#So to come back after all this time and get such a positive response

[tsumisgarden]

Thinking about how KCD1 and 2 are both set in 1403 is always crazy to me. Because at the beginning of KCD 2, you have Henry telling Hans that he's behaving like a spoiled brat (which he is, absolutely).

But when you start KCD1, which, again, happened that same year, you have big baby Henry, who would whine to his Ma about being hungry, who also would run to his Ma when he had a booboo because some drunk beat him up, and who gets pocket money from his Pa to go woo his girl at the tavern.

And it breaks my heart to think about how fast Henry had to grow up after losing everything in Skalitz. He was so unprepared for everything that was thrown at him. The only things he had going for him to face his new reality were a braveness that verges on madness and maybe a certain way with people – Because he was Skalitz’s beloved boy. Beloved by his parents, obviously, but also by most of the villagers who all seemed fond of him. But then, after the raid, he didn't even have the support of those people anymore, because they were either dead or had lost everything.

After Skalitz, the remaining villagers needed him to find them jobs to survive. And the people at Rattay did eventually warm up to him, but it was a slow process. And for that to happen, he had to chase and kill bandits for them, or to steal things for them and join them in their shady business. Such a stark contrast to the favors people would ask from him back in Skalitz, like throwing dung at people's houses for shittalking the king.

But among everyone else who needed him for vital or grim reasons, there was Hans and his silly requests. Hans, who needed him to fetch wine and flowers, and to be his wingman to woo a girl. Hans, who wanted him to take part in a tourney and pretend to be his page to get his uncle off his back. Hans, who despite their rocky start and class divide, was one of the people who warmed up to him the quickest, and who essentially reminded Henry that the days when his actions didn't have to have life or death stakes and could be just mischievous fun weren't gone completely.

"A bad day is just a bad day and it doesn't mean that your whole life is fucked" That piece of wisdom from Hans in KCD2, it’s Hans who makes Henry realize that in KCD1, during the earliest and darkest days of his grief.

Fast forward to KCD2, it's now Hans who has to grow up too fast, when he's first brutally stripped of the privileges of his status, and then is thrown into a losing battle against Sigismund and his allies.

If KCD1 is Henry's coming of age story, KCD2 is Hans's. He goes from making Henry do his share of his work, to wishing he could be the one to save Henry for once(*). He also goes from thinking that hauling sacks is beneath him to volunteering to dig graves. And he learns to accept responsibility for what happened at the pond.

Up until KCD2, Hanush was always nearby to handle serious matters for Hans as his guardian. Delivering that message to Von Bergow is Hans's first time in a leading position.

He thinks he's ready, but almost immediately, he makes a mistake that gets his men killed, and puts him in a situation where people won't recognize his status because he doesn't look the part. That mistake almost gets him hanged, one of the lowliest deaths, even for a peasant. It reminds him of the precariousness of his status, which he has been taking for granted.

Then, when his status is acknowledged again, he realizes it makes him a bargaining chip more than anything. And he is a bargaining chip both to his enemies, who will capture him for a ransom, but also to his allies who, will marry him off without his input to reinforce their political standing.

And through all of this, the one person who stayed loyal to him was Henry. Henry did everything in his power to save him when no one else was on his side because they took him for a mere poacher. Then he found that while his allies mostly care about what they can gain or lose from him, Henry only cares about keeping him safe, and it's not because it's his duty, but because he cares about him, plain and simple.

In KCD1, Henry, who was used to a carefree life, suddenly has to take on responsibilities that are too heavy for him (or anybody, really). But Hans reminds him that his carefree days aren't completely gone.

In KCD2, Hans thinks that inheriting Rattay will open a smooth path to glory for him, but the following events quickly disillusion him about that. But he also finds that there is someone he can always rely on, and it's Henry, and it's not because he's a noble but because of his person.

They were each other's beacon in their darkest times. The way they complete each other, it's really no surprise that they fell in love along the way.

(*) Never mind that he did save Henry multiple times, but I think what he means is that he wishes he could take on some dangerous tasks so that Henry wouldn't be the one who has to risk his life all the time.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 05

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS: we’re back to alternating POVs, many confrontations, a reveal of sorts, seoyeon is goated, namjoon is tired, yoongi learns all kinds of lessons and then instantly forgets them (as per usual), and then throws a pity party and forces MC to attend, this is the most MC and yoongi have been on the same page EVER tho, blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 10k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: GLOSSDEBUT NATION! WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK! i’m sorry this took me so long but POF5 is finally here, and hopefully the 10k wordcount makes up for the delayed update. this one is a RIDE, so buckle in and enjoy! don’t forget to send me your thoughts and theories, because they truly help the updates come faster <3 thank you to my loves @ktownshizzle and @yooniivrse for beta reading this chapter!

P.S. if you can guess the two songs yoongi’s working on in this chapter by description alone, i’ll kiss you on the mouth (they’re both arctic monkeys songs)

P.P.S. congratulations to those of you who voted 2 in my poll. please heed the warnings under the cut

CH. 05: TOO FAR TO GO BACK

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: mentions of disordered eating, vomiting, drinking, yoongi is an asshole (wbk), dirty talk, nipple play, Yoongi’s Tongue Piercing, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Yoongi vividly remembers the night he first saw you. It’s hard to forget.

He and Namjoon were flying solo that night, sans band. Freshly signed to the label, forced into a blazer he’d never pick out for himself, surrounded by people who didn’t know his name yet and didn’t care to learn. Out of place. He felt out of place all night.

But, as the hyung, Yoongi knew it was his responsibility to do the dirty work. Shmooze. Connect. And, to his credit, when he put his mind to it, Yoongi was actually good at that sort of thing. He knew how to read people, how to play them to get what he wanted. It was how they got signed in the first place. He just needed to wipe the sour look off of his face and remember the goal. For Jeongguk.

It was a music showcase, a big name network. Comebacks and debuts, one after the other. Giddy rookies who hadn’t eaten in days in preparation for their stage, something wild in their eyes. A desire to prove themselves. Yoongi wasn’t there to perform, but his position wasn’t unlike theirs. He had something to prove, too. 

An appearance at the showcase was just that—an appearance. It was the after that mattered. It wasn’t just fans that went to things like this. The audience was full of bookers, promoters, industry magnates that could all mean big things for Burn The Stage if Yoongi played his cards right.

He spent the whole night tuning out blaring bubblegum pop, going over the script in his head—what he should say, what he should do. And then something stopped him in his tracks, forced him to sit up and pay attention.

A soloist, draped in something midnight blue and velvet.

You. Yoongi knows that now.

His first thought was that you had a voice unlike anything he’d ever heard before. His second was that you were beautiful.

All night, he couldn’t sit still. The tag of his blazer dug into the back of his neck. He couldn’t stop tapping his foot, flexing his fists, glancing around. All of the pressure made his chest feel unbelievably tight, because what if the night was a bust? What if nobody was interested in what he had to say? What if the label dropped them and he had to admit that he failed?

But as soon as you opened your mouth and sang that first note, the buzzing in his head quieted in an instant. From beginning to end, Yoongi was enraptured by you. Like nothing else in the world mattered except hearing you sing.

Being in that noraebang with you, years later… It didn’t feel any different. Not one bit.

Yoongi doesn’t follow you when you run. 

Maybe it’s cowardly of him. Maybe a better man than him would reach out, grab your hand, spin you back around. Say something. 

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. What to do. He doesn't understand what just happened, let alone how he’s meant to fix it. He’s not even sure if there’s anything to fix, not when everything was so broken from the beginning. 

You hate him. He hates you. That was the agreement. So he lets you go.

He goes back inside, avoids Jeongguk’s eyes. Tells everyone you felt sick, which probably isn’t a lie judging by the look on your face when you broke away from him.

It’s not like he didn’t anticipate… something. He’s noticed the way you look at him. He’d wanted to use it, to see if he could catch you in some kind of lie. Catch you staring at him a little too long to be brushed off.

But this? Your lips against his, his tongue in your mouth, the sound you made. Fuck. You almost sounded as sweet as you do when you sing. He wants to forget it ever happened. He wants to hear it again, over and over.

It all happened too fast. 

Yoongi wishes he remembered who had moved first. Someone to shoulder the blame, make things simple for him. He wants it to be you. It would be easy to slip that mask back into place, to hate you. It would be easy. He’d almost stopped, but going back would be so easy.

But something in his gut tells him it wasn’t you. That, foolishly, it was him. You wouldn’t give him everything he needs to point the finger, not like this. 

It had to be Yoongi. He kissed you.

He lifts his head, meeting Jeongguk’s gaze. Jeongguk, who looks concerned. Yoongi doesn’t deserve his concern.

Yoongi opens his mouth to speak, but guilt rises in his throat, choking him. For a moment, he thinks he might confess—his mouth has betrayed him before. But what comes out isn’t words.

Instead, Yoongi surges forward and pukes his guts up. All over the noraebang floor.

★ ★ ★

You need to get the fuck off of this island.

You’ve never booked a flight so quickly in your life. You’d take one tonight, if the option was available, but tomorrow afternoon will have to do. In the meantime, you’ll pack as quickly as humanly possible—and then drink yourself to sleep, because that’s the only way you’ll be able to catch a wink of it at this rate.

You’re freaking out.

Your phone has been buzzing incessantly since you got back to the house, your screen filling with notifications from Jeongguk, Jimin, and Taehyung. Text after text asking if you’re okay, if you got back safe, if you need them to come home. You don’t want to deal with it, can’t deal with it right now. Not when—

Min Yoongi kissed you.

Or, you kissed him? There was kissing, with Min Yoongi, the bane of your existence. Insistently, with tongue.

An incredibly skilled tongue, at that—and that piercing. And strong hands, guitarist’s hands, smoothing over your waist, pulling you closer. You can still smell him on you, citrus and leather and smoke, and—

Fuck, no! Jesus, when did you suddenly become this desperate for cock?

This is exactly why you need to leave. You cannot keep having these thoughts about Min fucking Yoongi, you just can’t. You hate him! He’s rude, and insensitive, and he doesn’t respect you in the slightest. He’s made that abundantly clear.

You text Jeongguk that you’re okay, that you made it to the house, and no, you don’t need him to come back. That’s the last thing you need right now.

What you need is to pack.

You move through the bedroom in a frenzy, tossing your clothes into suitcases that suddenly seem too small. Hyerin somehow managed to make everything fit before you came, but now, your shaking fingers struggle to secure the zippers. Of course.

Irritated, you dig your flask out from your purse. It’s running empty, but it’s more than enough to swallow down the nausea that’s been climbing up your throat since you cut and run.

By the time you’ve packed up the rest of your belongings, the room is spinning, your gut threatening a different kind of sickness. It’s a familiar one, at least. After the events of the night, a little alcohol-induced vomiting is nothing.

Still, in an effort to fend it off, you force yourself into a horizontal position. You take a steadying breath, shifting onto your side. You know the drill. In five minutes, you’ll either be dead to the world, or hugging porcelain.

Luckily, it’s the former. Before you know it, you’re drifting into a sleep so deep you don’t even stir when Jeongguk gets back.

★ ★ ★

In the morning, you say the necessary goodbyes. 

Jeongguk is clearly confused, obviously concerned, but he doesn’t twist your arm. It must be the expression you’re wearing when you tell him you’re going. You can only imagine how it screams, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

The others are sad to see you go. Taehyung hugs you tightly, with promises to catch up when everyone is back in Seoul. Jimin does the same, although he’s remarkably quiet in comparison. 

And Yoongi…

You stop at his door last. You shouldn’t, you know that. All of the questions swarming through your brain about where you stand with him, about what last night meant—they don’t matter. A clean break. That’s what you need.

But still, you knock with a shaky fist, his stolen jacket clutched tightly in the other.

When the door swings open, you force yourself to meet his eyes. Yoongi looks surprised—for half a second, maybe—but the expression vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar indifference. His voice is flat, unreadable.  

“What can I do for you, YN?” he asks, already stepping away, like your presence barely registers. He returns to whatever he was doing at his laptop before you knocked, attention fixed anywhere but on you as he types.

You shift your weight. “Uh, your jacket,” you say, holding it up. “I accidentally took it with me last night.”  

“You can put it on the bed.”  

You do as he says, carefully laying it down, though your fingers linger against the fabric. There’s a hesitation in your movements, a weight pressing down on your chest. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge the silence stretching between you. You clear your throat.  

“Can we… Can we talk for a minute?” you try.

His fingers pause briefly over his keyboard. “About?”  

“Well… Um. Last night. Shouldn’t we clear the air?”  

Yoongi waves a hand dismissively, not even glancing up. “Consider it cleared.”  

You knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation, but the casual way he brushes you off still stings. You steel yourself, pressing forward. “It’s just—I’m leaving. I don’t know if you heard. And I just wanted to—”  

He scoffs before you can finish, finally swiveling around to face you. He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he smirks. “What, were you expecting a goodbye kiss?”  

Something inside you hardens at that. “No,” you say, voice clipped.  

His smirk doesn’t falter. “Then have a safe flight, dollface.”  

You let out a breath, scoffing under it, more at yourself than anything. Stupid to think this could have gone any other way. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Bye, Yoongi.”  

You don’t wait for a response. You turn, stepping out of the room, the weight in your chest sinking deeper with every step.

Your Uber pulls up just as you step outside, the driver barely glancing at you as you slide into the backseat. The car smells faintly of leather and mint, and the quiet crackle of the radio fills the space, but none of it does anything to settle the tightness in your chest. You swallow hard, pressing your forehead briefly against the cool window as the car pulls away from the curb. The streets of Seogwipo blur past, Yoongi’s house slipping away behind you.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with Seoyeon’s name. Shit. You forgot you texted her this morning—she must be following up. You exhale sharply before answering.

“You’re coming back?” Seoyeon doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“First flight out.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “sooner than I thought.”

“Yeah.” The word comes out thinner than you’d like. “I just—can you pack my schedule? As tight as possible. Meetings, shoots, interviews—whatever you can get me.”

Seoyeon doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t need to. It’s something you’ve always appreciated about her—she doesn’t make your personal life her business unless forced.

“Alright,” she says, brisk and efficient as always. “I’ll have everything lined up by the time you land. You sure you don’t want a day or two to breathe?”  

You close your eyes for a second, picturing the alternative—hours alone with nothing but your thoughts. “No. I just want to work.”

Seoyeon exhales, like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. “Okay,” she says instead. “I’ll handle it.”

“Thanks.”

“Get some rest on the flight,” she says, like she knows you won’t. And then the call ends, leaving you staring at your reflection in the darkened screen.

The rest of your ride to the airport is quiet, save for the soft music on the radio. Your thoughts swirl, looping back to Yoongi. The way he barely looked at you, how easily he dismissed you. Maybe this is better. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to let it all go.

The flight into Incheon is uneventful, but fatigue pulls at you the moment you step off the plane. Everything feels hazy, like you’re just going through the motions. You move through baggage claim, through the terminal, into another car without fully registering any of it.

And then you’re home. Seoul is as grey as ever.

By the time you unlock the door to your apartment, exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. The familiar scent of home greets you, clean and untouched, but the silence is deafening.  

It’s strange—coming back to this emptiness after being surrounded by the band for so long. No voices filtering in from another room, no aroma of freshly-cooked food, no strumming of a guitar. Just you, the hum of your empty fridge, the quiet creak of the floor beneath your feet.  

You drop your bag by the door and let out a breath, rubbing your face with both hands. The weight in your chest hasn’t lifted. If anything, it’s settled deeper, heavier.

You’re alone, for the first time in weeks.

You’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

★ ★ ★

Yoongi can’t focus.

He sits hunched over his desk, fingers poised above the keys of his laptop, but the words won’t come. It’s not like he doesn’t have lyrics—he does. He always does. But now that they’re laid out in front of him, neatly transcribed from notebook to laptop, they all feel wrong. Disingenuous.

He’s been at this for hours—writing, deleting, rewriting—but it all feels pointless. He glances at the clock. 2:45 a.m.

The label needs a progress report. Yoongi has to come up with at least six usable songs soon, and his mind should be locked into it, but instead, it keeps wandering. Every minute, every second, the image of you keeps pushing its way in.

The way your voice shook when you asked to clear the air, the way you hesitated before leaving, like there was something else you wanted to say, but couldn't. He can't shake it. Even gone, you’re a distraction.

Yoongi fishes his phone out of his pocket for the millionth time tonight, his fingers moving instinctively as he searches for your username. 

He’s not proud of it. It’s beyond pathetic, checking up on you like this. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for—some kind of indication of how you’re doing? What you’re feeling? Yoongi knows he won’t find any of that on an Instagram account that you don’t even personally run, but it’s all he has.

All he has, short of texting and asking you himself. Yeah, right.

You haven’t posted anything new since the last time he looked, so Yoongi swipes through your most recent update again. It’s a carefully curated photo dump announcing your return to Seoul. Yoongi has probably looked at it about twenty times tonight.

It’s not like it’s a particularly interesting photo dump—Taehyung is the master at those. It’s all normal shit. Clouds outside of an airplane window, an airport selca, the details of your outfit with all of the brands tagged. It’s classic model—a pretty girl doing boring shit and documenting every last detail.

The last one, though. The last one fucks Yoongi up.

You, standing in front of your well-lit bathroom mirror wearing an Innisfree face mask, your infamous Burn The Stage hoodie—and from the looks of it, not much else.

He knows it’s not for him. If anything, it’s probably preemptive damage control. Something to appease the fans before they start asking questions, wondering why you’re back in Seoul when Jeongguk is still on Jeju. But, fuck.

Yoongi flexes his free hand, stretches his fingers before curling them into a fist again. If there are two things you excel at, it’s looking pretty and riling him up. He should be focused, should be writing, but instead, his mind insists on wandering to places it shouldn’t. Dangerous places. Places that make his cock stir in his sweatpants, while simultaneously making his throat tighten with guilt.

What a predicament Yoongi’s managed to get himself into.

He’s so consumed by his warring emotions that he barely registers the sound of Yijeong clearing his throat.

“Yoongi-yah, we’ve been at this for hours,” Yijeong says, effectively breaking Yoongi out of his reverie. His lips flatten into a thin line as he swipes out of your most recent post, back onto your profile. “Maybe we should take a break.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi mutters dismissively, not looking up.

Yijeong sighs. “I think you’ve hit a wall.”  

“Yah, I’m fine,” Yoongi snaps, finally glancing up, agitation creeping into his voice. “I’m working.”  

“Are you?” Yijeong asks, tilting his head toward the phone in Yoongi’s hand.  

Yoongi exhales through his nose, sets the phone down with a pointed click, and swivels back toward his laptop. He taps at the keys, opening and closing files he hasn’t touched in hours. “Four mostly finished songs isn’t half bad.”  

“But you need six,” Yijeong points out. 

“Mm.” Yoongi barely responds, still clicking aimlessly. “Still two songs I didn’t have this morning.”  

“What about this one?” Yijeong rolls his chair closer in Yoongi’s periphery, sliding his open Leuchtturm across the desk.

Yoongi’s eyes flick to the page, and he immediately stiffens. It’s that song—the one he’d written about you, sang for you when he was bitter and angry. The reaction is instant, his body language shutting down before Yijeong can even say anything else. “No.” He snatches the notebook from Yijeong’s hand, shutting it with finality.  

Yijeong frowns. “What?”

“That’s not going on the album,” Yoongi says.

“But it’s fully written,” Yijeong points out, eyes narrowed. “And good. Why wouldn’t it go?”

Yoongi shrugs, feigning indifference. “Doesn’t fit the vibe.”

“The vibe,” Yijeong repeats, unimpressed.

“Yeah.”

“What vibe?”

Yoongi hesitates. “It’ll make us sound like assholes.”

Yijeong snorts. “Well, you wrote it.”  

“Ha.”

Yijeong sighs, glancing at the shut notebook. “It’s good, Yoongi-yah. It’s something to show the label, at least.”

“I have time to write something better.”

Yijeong gives him a long, exasperated look. “You haven’t written anything all day.” His patience is wearing thin, Yoongi can tell. “Come on. I’m trying to do what you asked me to come and do.”

“It’s one song, Yijeong-ah.”

“You’ve been pushing back on everything I’ve tried all day,” Yijeong replies, voice tinged with frustration. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

Yoongi rubs at his temples. He knows he’s not being fair—that Yijeong came here out of the kindness of his heart, just because Yoongi asked him to. Maybe Yoongi’s monopolized enough of his time.

“Yeah, I know.” His voice is quieter now. “Look, it’s… I’m not trying to be difficult. I can do this myself. I know you have your own shit.”  

Yijeong watches him carefully, his gaze so penetrating it makes Yoongi shift in his seat. Then, he says, almost too casually, “we were making good progress over the weekend.”

Yoongi’s posture tightens. “…Yeah.” Over the weekend. Before the noraebang.

Yijeong leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Could this lack of focus have anything to do with YN’s sudden departure?”

Aren’t you the source of all of Yoongi’s hardships lately? You and that stupid Burn The Stage sweatshirt, those deadly fucking silk shorts you flounced around in the whole time you were here. The fact that he kissed you—or you kissed him, the jury’s still out on that—and that you’re Jeongguk’s girlfriend, and that Yoongi has been shifting between guilt and delirious arousal since you left.

“You’re crazy,” Yoongi scoffs. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

Yijeong hums. “Sure.”

Yoongi pretends not to hear the knowing tone in Yijeong’s voice, shifting the conversation with practiced ease. “I’ve taken up too much of your time, Yijeong-ah. I only have to come up with two more songs.”

“You kicking me out for bringing up YN?” Yijeong teases. “Tyrant.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh through his nose, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I just think I need to figure the rest out on my own.”

Yijeong shrugs, seemingly disinterested in pressing the matter any further. Thankfully. “If you’re sure. I should be heading back soon anyway.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi reassures. “I’m good, Yijeong-ah. I promise.”  

“Okay. I’ll figure something out tomorrow, then.”  

Yoongi grunts in response, already turning back to his laptop.  

Yijeong stands, grabbing his jacket. On his way out, he reaches for Yoongi’s half-empty coffee cup and confiscates it with a small smile. “I’m going to sleep. I suggest you do the same, Yoongi-yah.”  

Yoongi rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He just watches as Yijeong leaves, the room settling into silence once again. 

His eyes flick to the dark screen of his phone beside him, fingers twitching like they want to reach for it. Instead, he exhales, drags a hand through his hair, and turns back to the lyrics in front of him.

★ ★ ★

The set is busy today. Cameras clicking, makeup artists fussing over the music playing from the speakers. Hyerin, who has been buzzing around you all day like a fly, runs her fingers over the expensive garments you have yet to be photographed in, inspecting them for imperfections. Assistants flit around the room carting coffees and clipboards. You’re wearing Moschino. It’s everything you’ve dreaded for the past several years, but today, you’re thankful.

It’s familiar, muscle memory taking over as you move through poses. You arch, tilt, shift, your body following the rhythm of the camera’s shutter. The stylist adjusts the hem of your outfit between shots, fingers quick and efficient, but you barely register it. Your gaze lands just past the camera lens, somewhere indistinct. You don’t need to be fully present for this; you just need to be good.

And you are.

The morning had started before sunrise—a briefing with your team, a fitting for an event later in the week, hair and makeup. Then, a quick coffee you barely tasted before being ushered into wardrobe.

Seoyeon delivered exactly what you asked for. The next few days are stacked to the brim—more shoots, trendy pop-up events, interviews. You have no room for anything else.

Still, your mind wanders. Between outfit changes, between shots, between the moments where you stand still as hands fuss over your hair and clothes. Your phone sits face-down on the makeup counter, silent. It’s stupid that you even notice. That you’re even thinking about—

“Okay, let’s reset for the next look!” the director calls out, snapping you out of your haze.  

The second you step off set, Seoyeon is at your side, clipboard in hand. “You’re doing great,” she says, brisk. “They’re running a little ahead of schedule, so we might be able to squeeze in that interview with Elle later this afternoon. Sound good?”  

You nod automatically, reaching for a bottle of water. “Yeah. That’s fine.”  

“You holding up okay?”  

You fiddle with your straw before taking a sip, careful not to mess up your lip gloss. “I’m fine,” you insist. 

Seoyeon doesn’t push, but she doesn’t look convinced either. “This is the last outfit change. We’ll get proofs back in a few days.”

“That’s perfect.” Your smile is practiced, professional. “Just keep it coming.”

“You have an early call time tomorrow,” she reminds you. “I’ll send you the details tonight.”

And just like that, she’s gone again, moving onto the next task, making things happen. You exhale, tipping your head back, willing yourself to shake off the weight pressing against your ribcage.

One of the assistants calls you over to wardrobe, and you go, slipping seamlessly back into the performance. It’s easier that way.

★ ★ ★

Once Yijeong leaves, Yoongi knows he’s on borrowed time. He can’t stay holed up in this bedroom forever. It’s only a matter of time before Park fucking Jimin calls him on his shit.

To his credit, he’s been much more productive now that he’s alone. There’s a fifth song now, and he’s well on his way to a sixth. Sure, they’ve come at the expense of his health and hygeine, but hey. That’s the music business, baby.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. That the sleepless nights and skipped meals are for the sake of the music, that the burning in his chest is just exhaustion, not something deeper. That the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach is just another feeling to be ignored.

He’s in the middle of scrawling something down—a song about beautiful women and kissing with teeth, something reckless, maybe with a catchy bass riff for Taehyung?—when his bedroom door swings open. Yoongi hears Jimin call his name, but he doesn’t look up. He keeps his head down, pen moving across the page, clinging to his last thread of focus.

"Yoongi-hyung," Jimin says again.

Yoongi ignores him. Keeps writing, because what he’s coming up with now is way better than the song he was workshopping earlier—which, lyrically, was just a heavy handed metaphor for jerking off. Surely that says something about where Yoongi’s head is at lately.

Then—bang. Jimin’s palm slams onto the desk, making the pen in Yoongi’s hand jump. His pulse spikes in response. "Min Yoongi!"

"What?" he mutters, his grip on his pen tightening as his teeth grind together. His voice comes out hoarse, like he hasn’t used it in days. Maybe he hasn’t.

Jimin doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches forward, snatches the pen from Yoongi’s fingers, and throws it across the room.

Yoongi watches it go, the small clatter of plastic hitting the floor echoing in his ears. "What the hell is going on with you?" Jimin demands.

Yoongi takes a deep breath. Holds and releases. Tamps down his mounting irritation. "I don’t have time for this, Jimin-ah."

"Make time,” Jimin says, tone final.

Yoongi exhales, finally pushing away from his desk. The wheels of his chair scrape against the floor as he turns to face Jimin, his patience razor-thin. "Fine. What the fuck do you want?"

"You’ve been acting like a jackass—"

Yoongi scoffs. "Because that’s so out of character for me—"

"—since YN left," Jimin finishes, crossing his arms with a smug finality.

Yoongi’s stomach lurches, but he keeps his face impassive. He’s good at that. Years of practice.

Jimin doesn’t back down. "Why did YN leave, Yoongi?"

"How should I know? What YN does has nothing to do with me."

Yoongi knows Jimin isn’t an idiot. He notices things. And even if Yoongi didn’t know that, the way Jimin confronted him (read: scared the shit out of his asshole) last week made it abundantly clear. But still, denial feels easier.

"You haven’t spoken to Jeongguk all week, either," Jimin points out.

Yoongi reaches for another pen, swallowing his guilt. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Not when he’s finally getting somewhere with these songs. "Been busy,” he mumbles.

"Bullshit,” Jimin says as he grabs the new pen and throws it, too, forcing Yoongi’s now-empty fist to clench tightly. “Tell me what’s going on."

"What’s going on," Yoongi grits out through clenched teeth, "is that I have a fucking album to write. An album that nobody else but me seems to give a shit about. So I’m writing it.” He scoffs, gesturing towards his discarded pen. “At least, I was." 

Jimin shakes his head, not buying it. "What did you do to her? What could you have possibly done to make her get on a plane to Seoul with no notice? I told you that you were going too far. And then we went to the orchard, and everything was fine."

Yoongi laughs, but there’s no amusement in it. "I’m not talking about this with you, Jimin-ah. This is none of your business."

"What happened outside of that noraebang, Yoongi?"

"Nothing—"

"Don’t even try to lie to me," Jimin interrupts. His voice is sharp, unrelenting. "I’ve known you since I was twenty years old. You barely drank that night, and even if you did, you can hold your alcohol. But then you come back inside, and you’re spilling your guts all over Taehyung’s shoes."

Yoongi stays silent. That’s really the only option when receiving a certified dressing-down from Park Jimin.

"And less than twelve hours later, YN is back in Seoul. You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?"

It’s not. It’s not. Yoongi doesn’t want to fucking talk about this.

"Everybody likes YN, except for you. Jeongguk loves her. And you’re entitled to your opinion, whatever, but that doesn’t mean you can treat her like trash. And you have."

The words snap something in Yoongi. His control slips. "I kissed her." Jimin freezes, eyes wide, and Yoongi looks away. "And she kissed me back."

"She…" Jimin shakes his head, like he’s trying to make sense of it. "You and YN…"

Yoongi runs a hand over his face, frustration curling around his ribs, squeezing tight. "She drives me fucking insane, okay? I don’t know why I did it. Nothing I do makes any fucking sense anymore."

Jimin exhales. "But… Jeongguk—"

"Why do you think I’ve been in here all week?" Yoongi gestures vaguely at the cluttered desk, the crumpled papers and mugs of cold coffee. The ashtray, even though he hates to smoke inside.

Jimin’s expression softens. "Hyung…"

Ah, there it is—the pity, the concern. Yoongi shuts his eyes, his exhaustion settling into his bones. He already knows what Jimin is going to say. "I know."

"You have to tell him.”

"I know."

Jimin studies him for a long moment. "Hyung, it looks like you haven’t slept in days. I know you haven’t been eating like you should, either."

Yoongi says nothing, his gaze dropping to his lap.

Jimin shifts on his feet. "I’ve… I’ve never really understood you and Jeonggukie’s relationship. Nobody does, I mean… You’re both so…" He trails off, shaking his head. "You love each other. I don’t think anything could ever get in between you two."

Yoongi’s fingers curl into his palm as he recalls Namjoon’s warning from weeks ago. Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him. His voice comes out quieter than before. "Something already has."

Jimin takes a slow breath. "Jeonggukie knows you would never do anything to hurt him, not on purpose. You just need to talk it out with him, hyung."

Yoongi nods, just barely. "Yeah."

Jimin doesn’t let up. "Promise me."

Yoongi hesitates, then mutters, "I promise."

Jimin gives a small nod before stepping back toward the door. "Okay." He reaches for the handle, pausing. "Get some sleep first. You look like shit."

Yoongi huffs out something that isn’t quite a laugh. "I’ll try.”

Jimin exhales. "Just… Deal with it before it gets any worse." He pulls the door open. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight.”

★ ★ ★

Yoongi isn’t in the business of breaking promises, so the next night, he ventures out of his room.

He watches Jeongguk stare back at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. His stomach twists.

He has spent years protecting this kid’s dream—no, making it his mission, his purpose, his redemption. Jeongguk had been barely more than a teenager when Yoongi first met him, eyes bright with possibility, looking at Yoongi like he hung the damn stars. 

Back then, Yoongi had just dropped out of college, drowning in the weight of his own failure. He had been a classical piano major—a prodigy, people said. Someone who was supposed to make something of himself. 

But the pressure had been too much, the expectations too high, and when he couldn’t bear it anymore, he had walked away with nothing but a hollow chest and a name that didn’t mean a fucking thing outside those walls.

Jeongguk was an underclassman at the time. The voice of an angel and the dream of being in a rock band. It was stupid—childish, even—but Yoongi saw himself in the kid, saw what he had lost, and he had sworn right then and there that Jeongguk would never know what it felt like to give up. To be crushed under the weight of something bigger than himself. 

If Yoongi could make Jeongguk’s dream come true, then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel like such a failure himself.

But now, sitting on the edge of Jeongguk’s bed, watching the hurt in his face, Yoongi wonders if he had only ever been deluding himself.

"You and YN…?" Jeongguk’s voice is careful, controlled, but Yoongi can hear the fracture beneath it.

"I’m sorry." The words taste like ash in Yoongi’s mouth. He knows they’re not enough.

"When?"

"At the noraebang,” Yoongi mumbles. He wants to look away, wants to sink into the floor, retreat from the sheer expressiveness Jeongguk’s eyes are capable of. But he doesn’t.

"That’s why she left?" Jeongguk asks, realization washing over his features. 

Yoongi exhales shakily, the guilt settling deep in his bones. "I haven’t called to confirm or anything, but…" He drags a hand down his face. "Yeah. Probably."

"I thought you hated her.”

"I do," Yoongi says automatically, but the words feel strange. False. Like he’s clinging to something that was never really there to begin with.

Jeongguk stares at him, incredulous. "But you kissed her?"

"It’s…" Yoongi clenches his fists, bitten down nails digging into his palms. "Guk-ah, it was stupid."

"It sounds stupid,” Jeongguk scoffs.

"It was." Yoongi drags a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling over. "I don’t have an excuse, okay? It happened, and I’m sorry. How can I get you to forgive me? I’ll do anything."

Jeongguk shakes his head, the laughter still on his lips, but it’s humorless. "There’s nothing to forgive, hyung."

Yoongi stills. "What do you mean?"

"YN and I aren’t really dating."

What the fuck.

Yoongi feels his mind blank out, practically hears the record scratch. The suspicion that Yoongi’s held so tightly this whole time, and Jeongguk is the one saying it out loud. No fucking way.

 "…What?"

"You think I would bring my real girlfriend around you?" Jeongguk tilts his head, expression unreadable.

Did he say real girlfriend? What the hell does that mean?

It doesn’t make sense. Jeongguk isn’t the type to lie, not like this. But the way he’s looking at Yoongi right now—like he’s daring him to deny it—tells him this is very real.

"Hyung, ever since you met YN, you’ve acted like a lunatic."

"That’s not—"

"Yoongi-hyung."

Yoongi shuts up instantly. Fair is fair.

"The girl I’m dating isn’t in the public eye, and YN is,” Jeongguk continues. "We’re friends. She agreed to help."

The idea of Jeongguk hiding something from Yoongi—through a scheme this elaborate, no less—feels preposterous. It feels like a practical joke.

But the way he’s looking at Yoongi right now? There’s nothing funny about it.

Yoongi shakes his head, struggling to process. "But… Why not tell us? Me?"

Jeongguk gives him a withering look. "Come on, hyung. The backlash from everyone else would’ve been bad, but you? You’re so much worse."

Yoongi’s chest tightens. Fair is fair, but, "I wouldn’t have—"

"You don’t think I wanted to introduce my girlfriend to you, really? I knew what would happen. Things would’ve gone exactly the same as they did with YN."

Yoongi swallows hard. "I just don’t want you to get hurt."

"You’re so protective over me, hyung. Like I’m a kid. Like I’m incapable of making my own decisions."

And that? That hurts. Because Yoongi never meant to make Jeongguk feel small. Never meant to clip his wings when all he ever wanted was to help him soar. But somewhere along the way, his protection had turned into suffocation. He’s the one who pushed him to this, he realizes. The one who made him feel like he had no choice but to lie.

"Guk-ah, I don’t want you to have to hide things from me. Please. How can I fix it? Tell hyung how to fix it,” Yoongi pleads.

"I don’t know.” The words sound so hollow. Why didn’t he come to Yoongi sooner, if he’s felt this way for so long? Yoongi would do anything for Jeongguk. He thought Jeongguk knew that.

"Jeongguk—"

"No, hyung." Jeongguk snaps. "I introduce YN as my girlfriend and you act like a dick. You humiliate her. I ask her to go out of her way to work things out with you, which I shouldn’t have to do, and things are fine for like, a few days. And then suddenly she’s leaving, lying to me about why, and you’re telling me you kissed her?"

Yoongi stays silent. He’s played the protective hyung card, but where the kiss is concerned, he has nothing to say for himself.

"I haven’t heard from her at all since she left. Until now, you’ve been avoiding me, too,” Jeongguk continues. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everyone treating me like I can’t handle shit."

Yoongi’s voice comes out barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry."

"I don’t want to hear it, hyung. Whatever issues you’re having with her, that’s none of my business anymore. You know the truth now. Just…”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, wiping sweaty palms off on his jeans as he stands from the bed. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll go.”

He hates how final it feels. How he’s left wondering if this is something he and Jeongguk can bounce back from. A half-written album for a band that could be hanging in the balance, because of Yoongi.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop him from leaving. He just stands there, arms crossed, jaw tight—like he’s holding something back, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.

Yoongi hesitates for a moment, waiting for something. He’s not even sure what. A sign that things aren’t as broken as they feel. But Jeongguk won’t look at him.

So, he turns and walks away.

The air in the hallway feels stifling, thick with everything left unsaid. His feet carry him downstairs, back to his room. Once he’s back inside, he just stands there, staring at the door, fingers twitching at his sides.

He doesn’t know how to make this right.

Yoongi’s fingers tremble slightly as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, moving without him. He scrolls through his contacts and presses call before he even thinks about it.

The phone rings once. Twice.

"Hyung? Did somebody die?"

It’s so Namjoon to pick up Yoongi’s calls like that. He almost laughs, but it dies in his throat. He rubs his face, a sharp breath slipping past his lips as he fights to regain his bearings.

"You knew," Yoongi says simply. His voice comes out deceptively calm.

A long, heavy pause fills the line, a silence that stretches on as Namjoon’s brain catches up to what Yoongi is saying. But Yoongi knows he doesn’t need to say anything else. Namjoon is a smart guy.

"Yeah,” he finally says, his sigh crackling over the line. “I did."

"Fuck,” Yoongi huffs. His hands are shaking.

"Did he tell you?" Namjoon’s voice is quiet, careful.

Yoongi closes his eyes. "Yeah."

"Is it... Is everything okay?" Namjoon asks.

What a stupid fucking question. Yoongi starts pacing, desperate to change the subject. He’s working on the fly, but he’s not at all surprised by the words that end up leaving his mouth. 

"Look, I have seven songs. Book a flight for me. I’ll come show the label what I’ve come up with."

There’s another sigh on the other end of the line, like Namjoon knows better than to fight him on this. Good, Yoongi thinks. 

"Okay,” Namjoon says. “Just for you?"

"I think space would be good. For a few days." Or longer.

"Hyung… What happened?"

"YN and I kissed,” Yoongi says. Might as well.

The line falls silent. Yoongi can practically hear Namjoon’s brain processing the information, the shock and confusion on the other side. He doesn’t care. He just wants the conversation over with, wants to move forward.

"What?" Namjoon’s voice cracks with disbelief, the confusion clear even through the phone.

"Namjoon-ah, I’m really sick of talking about it, okay?” Yoongi says, struggling to tamp down the impatience in his tone. “I’m gonna fix it. I just need something from you."

"What do you need?"

"Can you get in contact with YN’s manager?" Yoongi swipes into his messages with Namjoon. His fingers shake as they fly over his keyboard, and then he presses send. “I need you to relay a message.”

Namjoon is quiet for a long time, just the static crackle of soft breaths. When he speaks again, his voice is laced with exhaustion. "Okay. I’ll get it done."

"Thanks," Yoongi mutters, voice rough. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t wait for Namjoon to respond. Minutes later, he’s forwarded an email with a flight confirmation. He grabs a bag and fills it.

He has a plane to catch.

★ ★ ★

The last person you expect to see when you open your door is Min Yoongi.

It’s late. Late late. Like, ‘nothing good happens after midnight’ late. Your parents used to say that a lot when you were younger, back when your obsession with live music meant sneaking into venues past curfew. It’s funny—you never believed them. Back then, your nights only got better the later it became.

Now, though. Now you get it.

Because Min Yoongi at your door when he’s supposed to be a plane ride away from you? That can only mean trouble.

But here he is, dressed in all black, a beanie and a face mask concealing his identity from your building’s security cameras. Instead of wielding a knife like you’d expect, his arms are full of crinkly takeout bags.

"Hi, dollface."

"Yoongi? What—"

"I’m not here to fight, okay?" he interrupts, lifting the bags a little as if it’s supposed to reassure you. "Look, I brought you dinner."

Going with poison, then, you think.

"How did you figure out where I live?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"Namjoon asked Seoyeon on my behalf," he explains casually, like it's no big deal. "Or, on Jeongguk’s behalf, actually."

Oh, cool. So your manager is just giving your address away. "Why—"

"Can we have this conversation inside?" he cuts in. "The food’s gonna get cold."

You hesitate, but your curiosity gets the best of you, so you step aside to let him in. He moves past you like he belongs there, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter and methodically unpacking its contents.

"It’s chicken," he says casually. "Figured that was a safe bet."

You stare at him, bewildered. “Chicken is… Yeah, chicken is fine."

"I brought beer, too." He finally turns to look at you. You can only really see his eyes, but you can’t help but notice how tired he looks. You try not to care.

"Yoongi, why are you here?" you demand.

Sighing, he pulls off the face mask, tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Jeongguk told me the truth.”

Unable to help it, your entire body goes rigid at his words. "Oh yeah? What’s that?"

"He has a girlfriend,” he says, before clarifying, “that isn’t you."

You feel the world tilt beneath your feet. So Jeongguk told him the whole truth. Cool. You really should’ve returned those calls. The ones you were avoiding.

"Why did he tell you that?" you ask, and it’s not even anger that colors your voice anymore. Just a raw, unfiltered panic that you can't hide.

Yoongi turns and leans back against the counter, watching you. "I’ve been trying to figure out why you didn’t tell me that. From the start."

Your defenses instantly go up. It’s par for the course around Yoongi at this point.

"Because he didn’t want me to,” you reply coolly, schooling your features into something less panicked. “So, what changed? What did you do?"

"I told him we kissed."

FUCK!

Well, so much for concealing the panic. "You—why?"

"I couldn’t just not tell him, YN,” Yoongi reasons. “It was killing me. I felt like the world’s biggest piece of shit all week. You’re Jeongguk’s girlfriend." He snorts, shaking his head. "Or, at least, that’s what you both wanted me to think."

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "Okay, fine. You told him. How did he react?"

"To the kiss?" Yoongi tilts his head slightly. "I mean, better than I expected, considering I was under the impression he was in love with you."

Your brow furrows. "So he’s not mad?"

Yoongi lets out a humorless laugh. "Not at you, don’t worry."

Ah. "But he’s mad at you," you guess.

"I’m not getting a world’s best hyung trophy anytime soon." Yoongi shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but you can tell it does.

You stare at him for a long moment, processing. Then, slowly, the words slip out. "So… You flew back to Seoul to… What? Rub it in my face in person?"

Yoongi blinks at you. "What?"

"That you were right. That you knew it was bullshit all along."

Realization flits over Yoongi’s features. He doesn’t look defensive—he doesn’t even look surprised. In fact, he seems oddly amused, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. "Mm. That’s more like a fringe benefit."

You throw your hands up, completely exasperated. "Then why are you here, Yoongi?"

"To have dinner with you,” Yoongi says, breaking into a full-blown grin now. 

“I’m not hungry,” you say flatly. 

"Look, I’m not exactly welcome in that house right now," he says, like that’s supposed to explain things any better.

"And you think you’re welcome in mine?"

He tilts his head, amused. "I don’t know, dollface. Am I?"

You gawk at him, your pulse thumping in your ears. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"A kiss isn’t exactly a solo activity, last time I checked."

You bristle. "You kissed me."

"Is that what we’re going with?" Yoongi asks, brow lifting.

"That’s what happened."

"Let’s say I did make the first move, then." You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers to your mouth, then back to your eyes. "You took your sweet time pushing me away."

"And then I got on a plane to get away from you,” you counter.

Yoongi hums, his eyes darkening slightly. “Couldn’t trust yourself?"

"What—"

"You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been undressing me with your eyes lately?" He grins, clearly enjoying himself. "I’ve felt very objectified, you know."

"Fuck you," you spit, your pulse racing.

He just laughs—low, knowing. "Everything else is all out in the open now," he says. "Might as well come clean about this, too."

"There’s nothing to come clean about," you retort, your voice sharp, but inside, you’re shaking. "I haven’t been looking at you any type of way. You should get your eyes checked."

"So it wasn’t good for you, then?"

"What?"

"The kiss."

You stiffen. "No."

His smirk deepens. "Right. Okay, then."

"You don’t believe me?" you ask, defiant.

"Don’t get me wrong, your acting has improved. But no." He leans in slightly. "You wanna know what I think?"

"No.”

Yoongi grins. "I think it drives you crazy, how attracted you are to me."

Your world tilts on its fucking axis, and you know it shows on your face.

"Get over yourself," you scoff, trying to find your footing again. But Yoongi isn’t having it.

"That sound you made when my tongue was in your mouth?" His voice drops lower, rougher, and it sends a shiver through your spine. "I fucking earned that. No way you would’ve let that slip on purpose."

Your breath catches in your throat, your body locking up. Fuck.

"I can get all kinds of sounds out of you, if you let me," Yoongi continues. He steps closer, cocking his head at you. "I think you know that, too. I think you know I can fuck you the way you’ve been waiting to get fucked."

Your breath stutters, heat creeping up your neck.

"No one else has gotten it right, huh?" His voice is softer now, coaxing. "Too nice, too boring. But I can. And you hate that you want it."

His words settle into the air between you, heavy and undeniable. You can’t look at him.

"If I’m wrong, tell me." He studies you closely, hand raising to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. That first touch, skin on skin, stupidly makes your thighs clench on instinct.  "I’ll drop it. I’ll get on a plane tonight and go right back to where I came from."

The silence stretches. Long. Loaded.

Then, more gently, "am I wrong, dollface?"

You exhale shakily, and—slowly, reluctantly—you shake your head.

"Here’s the way I see it," he continues smoothly. "I have no reason to stand in the way of your arrangement with Jeongguk anymore. But you and I are still going to be around each other, whether we like it or not."

You don’t say anything. You don’t even know if your ‘arrangement’ with Jeongguk is still on, after all of this. But that’s the furthest thing from your mind right now.

"Might as well make the most of it."

Your throat is dry. Your skin feels too tight. You force yourself to take a steadying breath, despite the heat pooling between your legs.

"Beer isn’t gonna cut it,” you decide suddenly. 

You push past him, moving toward the kitchen.

Yoongi laughs, watching you. "That so?"

Wine feels right. You pour yourself a glass, glancing at him across the island. "Want one?"

"Yeah, okay,” he agrees, amusement evident in his tone.

You pour another glass before you walk to the couch in the living room, settling down with a long sip before meeting his gaze. "Let me get this straight."

He sits beside you, taking the glass you offer to him. "Uh-huh,” he says, urging you to continue.

"You want to fuck me."

His lips quirk. "I wouldn’t be opposed."

You huff in frustration. "No, Yoongi,” you say. You’re over the games. If he wants to do this, he’s going to have to put a little bit more work in. “That’s what you came here for."

Infuriatingly, Yoongi doesn’t answer right away, only taking a slow sip of his wine.

"You got in a fight with Jeongguk, and for some reason, your immediate response was to hop on a plane and proposition me,” you continue. “I’m not even gonna pretend to understand that train of thought, but I do want to hear you admit it."

He pauses, considering. "That’s what you want?"

"Yes," you say firmly. "That’s what I want. Why should I let you have it that easy?”

“God.” Yoongi makes a noise low in his throat, frustration and arousal combined. "Okay, yeah. I want to fuck you,” he admits, unwavering.

You let the silence linger for a moment. Then, finally, you nod. "Okay."

"Okay?" He raises a brow.

"Okay,” you repeat. “You can fuck me."

Yoongi’s responding laugh is quiet, amused. "Don’t sound so excited, dollface."

Shit, if only he knew. You’re barely hanging on by a thread, shocked that you’ve made it this far without folding. You may not be Yoongi’s number one fan, but you’d be a liar if you said you don’t want to take him up on all of his offers.

"I just want you to stop acting like I’m the desperate one here,” you mutter.

"Okay. We’re both desperate, then."

"Thank you,” you say primly, trying and failing to calm your racing heart.

Yoongi sets his glass down on your coffee table, eyes glinting as he watches you.  "So… Are you gonna come over here?"

You watch the way he leans back against the couch, his denim-clad thighs spread invitingly, and you bite your lip.

Okay. This is happening.

“Fuck it,” you huff, setting your own glass down next to his and shifting your body to straddle his lap.

In an instant, Yoongi’s hands find your waist, molding to your curves. He tilts his head up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Not unlike last time, there’s no finesse to it, but it feels so fucking good—lips and teeth and tongues fighting for dominance, like there’s something to win.

Now that all of the cards are on the table, it’s clear that neither of you are interested in holding back. Your teeth nip at Yoongi’s bottom lip roughly, earning a grunt from him as his hands skim over your thighs, calloused fingers catching on your shorts.

Yoongi pulls back first, his eyes inky black as he feels you up. “These fucking shorts,” he mumbles under his breath, hands smoothing over the silk before squeezing harshly. “What are the chances.”

With startling clarity, you realize that you weren’t the only one looking when you were on Jeju. You left an impression on Yoongi, too. 

It makes you feel triumphant.

“Like them?” you purr, rucking the hem of your shirt up to give him a better view of the damp fabric clinging to you. Slowly, deliberately, you roll your hips, feeling the way he strains in his jeans.

“Shit, you’re a tease,” Yoongi hisses, licking his lips as he helps you pull your shirt over your head. His eyes flick between your clothed core and your breasts hungrily, like he’s deciding where he wants to start first.

But your patience is wearing thin. You make the decision for him, dragging his hands up to cup your tits. Yoongi obliges, chuckling with amusement when he catches the way your nipples stand at attention already, without him even laying a finger on them.

Holding your gaze, he leans in, tongue flicking over a sensitive bud. You can’t look away—not when the cool metal ball of his piercing glides so skillfully over it, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your neglected cunt. It feels like he’s touching you everywhere, extra stimulation that forces a moan from your throat.

Yoongi doesn’t let up for a second, sucking and licking at your nipples until they’re aching, puffy and reddened. All you can do is take it, fingers threading through dark locks at the nape of his neck as you whimper for more.

“Look at you, dollface,” he rasps, replacing his tongue with his fingers to pinch and tease. “You can be sweet, can’t you?”

“Fuck you,” you gasp out, biting your lip to suppress the needy sounds that threaten to spill free. You can’t help it—he can’t win this quickly. He can’t know how badly you’ve needed this, needed him, ever since that fucking kiss.

Yoongi laughs, pinching a nipple one last time before retreating completely. “Always running that fucking mouth.” Eyes fixed on yours, he moves his hand down your hip, cupping your cunt so firmly it forces your legs to spread. “Should make you choke on my dick, shut you up for a bit.”

Your breath shakes in your lungs as he starts rubbing tantalizing circles over your folds. “You can be a nice girl, mm?” Yoongi growls, finding your clit such exacting accuracy that it makes your head spin, steals the moans from your throat. He noses along the line of your shoulder, murmuring against your skin, “be a nice girl for me.”

“Yoongi,” you moan, helpless. Without warning, Yoongi’s fingers slip under the leg of your shorts, slipping into you with an ease that makes him groan against your neck.

“So fucking wet,” he growls, fingers stroking inside you, rubbing your inner walls. You can both hear how wet you are. He curls his fingers, and you cry out. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

It’s his admission, the reminder that he wants this just as badly as you do, that breaks down your inhibitions. Suddenly, you’re rolling your hips, moaning as you grind down onto his fingers in a frenzied rhythm.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes appreciatively, watching you move with dark eyes like he’s imagining you bouncing on his cock. “I’m gonna fucking wreck you.”

You can’t take it anymore, single-mindedly focused on chasing your impending release. Yoongi’s fingers stroke so deeply inside of you that your eyes roll back in your head, your breath leaving you in staccato bursts of his name. His other hand returns to your breast, pinching hard at your nipple. You’re so close you can taste it.

“Go on,” he encourages. His thumb moves to rub at your clit as his fingers fuck into you over and over. “Come for me, dollface.”

That’s all it takes.

You sob as your orgasm hits you hard, your vision swimming. Your cunt squeezes around Yoongi’s fingers so tightly it earns a moan from him, but it barely registers. All you can do is moan, pulling hard at Yoongi’s hair until the movement of your hips slows to a stop.

When you finally come down, Yoongi’s fingers slipping out of you as you pant for breath, your eyes focus on him.

He looks fucking delicious.

Pouty lips bitten red. Dark locks mussed where they peek out beneath his beanie. Veiny hand squeezing around the thick bulge in his jeans. 

You’ve never wanted something so badly in your life, and it’s clear the feeling is mutual. He said it himself—he wants to wreck you.

It occurs to you, suddenly, that you���re not going to let him. Not tonight.

Suddenly, you reach for your discarded shirt, slipping it back over your body. You stand on shaky legs, reaching for your forgotten glass of wine and tipping your head back to finish it off. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes tracking your every movement, waiting. It fills you with immense satisfaction that he’s waiting for something that won’t come.

“Well, thanks,” you say, barely suppressing a grin. “This was fun.”

“What?” Yoongi replies, confusion evident in his tone.

“It’s late. I have an early schedule tomorrow,” you explain coolly, tilting your head at him. “Surely, Seoyeon told you?”

“But—”

“She’ll kill me if I show up with bags under my eyes,” you interrupt. “You understand.”

A long silence stretches between you as Yoongi weighs his options. You watch with triumph as his fists flex at his sides, clenching and unclenching. Finally, he schools his features into something neutral and speaks. 

“Fine,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you say, grinning as he gets up from the couch. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll walk you out.”

The walk to the door is quiet, tension thick between you. Yoongi’s jaw is tight, his hands shoved into his pockets like he’s physically restraining himself. You revel in it, in the way you’ve turned the tables, left him aching.

You reach for the door handle, but before you can open it, Yoongi moves.

In a flash, your back is pressed against the wall, his body caging you in. His hands pin your wrists beside your head, and then his lips are on yours—hot, demanding, devastating. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a punishment. His mouth is all-consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue pushes past, claiming you in a way that leaves no room for argument.

The way he surrounds you is dizzying, the hard planes of his body pressed against you all the way down. His hips roll once, slow and deliberate, making sure you feel it as the thick ridge of his cock in his jeans drags against your still-sensitive core. 

And fuck, you feel it. Every. Single. Inch.

Then, just as suddenly as he came at you, he pulls back.

Breathless, you barely have time to register the wicked smirk curving his lips before he steps away, smoothing a hand down his shirt like nothing happened.

“Sweet dreams, dollface,” he murmurs, voice husky, eyes dark with promise.

And then, just like that, he steps away, yanking the door open and walking out without another glance. You stand there, dazed, lips swollen, body still thrumming from the intensity of it all.

Fuck.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

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[sublimati0ns]

any thoughts on screamer being protective of knock out?..👉👈 maybe in your post-war au or would it be too ooc?

YESSS I definitely think he’d be protective—just in his own weird and esoteric way. I feel like, even months (and let’s be real, years) after the war is over, Starscream would struggle to let himself form attachments without strings.

While they were under Megatron’s employ, it was only natural for a commander to care about the wellbeing of strategically-vital colleagues, but now that the war’s over, he’d have to find other ways to justify his investment… Which, luckily, is not too hard, cuz 1) he kind of needs to have a doctor-contact to stay alive and well, and 2) having someone backing him as the leading representative for ex-Decepticons on Neo Cybertron is important for his legitimacy ⬅️ guy who really struggles with Not Scheming after Only Scheming for Millions of Years

Having at least one follower will make it easier to command the respect of other returning ’cons than having no one would (disregarding the fact that everyone else considers him and Knock Out to be of equal status in the ‘rebuilding Cybertron’ endeavour, and—if he’s being really and truly honest with himself—he does too; he only does the ex-commander thing to posture and distance).

So of course he’s concerned with keeping Knock Out in his pocket, and also gets antsy when he doesn’t know where Knock Out is or what he’s doing and why isn’t he being kept in the loop HELLO would it not have been pertinent to INFORM him of his little jaunts in Shockwave and Ratchet’s new lab—honestly, Starscream thought Knock Out didn’t even like Shockwave—or joyrides across the wastes with that self-righteous little scout and the starry-eyed groupie?! What does KO mean ‘it wasn’t a big deal’ and ‘you’re hovering again [neutral-positive observation]’ (he is a SEEKER not a HELICOPTER he does NOT hover), should he not know where his sort-of-partner-kind-of-second-in-command is AT ALL TIMES (unless he’s mad at KO in which case KO can go scrap himself)—

So with that in mind, I imagine his protectiveness usually manifests in him being annoying as all hell 🤦 Which Knock Out finds both amusing-and-maybe-endearing and absolutely irritating (‘by the pit do you ever stop nagging’) in alternation. I think despite Starscream’s readiness to nitpick, though, he’d freeze up when the iron is hot (haha referencing my own art /smacked) when it comes to making requests of Knock Out to stick around if he doesn’t have a concrete reason for it beyond ‘it would soothe his anxiety.’

But if anyone or anything ever does something to KO, they better hope to Primus the Autobots will save their spark cuz they are going to DIE otherwise, and it will NOT be quick and easy like Cliffjumper’s termination!!!

Though SS would probably, like, try to be chill and aloof about this anyway. It’s not like he had an extreme emotional reaction to something bad happening to you Doctor it’s purely that he has honour as a Decepticon and must enforce karma to assure everybot knows not to frag around and find out, you see. Why is everyone asking when the last time he recharged was—Primus, he’s not a sparkling—and maybe if the Autobots and vehicons weren’t such incompetent oafs he wouldn’t even HAVE to stand watch in Knock Out’s recouperation suite 24/7 😒!!! He’s only being RESPONSIBLE, doing his DUE DILIGENCE—which, honestly, those Autobot hypocrites should be doing FOR him!

(Meanwhile Knock Out is on the recharge slab, in pretty good shape for all the fuss Starscream is making, like :] but playing along anyway. ‘Clearly the Autobots’ security initiatives are lacking in the first place—I can’t believe they let me get ambushed!’ and ‘Say, I’m feeling a twinge between the wheels, along the transformation seam—would you take a look? No, no need to get Ratchet’ and ‘Though, as much as I appreciate the dedication, Screamer, this is starting to feel like a prison watch—’)

[jade-the-ghost]

My theories about what the fuck is gonna go on with Melissa and Shauna + rescue !!

S3ep07 spoilers !!

I have some theories about Melissa right now, and all of them seem plausible enough to correlate with what we've seen so far.

-> Melissa dies in the wilderness on Shauna's hand.

Given the fact that Shauna didn't give a flying fuck about Melissa getting shot - Because yeah, she told Mari 'She dies, you die', leaving the responsibility completely on Mari before fleeing away on the hunt - We might see a new Melissa that is a little more cautious and closed off with Shauna now. Perhaps hat thought that she had a special connection with Shauna before, but now, she's reassured she doesn't.

This could lead to Shauna growing resentful at Melissa for not giving her the attention she used to, leading to a potential breakup. As hat said, she isn't afraid of Shauna. And Shauna, feeling perhaps a little intimidated at the fact that there is someone that doesn't immediately comply to her wants, might simply end up killing (could be both accidentally or on a rage fit) Melissa. Given that all her situationships have died during a discussion, it wouldn't be surprising that she let herself be blinded by anger once again. This could cause Shauna to pull off a Misty-card and lie about her death, saying that she fell and hit her head or whatever. And the rest might not believe her, causing her to spiral even further. Shauna would most likely isolate herself, creating a gorge between the rest of the group and her. Given that she's the leader, this would cause her figure to start being seen as something unapproachable in a higher position that would correlate with the goddess-like treatment we saw the Antler Queen get on the pilot.

-> Melissa betrays Shauna and is hunted down.

As I said, we might see Melissa grow resentful at Shauna. Seeing this, Shauna wouldn't like losing the special treatment she got from hat, which would end up in a fight. With Melissa not backing down and someone intervening to stop the discussion, Shauna might grow so frustrated and angry at Melissa that she could plot her death. This could go two ways.

Shauna doesn't care about the Wilderness thing at all. She just likes her position of power. And she's absolutely trauma-deranged, so eating people is just a plus. She doesn't see it as a ritual-kind-of-a-thing, just as entertainment for herself and a punishment for the other person. This could lead to Shauna, somehow, manipulating the car deck so Melissa pulls the Queen of Hearts and is hunted down. Bonus points if it's Shauna who kills her and eats her first in the end. Double bonus points if she hallucinates Jackie while eating Melissa.

Melissa might be the one that got away. During the hunt, she could have managed to escape them somehow and, in the end, be the one that somehow finds a connection with civilization. Perhaps other hikers or a rescue team could be the answer, someone who is looking for the missing hikers the girls killed. At first, she could lie about where she comes from. Tell the rescuers that she was with the dead hikers, but got separated and lost. That would explain the time gap between the arrival of the hikers and when the girls actually get rescued during winter. In the end, she could either survive until the adult timeline (theory about that further down), or be killed by the girls (or Shauna) during rescue for being sort of a 'traitor'.

-> Melissa survives, but dies after being rescued.

After breaking up in a nasty fight with Shauna, Melissa could manage to survive somehow until they got rescued.

Given the atrocities the group left made on Canada, it's surprising we haven't seen anyone commiting suicide. Natalie tried, but that was 25 years later. Personally, I think Melissa could grow paranoid after being rescued, perhaps hallucinating with the people they consumed, or even with Shauna, thinking that she's going to kill her for breaking up with her. The amount of trauma they carry is enough to send her into a nonstop psychosis. Out of pure desperation, guilt, and/or fear, she might have killed herself.

-> Melissa is Hillary Swank.

Misty said that some of the survivors were living off the grid and that it had been hard to find them. It wouldn't be surprising that something escaped her and that the truth was that Melissa faked a suicide after getting rescued to escape the backlash and, especially, Shauna.

Even if they're pretty physically similar, she doesn't need to be related to Walter for this theory to work. Perhaps she was minding her business, living off grid, when Lottie somehow found out she was alive (perhaps through a vision) and reached out before shit went down. Then, Melissa could have been adamant about revealing that she is still alive, but after seeing on the news or finding out somehow that Lottie was dead, she ended up reaching out to the others, or to Shauna, thinking that she might have been the one that killed Lottie. Aside from this, maybe she and Walter are related in some way, and he has been passing info to Melissa all this time.

In any case, I feel like Melissa's character arc is gonna be far more important than we think. Her crashing out with Shauna is most likely gonna be the turning point of events where Shauna leads the girls into rejecting any kind of humanity and into being consumed by the Wilderness.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to add anything else if you want ^^

[insomniac4000]

Chained Together 10

Both George and Florence just wished for everything to blow over, and for the most part it did. Florence had sent a message to Simon thanking him for inviting her to the shoot and asking if her personal life could be kept that way as it was still raw, a request that was fulfilled with understanding. George pretended that Florence didn’t exist which got harder as Esme and Chris were spending more and more time together.

“Are you coming to drinks on Friday?” Chris asked George who was carefully reading the instructions from his Hello Fresh meal.

“No I’m out with Max, will probably end up crashing at his place,” George replied placing down the bit of paper with the recipe on and picking up a frying pan.

“Okay, erm… I was going to ask Esme so if she asks Florence it won’t be a problem?”

“And it starts,” George sighs.

“What?” Chris asked walking into the kitchen and grabbing a beer.

“Hanging out separately, eventually choosing sides and the other person is slowly phased out. One way you have regular sex with a woman so it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out which one it is,” George avoided eye contact, concentrating on making his meal of chicken and peppers.

“George don’t be silly, you’re my mate and my house mate, I don’t just cut my friends out. There is also a third option of just existing in the same room together, not saying you have to talk.” Chris suggested placing his hands up in a surrender position.

“Maybe. If there’s a lot of people I guess but I’m not around this weekend anyway so it doesn’t matter,” George mumbled in response.

“Mate don’t be like that, nothing has to change.” Chris tried to reassure his flatmate but George jus nodding and hummed a response.

That Friday night Florence and Esme were ready for the pub. Esme was dressed to impress in jeans, a corset style top and brown jacket while Florence, having no one to impress was a little more dressed down in some grey joggers and a cropped grey zipped tracksuit top with a cropped white T shirt underneath.

“Hello you,” Chris smiled at Esme pulling her into a hug, Florence couldn’t help but giggle a little bit at the height difference, Esme had boots on and she was currently standing at least 5 inches taller than Chris, if not more.

“Hi Florence,” Arthur Frederick smile, Florence smiles politely and waved back at him before waving at Bach and Arthur Hill, her heart pounding as she remembered the last time she saw Arthur TV she snapped.

“Drink?” Florence asked her flatmate who agreed.

“We’ll get them in, what’s your poison?” Chris asked, him and Arthur Hill made their way up to the bar after everyone’s orders were in.

“Well it seems like you’ve made an impression on our little hobbit,” Bach commented. Esme smiled and looked down hiding a blush, Florence had never seen her usually so confident flatmate so demure before.

Drinks were consumed, maybe more than initially planned, people get giggly, people got brave and people got open.

“I haven’t checked on you since that video, are you okay?” ArthurTV asked Florence. She looked pensive for a moment before smiling.

“I’m okay. Little embarrassed that I blew like that, thanks God for heavy editing hey,” she joked a little causing Arthur to laugh.

“I also wanted you to know that Chris didn’t give me any details or anything like that so if you’re worried about that then don’t be.” Florence flashed Arthur a genuine smile, he was sweet.

“Oh I trust Esme so thought that was the case. It’s all still a bit raw for me sometimes, it was a long time ago I was just a kid but… it affected me a lot…” Florence trailed off on seeing Arthur’s face, it was the face she hated seeing from people, pure sympathy.

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. Sorry is what you say when you’re at fault. I’m not going to lie and say it wasn’t hard but I managed and I’m in a really good place in my life now, with some good people behind me.” Florence slurred her words a little but they were no less honest.

“I’m also really sorry about how it all came out. George usually isn’t one to put anyone on the spot like that, I dunno why he’s acting so weird. I know it feels like I’m trying to stick up for him but it really is out of character for him.”

“It’s a shame for some reason he has it out for me, from what I used to see on Tiktok and stuff I thought we could have gotten along. I mean I get along with all of you. And it looks like Esme and Chris are getting along really well,” Florence smiled as she gestured her head over to her flatmate and Chris, she was giggling to something he said, his hand was resting firmly on her thigh.

“The boy has no shame, that hand goes any higher we’ll get thrown out,” Bach commented placing another round of drinks down.

“I would say Esme has more class than that but… well she’s a had a few drinks,” Florence giggled, no judgement she could be just the same sometimes. She was also a little relieved the conversation focus was now off her.

“It’s good to know he’s just as insufferable when he’s dating someone as he is when he’s single,” Arthur Hill added, all the boys agreed.

“I take it you can’t sleep over tonight?” Chris asked nuzzling his face into Esme’s swan like neck.

“I can’t abandon Flo,” Esme replied her voice soft and low, Chris pouted but nodded in understanding.

“Understood. You’ll just have to make it up to me another time.”

“So you and Chris look like you’re getting on very well,” Florence teased when her and Esme were walking, well slightly staggering home.

“He’s a cutie pie isn’t he?  Don’t worry you’ll find someone soon enough.”

“Didn’t say I wanted anyone.” Florence was steadfast. Her career was gaining momentum, she had Esme and now was sort of making some new friends in the community. Life was good, she didn’t need anyone telling her otherwise.

“That’s what they all say,” Esme wiggled her eyebrows and giggled. Florence rolled her eyes but smiled as she hooked her arm through her friends as they continued their way home Florence wondering what on earth Esme meant.

[myownperception83]

Unconnected rambles down

Gotta love seeing the duality of teenage girls.

Van enables Lottie's delusions a lot because of her own near death experience and gets influenced about the whole Wilderness deal, probably to avoid the responsibility of all their actions. She often takes the side of the majority who rely on Lottie to know everything because she's supposed to have the closest relationship to It and to magically know everyting, to then completely disregard her as soon as summer comes and blame everything that happens to her despite the numerous reinforcing enablements.

First, they all mock her because she sees things and asks Taissa if she ate dirt. They know she's not adjusting well and are obviously spooked about the seance. Then the bear comes, and reverence shows its way, then it's the birds and knowing Javi's alive and the birds and finding Shauna in the blizzard.

They see her as untouchable, connected with the beyond. And then we're back to square one. She doesn't hear It anymore, and so she panics and does everything in her power to satisfy It and to connect with It. She'll do anything to protect her own, even harm, even kill, even hurting the others without realizing.

Except, she wants to protect Nat not because the Wilderness asked it, but because she CHOSE to.

I mean from one side, I understand that her character is mostly tied to the whole It, but I feel like it's also extremely limiting to her growth. What about her own volition? What about her illness? What about her family situation or how she interacts with the others (who aren't Akilah or Travis)? What about the reminiscence of the past? I feel like these aspects should be explored as well.

Nat, on the other hand, is a pariah and has always been, even as a leader. She doesn't want to overstep because she knows intrinsically that she isn't safe. She almost got hunted to death. She survived because of a child's compassion.

Everybody shits on her and shuts her out because she clings fervently to her morals, a thing of old in the wild and they treat her horribly when Shauna pushes them to, but at the same time when clarity and rationality is required they immediately look up to her for guidance.

I wouldn't mind seeing a bit more resentment on her side (but that s just me and maybe other possible version of the characters).

Both Lottie and Nat are in dangerous positions. Lottie can have extreme influence on the others, but it can also backtrack really fast when they take it too far or when her schizophrenia takes more hold of her, as seen in the last episode. She is both a scapegoat, the metaphorical and literal piñata and the priestess. She always had to hide a significant portion of herself, always in the shadows, in the corners. During winter, she was never at the center but always lurking by the windows and the sidelines. Especially when they brought the attention to her, you can see she painfully wants to disappear. Even when she's in "charge," I don't think she ever feels fully comfortable. She's reserved, frowning, and tired.

Nat is forever excluded but always demanded when the real crysis demand it. She's always been tough and had to grow up and conceal what she really felt, but she has a breaking point too and I can't wait to see how it'll go.

Both of them are extremely compassionate and trying to keep everything going forward and keep the pack tight in their own way. Compassion in survival is really important for social contexts, but also a flaw perceived as weak or being taken advantage of, as is forgiveness and self hate. Both things Nat, in particular, really embodies.

Moving forward. Lottie can give Nat the influence she herself doesn t have. No one dares to go against Lottie after everything. During high risks situation she always manages to either de-escalate or divert the attention to turn it into her favour. That also ties with her risk-taking ideology seen with stealing from tj max.

Directly or indirectly, Lottie can keep Natalie safe. It's probably her number one priority, even more than the Wilderness, considering she goes against the flow and the majority twice already to save her life and the "I just want you to be safe."

Ok I lost the point anyway back to Van.

At the same time, when the thrill of the hunt boils down, she frees a frog. It's humane. It's merciful. It's what a moral person would do.

And then she asks if two characters have gotten together from a show she likes.

I mean, come on, ahah.

[lostatsea-blog]

I really love how you write ona and lucy, so if you could maybe write a oneshot with enemies to lovers trope or typical forced proximity

Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy this one.

Battle lines

Ona doesn't get the reception she expects when she joins Barcelona

Ona POV

The early morning Spanish sun warmed the balcony of my new apartment, filling me with warmth as I sat and ate my breakfast. Being back in Barcelona with my friends and family filled me with a sense of contentment that I had missed these last few years. Don’t get me wrong, I had loved my time in Manchester and playing in the WSL with some of the best players in the world had been amazing for the development of my game but I was glad to be home and I was eager to show everyone at Barcelona just what I was capable of.

The transition back to my childhood club had been almost flawless, all of the girls had welcomed me back like I had never been away and the women’s team were now treated with a respect that had been missing when I left. The only flaw in my otherwise perfect return, and the player I would be competing with for my position – Lucy Bronze.

The English woman was an enigma and I could not figure her out. We had come across each other when she played for City and she had always seemed friendly and then we had spent hours talking at Lucy Staniforth’s wedding but since I have returned to Barcelona she has hardly spoken two words to me and at times, seemed to be actively avoiding me. I had enjoyed spending time with her at the wedding and I had been looking forward to learning from her, she was after all the best right back in the game, but she seems determined to keep my at arm’s length.

While I was frustrated by her response to me, I had decided to let it go and just focus on my game that was until she went from passively ignoring me to, what felt like, actively targeting me. We were both competing for the right back position and so frequently found ourselves on opposing sides in practise and every chance she got Lucy would tackle hard – her aggression often felt excessive and again, left me wondering what I had done to piss her off. After another hard tackle left me flat out on the ground, I felt myself snap

“What is your problem?” I hurled at her and she had the fucking audacity to smirk

“I’m just playing my game” she shrugged holding her arms out in an innocent manner “Maybe you need to toughen up.” I felt rage build inside me at her words. Was she trying to make me look bad, was that her end goal? Whatever her motivation if she wanted a fight, the I would give her a fight.

Lucy’s POV

“What’s your problem?” I can’t help but smirk at Ona’s words I am very much enjoying the competition for our places

“I am just playing my game” I shrugged with my arm held out “Maybe you need to toughen up” I could see the fire that filled her eyes and hoped that she would use it as motivation.

I had met Ona properly at Lucy Staniforth’s wedding and had been surprised when she told me she was close to signing for Barcelona and not renewing her contract with United. After the wedding though, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Her family where here so of course she would want to return. Not to mention, she was very close to all of the Spanish girls from the National team. Ona is young and she is developing really well but if she wants my place in the team, she is going to have to fight for it because I will not give it up easily. The rest of the session is intense and Ona is fighting me for every ball and throwing her strength into every challenge which is helping me up my game.

At the end of the session, she grabs her things and storms away. I know my actions have frustrated her but this is what competition is – the players competing for the same place have to push each other and if she can’t handle that then she needs to learn because I am not past it yet.

We go on like this for the next couple of weeks with neither of us letting up, more than once she lets anger get the better of her forcing her to make silly mistakes which only seems to further fuel her rage towards me but I am not here to play nice and I will accept her dislike of me if it continues to push my game onwards. I am not a young player and if I stand any chance of playing at the next World Cup, I need to be playing at the highest level. My contact also ends this season and I want other clubs to see me as a good investment.

Things take a turn for the worse during a late-September training session. Nothing has been going Ona’s way and everything has fell perfectly for me. I can see her anger and frustration starting to boil over which is making her become sloppy. I try to talk to her but she pulls her arm away and shrugs me off. We face each other in another head-to-head, I have just released the ball when pain erupts inside my knee and I find myself on the floor unable to move. I can hear raised voices in Spanish but all I feel is fear before I am surrounded by the medical team.

Ona’s POV

I know the tackle is going to be bad, I know the timing is off and I try to pull back but it is too late and my boot catches her below the knee. The sound of her pained cry will haunt me for a while. There are people grabbing at me and shouting at me. Alexia is furious and demands to know what has gotten into me. She asks me if I am trying to end Lucy’s career and I feel like I am going to be sick. The medical staff are there quickly and Jonatan tells me to go shower and change. It was a rage fuelled tackle and I know it.

I make it to the changing rooms on shaky legs just as the bile inside my stomach rises up and I find myself vomiting into the nearest bin before sliding down to the floor. Tears are flowing down my cheeks and I am left wondering how my return to Barcelona took such a bad turn.

“Ona” Alexia’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts and I brace for her reprimand but she has softened since she spoke to me on the pitch “What is going on?” she asks.

“Lucy hates me and I don’t know why, I don’t know what I have done” I sob

“Hates you?” Alexia looks confused

“She has been pushing me so hard, hardly talks to me and just tells me to toughen up” I explain but Alexia continues to look confused apparently not seeing what I have been seeing for the last few weeks

“Ona, she has been pushing you and competing with you but I don’t think she hates you” Alexia replied softly “Your tackle though, that was not okay” I can not bring myself to meet her gaze because I know “I think you need to go and talk to her” Alexia insists.    

Lucy’s POV

I sit in the physio room waiting for them to come back. They had gone to speak with Jonatan and implied that I might need to get it scanned. My knee throbs in time with my heartbeat and as much as I want to be angry at the bad challenge – I can’t be. I don’t believe that Ona would try to deliberately jepordise my career but I also don’t understand why she attempted that tackle. I am pulled from my thoughts by a soft knock at the door before a remorseful face appears

“Can I come in” she asks and I just nod. Despite what people think about me, I don’t like confrontation so I struggle to make eye contact with the brunette that not stands before me.

“I’m really sorry Lucy” Ona whispers “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I let my anger get the better of me”

“Why?” I ask her glancing at her and the remorse is clear on her face

“why?” she repeats my words confused at what I am asking

“Why were you angry?” I ask again and I feel my stomach clench at the transformation on her face

“Is that a joke?” she demands “You have pushed me and pushed me for week, ignored me and pretty much refused to acknowledge my presence and you are now asking me why I was angry – You have pushed me to my limit again and again. It is fine to not like me Lucy but you don’t have to bully me”

Ona’s fury takes my breath away. She thinks my actions recently have been because I don’t like her and the word bully drops a rock into the pit of my stomach

“I wanted to make you better” I stutter and she pauses mid breath – whatever rant she had prepared dying on her tongue her whole body deflating so I risk it and continue “You are going to be the best in the world one day, I was trying to push you so that you continue to improve, so that you push yourself”

“I do not understand you, Lucia Bronze!” she huffs throwing her hands in the air “We have a wonderful evening chanting at Lucy’s wedding and then you ignore me! I feel like I am losing my mind – You are so infuriating”

She surges forward and I just have time to brace before her lips hit mine. It takes my brain a minute to catch up but when it does, I quickly respond. Her lips are soft and feel incredible against mine. I pull her closer. understanding why it is I have felt the need to challenge her all these weeks. Her arms around my neck feel incredible and I wish I could pull her closer. Almost as quickly as it started, she pulls away. Her eyes are wide and panicked. Her fingers ghost over her lips before she turns and bolts out the door.   

[iminyourwallsbabe]

Okay so the streets (exactly one person) asked me to expand on this, so here we go.

It's not gonna be my usual yap sesh though, fair warning.

I'm gonna start with the character flaws because I think that's the most interesting. Let's start with Vi and Jayce. They both love the people in their lives too much, to the point where they hold onto things that are dead. Literally and metaphorically. Jayce revives Viktor against his wishes because he loves him so much. Jayce keeps pushing Hextech not just because he wants to help the world, but because he wants to save Viktor. Note how many times he brings that up in season 1. There's also been some theories that when he comes to the commune, it isn't the first time he's been there and he's been in a loop, so it actually takes him a while to even think to kill Viktor. Idk if that's true or not but if it is, you see what I'm saying? He's selflessly selfish, it's such a strange dichotomy.

Vi is similar, but much more selfless, to the point where she doesn't consider what she needs or wants at all. Then there's Powder. Powder is dead and has been for a while, but what does Vi try to do when she meets Jinx? She tries to resurrect Powder. It becomes more and more obvious that Powder, at least as she knew her, is long gone. Still, she clings to her. She wants her sister back, which is reasonable for anybody, but in that, she ends up pushing both of them away. That tea party was a test, could Vi still love her as the person she is right now? Would she choose someone else over Jinx? We know the answer to that, but Jinx doesn't and she's already insecure about it. So when she hears Vi say Powder's name again, and again, when she acts like Jinx isn't a person but more of a response to her being manipulated, when she goes off with Caitlyn, it all seems much more negative. That's why Vi's efforts come off as rejection. A rejection of the monster she created.

That's not even the only time Vi unintentionally does something like that. When she stops Caitlyn from killing Isha, even though she told her to take the shot if she saw the opportunity, Caitlyn gets pissed. Yes, it would've been a terrible, monstrous thing to do but Vi gave her the pass. Obviously not intentionally, but the seeds were there. That's why it feels like a betrayal, why it feels like she picked Jinx over her. After that, she runs off and becomes a dictator because she needs to feel some control in her life, AND YK WHO THAT KIND OF SOUNDS LIKE

Well, Jinx kind of but mainly Viktor.

Everything Viktor seeks out in season 2 are things he didn't have in season 1. If everyone has the same mind, they can't leave him or discriminate against him. If he becomes somewhat of a god, nobody can stop him from making progress. If he becomes a perfect being, he can't hurt anybody accidentally. He didn't have control over those things before but the arcane gives him that. That's why it's a little closer to Caitlyn's arc than Jinx's. Jinx never really looks for power, in fact she kind of avoids responsibility when she can. What she really wants is to feel useful. Caitlyn wants power not because she wants to subjugate people but because she wants to have control over the situation. If she's in charge, no one else she cares about dies on her watch. She'll take care of everything that could cause it. If she's in charge, she can implement the change she wants and not have to wait for anybody to approve it.

In fact, if we go back, they've been like that since we met them in season 1. They're both trying to achieve a certain position and use it to change the world as to what they think is a better version of it and to do so, they constantly break the rules and partially rely on those they know with more authority than them to help boost them up. They're both very ambitious people, to the point of not thinking about the harm they might be doing. Those are their biggest flaws as characters.

And who ends up bringing them back to reality?

VI AND JAYCE.

Well, it's not just that but they're still heavily involved in it.

That's why when I thought about it and noticed all these parallels between CaitVi and Jayvik, and then remembered that Christian Linke said Jayce and Viktor were supposed to be "brothers" not lovers, I just had to go "yeah somebody's lying".

Like idk, I'm not a writer per say, but I think if he wanted us to think they were brothers there would be more parallels between, oh idk, THE CHARACTERS THAT ARE SIBLINGS and not a couple. But that's just me! What do I know?

Look all I'm saying is that CaitVi and Jayvik have very similar arcs and even share some character flaws. I don't have the time to get into that at this current moment but that being said, I just need somebody to ask Christian Linke if he thinks CaitVi are supposed to be sisters

[xproskeith]

I noticed someone bookmarked my fic I wrote and posted last night and this was the comment on the bookmark. I'm fine. Not crying at all 🥹

[dangerous-advantage]

(Image description below 'read more' line.)

[Image ID: A four-by-four alignment chart on a white background with text descriptions to the left and to the top of the squares.

The top left description reads, "seems like they'd be good at parenting." The top right description reads, "seems like they'd be bad at parenting."

Then, from the top down, to the left of the squares, the other set of descriptions reads: "excellent child rearing instincts," and "never trust them with a child in your life."

Each of the four squares contains an image of a different character. At the top left is an image of Lan Wangji of the Mo Dao Zu Shi donghua. He sits between the descriptors "seems like they'd be good at parenting," and "excellent child rearing instincts."

In the top right square sits an image of Wei Wuxian, also of the Mo Dao Zu Shi donghua. He sits between the junction of "seems like they'd be bad at parenting" and "excellent child rearing instincts."

In the bottom left square is an image of Xie Lian from the Tian Guan Ci Fu manhua. He occupies the square with the captions, "seems like they'd be good at parenting" and "never trust them with a child in your life."

Finally, in the bottom left square, sits an image of Hua Cheng from the Tian Guan Ci Fu manhua. He occupies the junction between "seems like they'd be bad at parenting" and "never trust them with a child in your life". /End ID]

[ask-the-royal-absol]

Destino didn't know what to do in this situation. It made them awfully uncomfortable. This old man had accepted his death and was ready for the absol to do the deed. Destino only came here to get a witty response back, not to listen to this old man's sad life story. And there was crying too. Destino felt it was the worst when others cried. Not because it wasn't necessary. Destino was fully aware some Pokémon cried sometimes, even if it did make you look pathetic in their eyes. They just hated it because it meant they had to deal with the emotions other Pokémon felt. This was Felix's department, not theirs.

The worst part of this entire ramble was the mention of the fairies. How in this god-forsaken world did he know about their plight? Destino had never seen this man before. Unless it was that other worm who told him? The one that swallowed them whole and spat them back out? Why did they all have to know each other? It was infuriating. Next time Destino saw her, they'd tell her not to go spreading their history among her family or whatever.

What was Destino even going to say? This wasn't their area of expertise. Hell, they knew for certain they weren't going to kill this man.

...

Or were they?

...

No.

...

But it'd make their reputation more well known. A simple absol killing a legend. It could be the strength their kingdom would need to thrive. Destroying one of the gods. Making themselves stronger to allow them to eradicate the fairy types that plague their world.

...

Glitch.

...

What the fuck was Destino thinking? It was this whole damn atmosphere. Urgh, this guy was such a downer. They shook their head.

"Listen buddy. I was expecting a battle of words. Some witty quips here and there. That's how this goes. I insult you. You either beat the shit out of me or try to come back at me with a basic insult. I win in the end. Why would I ever want to kill you? That would require me to stain my horn and blood isn't something that comes out easily."

Destino rested their hands on the back of their head, sat themself down and leaned back onto him. They didn't want to look at this man any longer.

"Do you do this with everyone? Tell them your sad backstory, cry about it and expect some sympathy for your traumatic shit? I'm not a therapist but I know a guy who is one. He works with ghost types. Pretty good at his job though don't tell him I said that. I already give him far too many compliments."

The absol nonchalantly inspected their claws before continuing.

"You act like nobody has ever dealt with the same shit you've had to deal with. Your problems aren't unique to you. You're not that special. I mean, I'm special but everyone knows that. You don't think I've ever had to mourn for someone who died before I could say one last goodbye? Honestly, I thought I was the only one who made assumptions about others. Turns out that's also a universal experience."

Destino gave a sigh. Their attitude faltered a little from them mentioning their friend. Even after all this time, it still pained them to think about it.

"Look, nobody asks for the shit in their life to happen to them. Fuck, I'm part of some prophecy to save the world. I never asked for that to happen. All I want to do is sit on my ass whilst my servants massage my paws and be fed the finest meals my kingdom can offer. Not that it's anything high quality or anything; the shit down there is honestly hot garbage but we do what we can. All the pressure and responsibility I have to put up with because my fate has already been determined by some stupid prophecy. Nobody's life, except from mine, is worth living but you just put up with it anyway. You just do what you can. If it makes a difference to something or someone, then you've won at life. I win at life all the time but that's besides the point."

Destino got themself up from their comfortable position and brushed themself down. They turned to look Calama in the eyes.

"If you want me to kill you so you go out like a coward, I'll do it. I don't usually do things for others and killing is one of the worst things I've ever had to do. As I've said, blood does not come out easily of my fur. I remember once how messy one of the executions I've had to perform as a child was. I was a light red for a few weeks after that. I could not look at myself in the mirror because my coat was disgusting at the time. And the effort you have to put in too. Urgh. But, if you want to actually get up and stop being a pathetic lump of shit, then go do it. I'm sure that bitch Galadriel would probably want to see you or something. Or maybe whoever that she is who you were talking about. I don't know. You've just decided to rant about your sad little existence to me. Get a therapist or something."

*Destino approaches Calama in his beaten state. No matter the size of the opponent, Destino was indeed stupid enough to insult. Destino leans an arm against the big giratina in a rather relaxed pose, not a care in the world for what may happen to them.*

Destino: You know, I've seen many Pokémon in my time. Many. You're probably one of the largest. Now, if I was your size, I'd probably be pretty strong, you know? Strong enough to not let some overgrown noodle come out of nowhere and beat the shit out of me. It's funny really. Sometimes you think you're strong enough and you just end up being weaker than you need to be. Pathetically weak. I could probably lay a single night slash on you and it'd end you in a second. Judging by your state, a simple quick attack could probably do the trick. You're stupid for tackling such a strong opponent. I'd say that creature beat your brain out of you but, let's face it, there probably wasn't one in that thick skull of yours to begin with. Seriously, with that pathetic show you demonstrated, I doubt you could ever protect anyone. Then again, do you have anyone actually worth protecting? Or are all of you slimy, shriveled worms the same?

Calama at first ignored the Absol when he approached. Marshadow littering his entire body length feverishly working away to tend to their creators wounds, fussing and fretting as their tiny hands washed the deep slices while others tried to slow any bleeding spots.

As the Absol droned on and on about how superior it was and how pathetic Calama was and how easily the mortal could kill him in his weakened state the Giratinas body grew limp and sunk flat into the lake he was being washed in. His face buried itself against the earth in front of the Absol, the golden eyes of the god dull and growing duller as his listened before welling up with a slick wetness.

"Kill me then."

The Giratina's voice was faint as if the very labor of speaking burned his throat but there was also a sorrow laced in his voice that bubbled to the surface.

"Be just like those fairy types that condemned your kingdom to darkness...infact be worse than them condemn billions of innocent lives to death to stroke your own ego...to prove some worth you need to prove to yourself."

"I never asked for this life." His voice faltered. "I was a child. I was barely old enough to mass shift...let alone be sentenced to death...for the crime of having a color mutation...sent to my death by my own father just for mourning the mother I never got to say goodbye to before illness claimed her... Something you'd hopefully never have to know the pain of...14 trillion years I've protected billions of generations of lives...14 trillion years I have been battered and mauled to protect the people who put me in that position...14 trillion years I've been stuck in a life not worth living but went on anyway..."

Tears rolled down the giants face as more color seem to fade from his body he looked older...much older as his form seemed to give up and leave itself to the very fate that was sealed trillions of years ago.

"Billions of lives have always depended on me without me getting so much as a say in it...I value only a single one...her above all others and if this world ends I may rest knowing she'd be safe. Free to live a full happy life in another world where death doesn't linger on the horizon for her...allowed a life I could never have...You may end me little Absol...but I will rest knowing I gave my daughter a life worth living. A success even in the face of my defeat and you could never take that away from me even if you tried."

His sighed and his eyes looked away from the Absol staring off into the distance.

"All this suffering just because a child cried for his dead mother...all this because I wanted to say goodbye...fate sure is cruel to those of us of exceptional birth..."

[chastiefoul]

nanami kento is known to have a habit of crossing his legs when he sits. when he's reading, or just idly thinking. it's just something he does unconsciously, often time he doesn't even realize it himself.

yet this quickly changes after he got together with you.

now, everytime you come into the same room as him, the man quickly shifted his legs back to a regular position; you know, just in case you want to sit on lap.

fine, he wants you to sit atop of it.

this is all because he had the mistake─one he'll gladly do over and over, of experiencing it once.

the feeling of your body pressed so close against him while you ramble on about absolutely nothing, which he listens to intently with a smile on his face; his hand running along your hair ever so softly while he hums once or twice as response to your animated chatter.

and then you rested your head on his shoulder after getting a bit tired, your strands tickling his neck in the best way possible. his hands moved smoothly to your sides, rubbing up and down. all soothed and relaxed, nanami loves the sight of you being so comfortable near him.

you probably couldn't get closer to him more than this could you? he thought, as he held you tighter nonetheless. he felt content, whole.

so yeah, in short, nanami wants you to sit on his laps.

and with how fast he does it too there's no way you don't notice the subtle change of how he sits lately. yet you don't have the heart to point how obvious he was being, so most of the times you just indulged him, no questions asked. although it's not like it wasn't enjoyable for you, it was the opposite.

not to mention the smile he wears everytime you do it... it's enough to make your knees go weak. a smile you'd go to war for, a smile that's worth doing anything he's asking for.

it seems like nanami isn't the only one who has a new habit, then.

[koling2345]

Just Simon with a cute new recruit. NSFW

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Lieutenant! Simon who: Thought you'd be just another recruit, until he saw that you were such a cute little bird. So obedient and pliable, always listening to what he had to say without refuting it.

Lieutenant! Simon who: Never even looked at any recruit in a different way until you arrived on base. The way you looked at him with sweet little eyes and called him 'Sir' was almost a symphony in his ears.

Lieutenant! Simon who: Loved it when you asked him for help with something on the base, sometimes purposely disappearing with things, only to see you coming after him to find out where that item was.

Lieutenant! Simon who: Made a point of training you, he never let any other superior do it. Not even Johnny. Simon wanted to be solely responsible for your success, or rather, he wanted to be solely responsible for giving you orders. And watching you obey them.

Lieutenant! Simon who: Started glaring daggers at any other soldier who looked at you. Not only that, but any soldier who even spoke to you or flirted with you was magically given a month's worth of hard duties. What a shame ;(

Lieutenant! Simon who: Was in charge of you at the gym, giving you several repetitions of exercises, never passing up an opportunity to put you in some positions that were a bit... Lewd, to say at least. Always keeping a close eye on every exercise you did, his eyes roaming over your body as you knelt down to stand up when you finished a set. The sight always made his pants a little tight.

Lieutenant! Simon who: Always gave you heavy workouts, tiring you to the limit. Just to make sure you'd get tired enough, then he'd have the excuse of helping you to get your bearings. Putting a hand on your lower back. Sometimes even being bold enough to put his hand on your waist, pulling your body against his in an attempt to help you. And if you were really, really tired, he could carry you on his shoulders. No, it wasn't an excuse to stare at your ass and thighs, feeling your body pressed against his. He swore it was just his good intention, he just wanted to help!

Lieutenant! Simon who: Would let you sleep in his room, there was a storm and the base was without power, you didn't want to be alone because you were scared. And he wouldn't let you be alone after learning that you were afraid of thunder, poor thing. That night he wrapped you up in his sheets, pulling you into his lap as he comforted you.

Lieutenant! Simon who: Helped you forget the fierce storm outside, pumping his thick fingers into your pussy, slipping in and out of you, scissoring and curving inside you. He made you come once, twice, three times, enough to make you tired and sleep on his lap, in the mess you made on his thighs, and he didn't care. In fact, he was proud to see the mess you'd made, that he'd given you.

Lieutenant! Simon who: After spending one night with you, he refused to sleep in separate rooms, so every night he dragged you to his room, at which point he already considered you his cute little thing. Normally, he would hold you all night with a death grip, so don't even try to escape.

Lieutenant! Simon who: Couldn't sleep peacefully until he'd buried his cock in you. Sleep only came to him after he had slid his thick cock into your wet folds, deep into your tight warmth. Slamming into you without mercy, he swears that his lullaby is your whimpering sounds under him.

Lieutenant! Simon who: Was mean to you, used you until he had his fill. It didn't matter if you'd already come for the thousandth time, he didn't care, because he went after his own pleasure, he would pound into you all night if he wanted to.Even if you were whimpering underneath him and saying you couldn't take it anymore, he'd respond with:

“You can and you will.”

[nochepsicodelica]

You wake up from a nap that went on a little too long, only to see that Toji still isn't next to you in bed. It's dark already, and when you check the time on your phone, the screen reads 10:14. You see light underneath the bedroom door and get up, dragging the blanket along with you. When you open the door, there Toji is, sitting on the couch, watching TV with his hand in a bag of chips. You peek at him from the hallway entryway and watch as he puts another chip in his mouth.

"Hi," Toji says, not the slightest bit oblivious to your eyes on him. His gaze shifts to you and the big, puffy blanket you have draped around you. "How'd you sleep?"

You don't answer, but instead start making your way towards him, the blanket tailing behind you as it drags on the floor. Five more steps and you're right in front of him. Without a second thought, you're climbing onto his lap and making yourself comfortable. Your big blanket covers him, as well as his bag of chips, now, too.

"Still tired, mama?" Toji asks, when you bury your face in the crook of his neck. You grunt, affirmatively, in response, tightening your arms around him. "That's how you answer, now?" He asks, chuckling when you grunt, again. "I'm rubbing off on you. You sound like a bear."

"Why didn't you come sleep with me?" You ask, your voice quiet from being underused.

"I went into the room to check on you and you were knocked out. Even got some cute pictures of you drooling, and you still didn't wake up."

You whine, annoyed at this revelation. "Not cute at all. It's like you don't even love me," you mumble, turning your face away from him, your cheek now positioned on his shoulder.

"Love you enough to keep an album full of these pictures."

"What? Toji." You briefly turn your attention back to him.

"There's eighty in there. Well, eighty-three, with the ones I got today."

You sigh, dramatically, and rest your cheek on his shoulder, again. "I have nothing more to say to you. Goodnight."

You can hear the smirk on Toji's face when he says, "'Night."

In the short amount of time that you slept on Toji, he was witness to yet another one of your dreams. He's been around for plenty of them. Some were nightmares, others just random dreams that made you jolt awake with a jump scare. He's even been around for the good ones that cause breathy renditions of his name to spill from your lips. This one was just weird.

Toji felt you stirring and watched as you nuzzled into his shoulder. He listened in on your nonsensical thoughts and grinned, amusedly, at the randomness. You sounded worried as you mumbled things about your eyes and how you wanted to keep them, and then something else about changing your mind and not being ready. He had no time to wonder what you weren't ready for, because you woke up and you looked scared.

You sit up on Toji's lap and blink a few times as you look around. "Toji, do my... my eyes?" You question, not finding offense in the way Toji looks like he's trying not to laugh. You're still very much concerned about your eyes.

"What about your eyes, ma?" He asks, his gaze darting after yours as you keep looking around.

"Do my eyes still work?" You ask, still panicking on the inside.

"I don't know. Do they?" he says, only further adding on to your fear. There's a small crease between your eyebrows, making you look conflicted. Your expression goes sad when you look away from Toji.

"Ma, wake up," Toji says, pinching your cheek a few times, while wearing a teasing grin on his face. "Look, if you're actually scared, we can check." You really need that confirmation, so you give Toji your full attention. "What's this?" He asks, tapping the scar that strikes his lips.

"Your handsome, sexy, all you can eat, full course meal of a scar," you mumble.

Toji deadpans and tilts his head, furthering his unamused expression. "Your eyes are fine."

"Test me, again. Pleaaaase?" You beg, giving him a soft smile and puppy eyes.

He sighs and gives in, no fight put up against you, whatsoever. "What color are my eyes?"

You hum as you lean in to examine the subject more closely before coming to your conclusion. "The most handsome bobansome, beautiful, crispy green apple, shade of green."

Toji scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. "See? Your eyes are fine. On that note, you're banned from sleeping on me."

You gasp, dramatically, as if he offended you. "Aren't you the one always manhandling me so that i'm sleeping on top of you? And during our afternoon naps, you put my leg over your hip. And when I try to get up, you--"

"Okay, you're not banned. Jeez." You outsmarted him and it shows through the way he subtly clenches his jaw. "If you like sleeping on me that much, just say so."

You narrow your eyes at him, before pushing off of his chest in an attempt to get off of him.

"Whatcha doing?" He asks, holding your hips down so that you can't move.

"Going back to the room," you say, trying to peel his hands off of you, to no avail. "I would like to sleep on our bed, now, Toji."

"Then, tell me that and I'll take you. What are you doing pawing at my hands, trying to get them off of you?" He takes one look at the involuntary lift of your lips and already knows what's going on. "Oh..." he chuckles. "You a grumpy little bear, now?"

"Don't talk to me," you grumble, huffing childishly and turning your attention away from him.

"Aren't you the one always calling, saying you just wanted to hear my voice while i'm working? And you get goosebumps all over when I talk directly into your ear. And when I don't--"

"Stooop," you whine, leaning forward and burying your face in the crook of his neck, again. Your arms wrap around his neck and your thighs squeeze his waist. "You're not fair," you mumble, into his warm skin.

"Yeah, i'm so cruel to you, huh, baby?" He says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, a soft smile lingering on his lips when you hum out a little "mhm" in response. He moves his bag of chips aside and turns off the TV, before wrapping the blanket around you and tucking the excess away, so that he doesn't trip over it as he walks. With ease, he stands up from the couch and starts towards the bedroom, with his lump of a blanket clinging to him.

[rafesangelita]

♡ rafe is tired, but never too tired to have pretty little sheep!reader bouncing on his cock

warnings: dealer!rafe, light fluff, sleepy sex, riding & reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, praise, spanking, hair pulling, use of the name ‘daddy’, tit sucking

a/n: sheep!reader has been getting heavily requested.. so ask and you shall receive! i’ll be giving longer fics a small break until my pogue!sweetheart!reader series is done because my brain is actually going to explode lol

nothing felt better than coming home to you after a long day of bullshit and seeing you in nothing but those cute thigh high socks of yours. especially when you were so needy and willing to do all of the work. you’d give rafe what felt like a thousand kisses all over his face, his arms wrapped around your waist as you gushed about how much you missed him and thought about him all day. “yeah? i missed you more.” you’d smile at his words, quickly getting him out of his clothes.

you massaged the tension out of his shoulders and left trails of kisses along his skin, your boyfriend growing more relaxed as your skilled hands worked to get him unwinded. by the time you were finished, he was barely able to keep his eyes open, his heavy-lidded gaze meeting yours. “what do you want, baby? you’ve been looking at me like you got something on your mind..” your cheeks heated in response, his fingers dancing along your flesh.

“i know you’re tired.. but can i get on top?” a lazy smile made its way to rafe’s lips before he pulled you onto his lap.

“fuck, yeah.”

those two words were all the confirmation you needed, your shaky hands planted on rafe’s thighs as you moved on top of him, his cock filling you to the hilt. watching you move so fluidly on top of him was enough to make his eyes roll to the back of his head, the sight of your soaked cunt gripping him with every drag of your hips drew more moans from him than the last. “ah, f-fuck! you’re just taking that shit..” rafe was mesmerized, his large palm resting in the curve of thigh.

you cried out when his hand came down on the globe of your ass, a stinging sensation spreading across your sensitive skin. “riding me dumb, huh?” rafe grunted, wrapping a fist in your hair before pulling you back against his chest. you were arched almost painfully in this position, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. “poor baby, here by herself all day..” you whimpered, his free hand snaking down your tummy until he had your clit pinched between his fingers.

you shrieked, white, hot pleasure blinding your vision. rafe knew your body like the back of his hand. he knew what would have you yelping in pain, and what would make you all soft and warm like putty in his hands. “riding daddy makes you so fucking wet,” your hips stuttered when rafe starting rubbing hard circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the lewdness of his words, “just letting me use you like the cock slut you are, right?”

“y-yes!” you whimpered, sighing in relief when he let your hair go. “make yourself cum, ‘pretty girl, let me feel you.” rafe watched as you leaned forward, your back arching deliciously as you bounced on his length. your ass met rafe’s thighs in rhythmic claps, the sound making both of you moan. “turn around, precious, ‘needa see that pretty face.” you slid off of him for a moment, finally swinging a leg over his lap before sinking back down on his cock.

pushing his face into your chest, you whined when you felt him take one of your tits in his mouth, his tongue circling around the sensitive bud. he licked and sucked as you worked to make both of you cum. you relished in these moments when you two were panting into each other’s mouths, skin hot and burning with fiery need and desire, never wanting it to end. rafe’s abs constricted as he inched closer and closer to his climax, your thighs aching for a break.

“don’t fucking stop..” rafe dug his fingers in the flesh of your hips, “oh, my god, don’t stop!” he repeated, your eyes brimming with tears as your clit slapped against his pubic bone. as soon as you doubled over, your head falling against his shoulder, rafe knew the band in your tummy finally snapped, his own orgasm hitting him at the same time. embracing you tightly, rafe thrusted up from below you so you could just cum without keeping up your pace.

you shook against him, tears rolling down your cheek and onto his collarbone as you reveled in each wave of pure bliss. rafe’s mouth stayed open, his eyes screwing shut as you milked him for all that he had. eventually, you two came to a stop, your breaths being the only sound in the room. if rafe felt tired before, he was even more drained now.. literally. nothing beat his pretty thing of a girlfriend taking his load at the end of the night.

[greengoblinswifey]

Trust— Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

summary— based on season 4 episode 9, slight spoilers. rafe is convinced he can help you relax, take your mind off the drama on the ship and make you trust him.

warnings— manipulation, oral, praise kink, degrading kink, bondage, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink.

Rafe looked up as you entered the small, cramped bathroom, his blue eyes narrowing before softening a bit as he registered your expression. “Come to check on me again?” he drawled, his voice low and rough after days of confinement. Despite his irritation, there was a hint of something else in his tone, something that felt almost, relieved.

“Yeah,” you replied, sighing as you slid down to sit on the floor next to him, finally giving yourself a break from the chaos upstairs. “I needed to get away from everything. JJ's out of control, everyone’s on edge, and it’s just—it's all a lot.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, shifting a bit to get more comfortable despite his tied-up position. “Sounds like a mess,” he said, a glint in his eyes. “But not surprising. I’d be losing it, too, if I were up there. Though, you don’t seem the type to lose it.”

You exhaled, glancing away. “I don’t know, sometimes I think I'm just about at my limit. It feels like I’m the only one who, I don’t know, tries to keep it all together by being civil.”

Rafe smirked slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to, you know. Keep it together all the time,” he murmured, his voice taking on an edge. “Sometimes, you just need to let off some steam.” His voice dropped, a bit huskier. “Maybe even relax a little.” His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt your pulse quicken.

You frowned, glancing at his wrists, still bound. “Rafe…”

“Come on,” he coaxed, his tone almost too smooth. “Untie me. I’m not going to hurt you.” He held your gaze with an intensity that made you falter. “Let me help you relax.”

Hesitating, you chewed on your lip. There was something, different about him right now, and you couldn’t quite pin point it. But, against your better judgment, you reached forward and undid the ropes around his wrists, slowly freeing him.

Before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, and he pulled you in close, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was both rough and gentle, catching you completely off-guard. You melted into it, the tension you’d been carrying washing away under his touch. Your mind went blank, and you felt yourself leaning in closer, craving the connection.

“You’re so needy,” he murmured against your lips, “So naughty for letting me loose like this.”

Flustered, you pulled back slightly, breathless. “Rafe…”

He only smirked, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “It’s alright,” he whispered, holding your gaze with a soft, challenging glint. “Now that I’m out, maybe I can return the favor and help you feel a little better.”

You slowly nodded. You couldn’t deny the way he was making you feel.

Rafe’s hands moved slowly over your bare stomach, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across your skin, sending shivers up your spine. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So responsive,” he murmured, watching your breath hitch as his hands continued their slow exploration.

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, feeling vulnerable but completely unable to pull away. Rafe’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your skirt, and with a quiet confidence, he slipped it and your thong off, leaving you feeling even more exposed. He let out a quiet chuckle, his hands never leaving your skin.

When he pulled off his own shirt, his eyes never left yours, and then he moved closer, his presence between your legs grounding you in the moment. “Trust me,” he whispered, voice low as he leaned in, and before you could fully process the warmth of his breath, he began to press soft, deliberate kisses along your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from you.

“You’re so—” you managed, words slipping away as he looked up at you with that familiar smirk, his gaze unrelenting.

“So what?” he teased, “I haven’t even started.”

Your breath grew shallow, anticipation building as his hands traced along your hips, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

His mouth attached to your clit and it sent a spark through you, his touch patient yet undeniably intent, and you couldn’t help but give in to the sensation, letting yourself relax under his steady hands. His tongue was precise, lapping up every part of your pussy that was soaked with your juices.

“Don’t hold back now,” he murmured. His constant sucking and flicking over your clit made your orgasm wash over you, leaving you completely captivated, and all you could do was let yourself melt into the moment, trusting him entirely.

“I’d say you were my good girl and you are but fuck, you’re such a slut just letting me make you cum like this, I thought you and your friends didn’t trust me?” he chuckled, sitting up til he was beside you. You buried your face into his chest, embarrassed that he was right.

“Oh that’s okay baby, don’t be embarrassed,” he laughed, “you know what would make it all better? Me doing to you what they did to me.”

Your head shot up, confusion etched across your face.

“Not like that baby, you’d be willing wouldn’t you? Would you let me tie you up and use you? Gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked huskily.

Slowly, you nodded. You couldn’t deny his words made you throb. You’d let this man do anything to you. He smirked at your obedience and took up the rope, beginning to tie you in the same position he was before. The rope was tied firmly, but not firm enough to hurt or bruise you.

“Is that okay baby? You like being all tied up for me?”

“Y-yes Rafe,” you muttered, eyes big and full of need.

He slipped down his boxers and your eyes went wider, gasping at the size of him. He was so thick and leaking for you. You needed a taste.

“Open up that whore mouth,” he growled.

Immediately, you did what was told and he shoved his cock straight to the back of your throat making you gag.

“Breathe baby, breathe, I know you can take it, you seem like you’d be such a good cock sucker.”

You wanted to prove him right, you wanted to be exactly what he thought of you. As he slowly thrusted into your mouth, your tongue went to work, swirling over the base and the tip, getting it as sloppy as you could. He moaned deeply above you, as his thrusts grew faster, your lips suctioned around him, making the sweetest little sounds.

You would’ve played with his balls if your hands weren’t tied and so, you leaned your head down, slurping and sucking on his balls as he threw his head back and shivered.

“Fuck, I knew you could do it, I knew you were a little whore, what a fucking mouth.” He slipped back into your mouth, his hands now going to your curls as he held you down on his cock, but before he could shoot his load down your throat, he pulled out.

“I know you’d swallow every last drop of my cum like the whore you are but I’d rather your pussy swallow it,” he chucked.

Heat rose in your cheeks as you thought about him filling you up. You weren’t on any form of birth control and you knew for a fact him or anyone on the ship did not have a condom in their possession. He’d definitely get you pregnant, just like his sister was at the moment. Ironic.

“Now, I have an idea.” You looked up at him curiously then gasped as he lifted your lower body, your hands in a slight awkward position as he held you up to fuck you mid air.

“Think you can take it— oh who am I kidding, you’re going to fucking take it,” he muttered, rubbing the leaking tip of his cock up and down your pussy lips.

“Your pussy is so wet and pretty, so happy you just gave it up to me.” You both moaned in unison as his cock slowly penetrated you. In that moment you partially wished your hands weren’t tied so you could’ve placed it on his abdomen, halting him from any further movements.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began pounding into you, your tits spilling out of the skimpy top you had on. His cock was deep inside you due to the angle, the feeling making your pussy quiver.

“Who’s making you feel this good huh?” he asked, his hands squeezing your hips harshly.

“You are Rafe, you,” you cried out. Your friends had definitely heard your screams.

“Good girl, trust me now?” he chuckled, breathlessly.

“Yes Rafe, I trust you. Faster, please,” you pleaded.

His rough thrusts sped up and the sound of your sloppy pussy and your loud moans filled the bathroom, possibly alerting your friends above.

“I need to feel you cum on my cock baby, you can do it,” he urged.

He went faster and deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside you to draw the orgasm out. Before long, you screamed his name, your pussy squirting all over the bathroom walls as he continued fucking you through your high, pulling everything out of you.

“You’re so fucking hot, good girl,” he cooed.

He began chasing his own orgasm, his hand wrapping around your neck and his other skillfully holding under you as his thrusts grew more sloppy.

“Clench around me baby, I’m gonna pump this sweet pussy full of my cum. Gonna get you fucking pregnant, have you carry my babies inside this sexy body.”

You couldn’t protest even if you wanted to and your walls clamped around him, milking him of every ounce of his cum as he slammed into you. His thrusts grew slower and slower and he held you with one hand, the other unbinding your hands and when he did, he held you close to him, his cock still deep inside your pussy.

You both shivered under each other’s touch, panting slowly subsiding.

You shifted off him, the feeling of his big cock slipping out of you making you wince and whimper at the loss and you sat beside him.

“You look so beautiful and relaxed,” he smirked, pushing your curls behind your ear.

“Well you were right, you could help me relax,” you giggled.

“I’m always right. I meant what I said by the way, you’re gonna carry my babies inside that sexy fucking body,” he smirked, rubbing your stomach.

Before you could respond, there was a pounding on the door, it was your best friend.

“Y/N, what’s all that noise? What’s going on in there?” Cleo called out.