition of it.

The car stops. The driver announces your arrival. Yoongi nods once, decisive.

"Let's go."

The waiting room is exactly what you expected: too-bright lighting, uncomfortable chairs, ancient magazines, and the faint smell of disinfectant.

What you didn't expect is how much calmer you feel with Yoongi beside you, his presence steady as you fill out paperwork on a clipboard.

"Family medical history," you mutter, scanning the form. "Like I'm supposed to know if my great-aunt had ovarian cancer."

"Just write what you know," Yoongi says, not looking up from his phone where he's responding to what looks like a work email. "They mostly want the big stuff."

You nod, focusing back on the form.

Name, date of birth, insurance information (thank god your parents still have you on their plan, even if they'd probably have a collective aneurysm if they knew what you were using it for), medications (none), allergies (none), sexual history...

Your pen hovers over the ‘number of sexual partners’ field.

Two, technically. 

One in freshman year—David, your boyfriend for all of three months, who'd been sweet but forgettable—and now Jungkook, who is... neither of those things.

Not that anyone needs to know about that particular arrangement. 

Especially not Yoongi, who lives with both of you and would make things weird if he knew. 

It's bad enough that he might hear things through the walls sometimes—though you've been careful, for the most part. Extra careful.

Because what you and Rogue have isn't something that needs to be analyzed or discussed or turned into some big thing. It's just sex. Convenient, mind-blowing, occasionally wall-banging sex. No strings, no expectations, no complications.

And honestly, there's something almost thrilling about the secrecy of it all. The way you can brush past Jungkook in the kitchen while Yoongi's there, both of you acting like you didn't have your legs wrapped around his waist twelve hours earlier. 

The control of it. 

The power in knowing something no one else does.

Soon to be three partners, maybe, if things go well with Jason. 

The thought sends an unexpected twinge through you. Not guilt, exactly, but something adjacent to it.

"You know," Yoongi says suddenly, his voice low, "I never asked why you wanted to come here today."

You glance up, surprised. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Sure. But there are lots of reasons people go to gynecologists." His eyes remain on his phone, giving you the space to answer without the weight of his gaze. "Regular check-ups. STI testing. Birth control. Problems."

"All of the above?" you say, aiming for a joke but landing somewhere closer to honesty. "Mostly birth control, though. I've been... thinking about it for a while."

And it’s true, because condoms, while effective, aren't foolproof. 

Not that you're telling Yoongi that you're sleeping with anyone, let alone Jungkook, let alone possibly Jason soon.

Some things are better kept private. Safer that way. No one's business but your own.

Yoongi nods. "Smart."

That's it. No lecture about being careful, no brotherly concern about who you might be sleeping with, no judgment about your choices. Just: smart.

"Thanks," you say, and you mean it for more than just the compliment.

"Soonhee has an IUD," he offers casually. "Says it's been good for her. Less to remember."

You blink, caught off guard by how easily he's discussing this. "I was thinking about that. Or maybe the pill."

"Makes sense." He mumbles, typing into his phone now. "Mina did the implant thing—the arm one? She had mood swings at first, but they evened out."

You're about to ask another question when a nurse calls your name. 

Suddenly, your heart is in your throat again, the clipboard clutched in your sweaty hand.

"You'll be fine," Yoongi says, taking the clipboard from you with gentle fingers. "I'll be right here."

You stand, smoothing down your shirt with shaky hands. "This is weird, right? You barely know me."

Yoongi looks up at you, calm but thoughtful. "Not that weird. We live together. That counts for something."

Something about his words steadies you. 

You've lived with your parents for most of your life—but this is the first time it's felt like more than just sharing space. 

Like there's something about proximity that builds its own kind of trust, its own kind of care.

"Thanks, Yoongi," you say again, meaning it more with each repetition.

He nods once, then returns to his phone, the conversation complete.

As you follow the nurse down the hallway, you realize something surprising: you're glad it's Yoongi out there waiting. Not Yeji, not Jimin, not anyone else.

Just Yoongi—quiet, steady, unfazed by the messiness of being human.

And for the first time since moving in, you think maybe, just maybe, this apartment isn't just a place you live.

Maybe, in some small way, it's becoming home.

Your entire life, you’ve been told what to do with your body.

Stand up straight. Smile more. Don’t eat that. Wear this. Be modest. Be pretty. Be better. Smaller. Quieter. More.

It’s a strange feeling, sitting on the edge of an exam table in a paper gown that crinkles with every breath, realizing that for perhaps the first time, you’re making a decision entirely for yourself. 

About yourself. 

By yourself.

Dr. Rivera is nothing like you imagined. You’d pictured someone older, stern, clinical. Someone who would make you feel childish and naive. 

Instead, she’s maybe mid-thirties, with a warm smile and dark curls pulled back in a bun. She sits on a rolling stool, reviewing your forms, asking questions in a voice that somehow manages to feel both professional and conspiratorial—like you’re both in on something important together.

“So this is your first time seeing a gynecologist?” she asks, looking up from her tablet.

You nod, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest, to make yourself smaller under her gaze. “Yeah.”

“Any particular reason you decided to come in now?”

Do you tell her that you’ve been having casual sex with your roommate? That you’re hoping to add a handsome TA to the rotation? That after years of letting other people—parents, professors, partners—dictate what you should do, you’re finally deciding for yourself?

“I want to start birth control,” you say instead, aiming for casual confidence but hearing the slight waver in your voice. “Something reliable.”

She nods, no judgment in her expression. “Have you been thinking about any particular method?”

“I’ve been researching a few. The pill, IUDs…”

“IUDs are excellent long-term options,” she says, setting her tablet aside. “Both hormonal and non-hormonal varieties have their advantages. The hormonal ones can help with period symptoms—lighter bleeding, less cramping. The copper one doesn’t have hormones, so there are no hormonal side effects, but periods can be heavier, especially at first.”

You’ve read all of this online, but somehow hearing it from an actual doctor makes it feel more real. 

More possible.

“How long have you been sexually active?” 

“A few years,” you say, the vagueness intentional. “Not consistently.”

“Using condoms?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Remember that birth control protects against pregnancy, but condoms protect against STIs. It’s always good to use both unless you’re in a mutually monogamous relationship and have both been tested.”

You nod, like a good student receiving familiar information. But inside, something tightens. Because you haven’t been tested. Not really. Just the standard blood work at check-ups. 

Another thing to add to the list of adult responsibilities you’re finally catching up on.

“I’d like to do a pelvic exam and Pap smear today, if that’s okay with you,” Dr. Rivera continues. “It’s recommended for women your age, and it will help us make sure everything looks healthy before we proceed with birth control.”

The exam succeeds.

And in itself it is… well, not pleasant, exactly, but not as terrible as you’d feared. 

Dr. Rivera talks you through each step—the speculum (cold, but not painful), the swabs (quick, a little uncomfortable), the manual exam (weird pressure, but over quickly). 

It’s not dignified, but it’s not humiliating either. Just necessary. Clinical. Part of being a woman with a body that needs maintenance and care.

Afterward, as you sit back up, adjusting the paper gown around your knees, she asks, “So, were you thinking you’d like to start birth control today, or did you want some time to think about options?”

“Today,” you say, the word coming out more confident than you feel. Then, because honesty seems important here: “I’m afraid if I wait, I’ll talk myself out of it.”

Dr. Rivera’s smile is understanding. “That happens more often than you’d think. If you’re interested in an IUD, I could insert one today. We have both hormonal and copper options in stock.”

Your heart jumps a little. You hadn’t expected to actually do this today. You’d thought there would be more steps, more time, more chances to second-guess yourself.

“The copper one,” you say, a decision forming as the words leave your mouth. “I’ve been reading about it. I like that there are no hormones, and that it works right away.”

“The ParaGard,” she nods. “It’s effective for up to twelve years, though you can have it removed anytime. The insertion can be uncomfortable—some women experience cramping during and after the procedure. Are you on your period now?”

You shake your head.

“That’s fine. Some doctors prefer to insert during menstruation because the cervix is naturally a bit more open, but it’s not necessary. We can do it today if you’re sure.”

Are you?

Are you sure you want to make this decision, right now, without more time to think? 

Are you sure you’re ready for this level of control, this level of commitment to your own autonomy?

The voice in your head that prompts those questions sounds suspiciously like your mother’s—whispers that maybe you should wait. Think more. Ask someone else’s opinion. Perhaps this is too rushed, too impulsive.

But then another voice rises—your own voice, tired of being drowned out—saying that you’ve thought enough. 

That waiting is just another form of letting fear make your decisions for you.

That you know what you want. 

“I’m sure,” you say, and the words feel like a declaration of independence.

Dr. Rivera walks you through the procedure, what to expect, potential side effects, when to call if something feels wrong. She’s thorough without being patronizing, clear without being alarming. By the time she leaves to gather the necessary materials, your nervousness has dissipated, and all you’re left feeling is an odd sort of calm.

This is happening. You’re choosing this. For yourself. By yourself.

And then, the actual insertion.

Which, just like the exam, isn’t pleasant. 

There’s pain—sharp, sudden, deep—as the IUD passes through your cervix. A cramping that radiates outward, making you gasp and grip the edges of the exam table. But it’s over faster than you expected, though the cramping lingers.

“You did great,” Dr. Rivera says, stripping off her gloves. “The cramping should ease up in a day or two. Ibuprofen will help. And remember what we discussed about checking the strings, about when to call if something doesn’t feel right.”

You nod, absorbing the information through the haze of discomfort and, oddly enough, a strange sense of triumph. 

Because you did it. You came here, you made a choice, and you followed through. No one told you to. No one had to approve. Just you, deciding what happens to your body.

It’s a small thing, maybe. Basic healthcare that thousands of women access every day. But to you, in this moment, it feels monumental.

“Thank you,” you say, meaning it deeply.

Dr. Rivera smiles, like she understands exactly what you’re thanking her for. 

“Take your time getting dressed. The nurse will bring you some information to take home, and I’ll see you for a follow-up in a few weeks to make sure everything’s settling in well.”

When she leaves, you sit there for a moment longer, one hand resting lightly on your lower abdomen. 

There’s something in there now, something you chose, something working for you without you having to think about it. 

Protection. Freedom. Agency.

It hurts, yes. 

But it’s a hurt with purpose. 

A discomfort you’re enduring for yourself, not for anyone else.

As you dress slowly, careful of the cramping that makes you wince, you think about all the times you’ve twisted yourself into shapes that pleased others. All the choices you’ve surrendered in the name of being good, being agreeable, being what everyone else wanted.

Not this time.

This time, you chose you.

Yoongi doesn’t ask questions when you emerge, moving slightly slower than before, your face a little paler. He just stands, tucks his phone into his pocket, and falls into step beside you as you make your way out of the clinic.

“Need anything?” he asks simply as you wait for the Uber outside.

You consider for a moment. “Ice cream, maybe.”

He nods, like this is the most reasonable request in the world. “There’s a good place three blocks from here. If you’re up for the walk.”

The cramping is uncomfortable but manageable—and your need for something sweet and creamy is too compelling to deny it.

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting your course to fall in beside him. “I’m up for it.”

You can’t help but think how strange really life is.

How you’re walking through the East Village with Yoongi, a copper IUD safely nestled in your uterus, making decisions that have nothing to do with what anyone else thinks you should do.

It feels like freedom. 

It feels like growing up. 

It feels, for the first time in a long while, like your life is actually yours.

Maybe that’s worth a little discomfort.

goal: 300 notes and this time I am not lowering the bar

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[committingcrimes-2047]

I'm thinking about Vander x reader- im thinking about a story where they are maybe childhood friends and then they end up fighting on the bridge together but get separated and no one knows where Reader is so they assume theyre dead only for them to show up a year later.

Imagine Reader showing up at the last drop as its closing and Vander has his back to them and tells them that hes about to close up shop and they just sit down and maybe ask for a super specific thing that they always used to order and he like turns around and realises its them and it goes from there.

I know people are in agony with the new season so I thought I might as well throw some silly little ideas out into the wild. Please tag me if anyone writes this- not because its my idea but because im desperate for more Vander please and thank you.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

friend notoriously bad at videogames said shed play marvel rivals with me tomorrow chat if i never post after tomorrow night its because a blood vessel bursted

[bedforddanes75]

do you have any fanfiction recs??

I DO!!!!!! im honoured that someone's thought of Me to ask for recs omg... anyway theyll be under the cut because making long posts without a cut makes me feel mean

okay im assuming u mean gatty cos. its Me so sorry if u didnt 😞 smut is marked with * btw!!! (also before i start i'm sorry to everyone i tag i Hate tagging it's really scary.) SO. in no specific order. let's go

love me to death* by...somebody who i do not know the tumblr of (sorry) is amazing. i'd also recommend everything else by this person, too, because all of it is beautiful.

all the king's horses by the wonderful @allylikethecat is one of my all time faves, it just makes me want to scream and cry and yell and jump up and down. in a very, very good way!! (also, it has horses, so.)

the big light by @betweenthings2 is for real godsent, and i would die to be able to write like this!!!!! (but if u do then tw for speak of s/a!! keep urself safe!) it's beautiful and sad and sad and sad and wonderful. again, i'd recommend everything else by them, too!!! (also loads of crisps because it got updated like three seconds ago, and i Love It)

in the search for it, inside of you* by @arainesque is so beautifully sad, and the best thing ever. it's so soft and wonderful and lovely and aaaaaahhh!!! the way she wrote their dynamic makes my heart ACHE. obsessed always :(((((<3

how little i really know (about the things that matter)* OH MY GOD. farm boy george. literally almost entirely what inspired deus like it's AMAZING. beautiful and i love it so much

roadkill, again, by @betweenthings2 because she's genuinely amazing and deserves nine hundred thousand billion kudos on every single fic <3 (tw for restrictive (i think) EDs btw!!) i think if i read this while not in a good mood i would explode and die. it's amazing

into my spiral patterns you (my love) by @lookedlikethebins which is in progress rn is HWHSKJSJSJ. beautiful. obsessed with how they've written george in this one <3

okay im Very sorry to everyone who i tagged here i genuinely hate tagging people so much it makes me SICK but i kinda felt bad speaking about fics and Not tagging people. LORD. someone give me a tumblr etiquette class

[lippmannssplatteredblood]

Was it ever confirmed Lippmann was based on Walter Lippmann?

No.

But wait, there's enough evidence! (Ty anon im using this ask as an excuse to ramble and getting these off my chest)

As we all already know, most of the characters in BSD, especially ability users, are based on real life authors. Stormbringer explicitly stated that bsd!Lippmann was "an extremely powerful skill user" so he must be based on someone. And guess what? There happens to be a writer with the exact name as his.

Walter Lippmann was an American journalist, politician, and writer. He was deemed as "the most gifted and influential American political journalist of the twentieth century". His works mostly took the theme of public relations and stuff. Sounds familiar?

I'd like to add this part from the etymology section of his(bsd) wiki btw, just in case you didn't know.

Does it end there? No, not quite.

Let's take a look at his most popular work; Public Opinion.

"...The pictures inside the heads of these human beings, the pictures of themselves, of others, of their needs, purposes, and relationship, are their public opinions. Those pictures which are acted upon by groups of people, or by individuals acting in the name of groups, are Public Opinion with capital letters."

"The pictures in our heads", page 29

People, generally, have some sort of "persona" of themselves that they would try to plant on other people's minds. Kinda like the Japanese "three faces" proverb, you may say. And how do they achieve it? By only presenting that persona; by masking; by acting.

"Royal personages are, of course, constructed personalities. Whether they themselves believe in their public character, or whether they merely permit the chamberlain to stage-manage it, there are at least two distinct selves, the public and regal self, the private and human."

"The pictures in our heads", page 7

Simply said, him being an actor might be a reference to (or a representation of) that human nature which P.O. talks of. An actor acts—they dive into the role of another character that's not them. (Which, when you think about it, is just what us humans do on a daily basis, except they do it professionally and for a living, which when you think about it again—)

Mr. Lippmann also published books titled "A Preface to Politics" and "A Preface to Morals" which is....interesting.

Okay, "preface" and "face" technically are different. Though they still share somewhat a similar meaning.

But hear me out. Let's go back to the persona thing. Generally, what people would want to be perceived as is as the perfect, ideal versions of themselves. To make that happen, they would have to put on a good first impression. And what's usually the first thing that people notice about a person? Correct—their appearance; their face.

Lippmann(bsd) was multiple times described as "perfect" (like okay asagiri, he's pretty, we get it), especially regarding his looks (and capabilities). See what I'm saying?

Lippmann was the stage face, the public image of the Port Mafia. He was the preface to the Port Mafia. He created the pictures in people's head of the Port Mafia.

As a verb, however, "face" has another meaning:

He negotiated with front companies, met and talked with political figures, and even dealt with the press if push came to shove.

I feel like this might be merely a coincidence or a pun, though. But the fact that his field of work in the Port Mafia was specifically negotiating with the "real world" is definitely not something Asagiri just pulled out of thin air—or so I believe to be the case, at least, having read this paragraph.

"This is the underlying reason for the existence of the press agent. The enormous discretion as to what facts and what impressions shall be reported is steadily convincing every organized group of people that whether it wishes to secure publicity or to avoid it, the exercise of discretion cannot be left to the reporter. It is safe to hire a press agent who stands between the group and the newspapers. Having hired him, the temptation to exploit his strategic position is very great."

"The nature of news", page 344

Oh, by the way, remember this scene?

It's just a silly, filler interaction that seemed not to reference anything, but just you wait.

"Men cannot long act in a way that they know is a contradiction of the environment as they conceive it. If they are bent on acting in a certain way they have to reconceive the environment, they have to censor out, to rationalize. But if in their presence, there is an insistent fact which is so obstrusive that they cannot explain it away, one of three courses is open. They can perversely ignore it, though they would cripple themselves in the process, will overact their part and come to grief. They can take it into account but refuse to act. They pay in internal discomfort and frustration. Or, and I believe this is to be the most frequent case, they adjust their whole behavior to the large environment."

"Intelligence work", page 383

Then again, these are but my interpretations and/or speculations which I'd like you to take with a grain of salt, as I could very well still be wrong (because Asagiri loves to trick us, apparently).

I could go on and on and on and on and on but I'm afraid I'd just be blabbering nonsense at some point. Thank you for reading my (hopefully coherent) ramblings.

[deus-ex-mona]

ok yk what. now that i’ve had some time to process nghy canon, considering the current pacing of gen retcon, i think their next step is as ✨clear as day✨

i really like seeing them happy together, but i truly do think that they should divorce and either live the rest of their lives as single besties; partners in hero/heroine-isms, but better off as just friends, or go their separate ways for a bit and get back together when they’re a little older and wiser, staying together for good this time around, as each other’s first and last boyfriend/girlfriend

[luxtoony]

Hello again!

I did this lil silly survey a long while ago :)

I wanted to ask if you would mind to answer a few of my questions :3

If not, that's totally fine! No pressure!

How many hours do you sleep per night?

How many hours are enough to get through the day and how many are a lot for your standard?

Is caffein (in any form) part of your morning routine or your 'last resort'?

How do you feel over the day before and after consuming caffein (if you consume any)?

For example: sluggish, foggy, awake, exhausted, grumpy, just tired, etc.

Thank you a lot for (maybe) participating!

If you want, I can add you when I post the results, but I can also leave you out :)

Lmao @meowufff I'm probably so late with the answers but what can I do, life be lifyn. Answers down below:

How many hours do you sleep per night?

... It depends on the night. Usually I sleep around 6h... But I'm not a regular sleeper 😅 so 0, 3, 12 hours do happen quite frequently.

How many hours are enough to get through the day and how many are a lot for your standard?

Usually 6-8 is fine. A lot for my standard... Hard to say *shrug*

Is caffein (in any form) part of your morning routine or your 'last resort'?

I don't drink coffee regularly, but I do drink it whenever I feel like it. Or more like, milk with coffee. I'd say I drink 3-4 coffees a week

How do you feel over the day before and after consuming caffein (if you consume any)?

Caffeine has very little effect on me. It's more like a placebo try to inflict on myself. There are no effects from the days in between drinking it, although my tummy doesn't like when I drink coffee on empty stomach, and my body really doesn't like energy drinks thus why I drink them only as a last resort.and overall rather hate them.

[ssspringroll]

Omg it's them... Imaginary friends from my brain...

Updated slightly from how they would've looked when i last thought about them nearly 10 years ago. One of them grew out of his edgy phase. The other one... not so much.

[wildstar25]

😊

[spaciebabie]

How do you sketch and draw so well?!

I wanna reach your level of skill, are there any tips or videos/guides that helped you a lot?

FIRST OF ALL THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENT?? RAAAAAAWRRRG IT MEANS A LOT

erruh ill try my best ta give advice (although i still feel like i have a lot ta learn) i wrote more than i thought i would so its under the cut ^v^!

ermm i mean im entirely self taught (if it wasnt obvious) so my artist journey has basically been me looking at other artists artstyles, methods of coloring and drawing, etc. and adapting them in my art when i see something i really like.

i used ta watch a lot of speedpaint videos as a kid and those are honestly really helpful for figuring out how artists do specific things. for example: when i was 14 i watched a speedpaint done by an artist i looked upta and noted their use of layer settings ta make certain colors pop and i have used their method ever since! dont be afraid ta experiment and draw inspiration :]

i have watched a lot of videos and followed tutorials on how ta do specific things such as anatomy (lots and lots of anatomy...), shading, perspective, etc. although i mostly look at those when things dont quite look right and i wanna improve. i dont really have any specific recs for tutorials? for me tutorials can be a hit or miss (seems like a 10/90 hit or miss instead of 50/50 sometimes ._.). my most basic advice is ta break things down inta shapes! cubes are the easiest shape for me ta understand so breaking things down like that has helped me a lot! ALSO REFERENCES. USE REFERENCES THEY HELP SOOOO MUCH FORREAL ONG BRAH. DONT BE AFRAID TA TRACE OVER SOMETHING TA FIGURE OUT THE SHAPES IF YOU CANT JUST SEE EM AND PULL EM OUT (but also only do this for practice, dont trace over things and then post em and say they're yours thats theft) AND LOOK AT LIGHTING TOO AND HOW IT TOUCHES CERTAIN OBJECTS DO SOME STUDIES ITS GOOD FOR YA (<- sucks at doing studies b/c he gets bored of doing them really easily)

a note about sketching: something i know a lot of beginners struggle w/is using too many strokes. it happens when you're unsure of a specific thing you're drawing and i do happen ta fall inta this from time ta time, although i try not 2 as much as possible. an example of me on a good sketching day is this rabbittrap i drew:

i use very few strokes here! and am not afraid ta overshoot my lines. compare it ta this drawing i did months ago:

and you can tell i was having trouble in certain parts b/c of the heavy amount of strokes i used. it takes practice but sketching w/out using as many strokes is a surefire way ta make your art seem more dynamic and less ridged and also save time! remember, you dont hafta detail out every last thing in your initial sketch. save that for later!

[allofuswantgwinam]

i hate when people who im not into flirt with me bc i literally start buffering right in front of their eyes and then idk how to be myself anymore bc stop it 🤣🤣 one of my favs today was like “how are you doing pretty lady” and i straight up froze and looked like i was malfunctioning 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤧🤧🤧 but i made it out ok, I think 🤣🤣 cause I do t wanna hurt peoples feelings either but maybe he was just being nice lmao i just try to act like everything is normal and they didn’t say that 😵‍💫 THEN I think this one guy called me babe like a week ago and I wa s just like “… thanks” and I really think he did bc he hasn’t been back since then and I feel bad now 🤣🤣 was also one of my favs, why they gotta like me 😅😅

[dopaminepig]

how do i start setting firm boundaries with this kid in my club who keeps making unfunny jokes and taking over the whole meeting and pissing me the fuck off without like dragging down the vibes of the entire thing. because i did not manage it tonight, i got genuinely hostile and killed the vibes👍

[abyssalpriest]

God I could and should write a whole fucking book by the end of this life here on Lev and his symbols

ill write it then burn it before anyone else gets a copy. or i wont. im supposed to be helping him this incarnation here to get a better anchor in this plane so maybe it would help more than itd be weird - im just getting from him the energy of "yeah no people already effectively have these things, people on my plane already know me inside and out to an extensive degree, may as well have it here too" you know. fair