#THIS IS NOT ALL OF CHAPTER ONE. JUST THE FIRST SCENE

[roronoacherries]

zoro with a bookworm s/o ♡

you can always count on zoro to listen to you ramble about a book you’ve just finished. the second you’ve closed a book and (half) collected yourself, you search the ship for him.

he never needs to hear what you’re coming to tell him; he already knows, from the pleasant urgency of your step; the smile, not on your lips, but in your eyes; the bite of your lip as you try to contain the emotions threatening to spill out of you before you’ve managed to say a word.

you don’t slow down until you’ve stopped in front of him, your hands on either side of his face as you breathe out the words, “i finished.”

“did ya?” he says softly, in feigned surprised, a brow raised as a smirk settles on his lips in admiration of his bookish lover. “tell me about it.”

he doesn’t understand it at all, your love for books and fiction. he starts to yawn a sentence into any book he opens. he’ll admit to you (and only you) that he struggles to make sense of the characters on a paper, but even if reading came easier to him the world of stories was never one he felt a want to get lost in. not unless he could hear them from you.

he’d ask you questions. he’d hate the characters you hated, and when you talked about the ones you loved, nothing could keep his eyes from you. he’d hold in a playful laugh when you cried about a character’s death, without ever making you feel silly for it.

zoro would let you talk for as long as you wanted, not once getting bored (or at least, never showing it). he’d let you sit with him, resting on his arm, when you didn’t want to read in solace; listen to you read out loud to him when there was a part you loved so much you needed him to hear it too; stretching his arm around you when you held your breath, holding in a sob as you silently struggled through a tragic chapter.

if there’s a book in particular you love more dearly than any other, he’d make a genuine effort to read it himself (and does—because if zoro sets out to do something, especially for someone he loves, you can trust he’ll get it done). it’d be without your knowing, at first, struggling through the first chapters until he couldn’t quite put it down anymore, and only telling you he’d been reading it by asking you about the foolish thing he couldn’t believe a character had been stupid enough to do.

“you’re reading this?” you’d ask, unable to help the flutter you felt in your heart.

“answer the question, y/n.”

and if your ambition is to write a novel of your own, he’d be with you every step of the way. there to listen to your ideas. there to be blunt and honest when you needed it. there to ask the questions you didn’t think of. there to keep you quiet company while you wrote, and there to force you into bed when a creative madness had you fighting to keep your head upright and your eyes open.

he’d carry you to bed, tucking you in while you mumbled about needing to get this scene right, and even if he doesn’t quite get your love of stories, he’d be ever so grateful that you are an invaluable part of his.

[shinhyunjin]

── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

[twice-inamillion]

The Company Series

Sister Reunion

Smut 

Chapter 21

2,040 Words 

(Welcoming someone new is always nice, so is having a bit of fun. )

“Just one more, you almost got it.” 

“Argh, fuck… I can’t! I can’t…”

“Come on, you can do it.” 

“Shut up, you’re why I’m in this place.” 

Jessica squeezes your hand with all her might. “Argh, I’m so tired…”

The doctor enthusiastically says, “Just one more, almost there.”

Jessica gives one final push, “Argh!” 

You feel like your hand is about to break off from the force when you hear a loud cry. 

“There you go, “Congratulations to the both of you.” 

Jessica finally lets go of your hand and asks, “Doctor, how is he?” 

“A perfectly healthy baby boy.” 

“Thank god.” Jessica’s relieved after going through so much, “Can I hold him?”

“Of course.”

You watch as the nurse approaches Jessica and gives her the newborn. She holds her baby with precaution and moves the thin blanket covering him. The baby is so tiny, its eyes struggling to open. 

“My… my baby,” she says, caressing his face. Hearing his mother’s voice, the newborn slowly extends his hand, wrapping its fingers around her thumb.

——-

It’s been a few weeks since the baby was born. You’ve spent most of your time with Jessica and your child. At first, it was a bit nerve-wracking as you didn’t know how to hold or even change the baby. 

Luckily, you picked things up quickly and enjoyed your time with them. You watched as the baby would cry whenever he was hungry and Jessica would immediately feed him. You could feel the sudden change, the motherly warmth she displayed.

“How is it that I’m jealous of my kid?”

Jessica looks at you and says, “This is for the baby.” 

“Come on, let me have a taste,” you say as a tease.

”Stop… don’t say that in front of the baby,” she says in a playful tone.

“Then let me put him to sleep.” 

Gently, you put the baby in the crib after a few minutes in your arms. It’s hard work but something that you hope to get used to. 

As you turn your head, you see Jessica in a relaxed position, her blouse unbuttoned and her breasts completely exposed. She waves you down, “Come on, get mommy’s milk.” 

You hip your lips and walk towards Jessica, laying your head on her lap. She slowly kneads her right breast, causing a slight cream fluid to appear from her nipple. She teases you and says, “Come get your drink.” 

“Are you for real?”

“You said you wanted some, so here, have a taste.”

There’s no need for second thoughts as you trace your tongue across her nipple. Jessica feels goosebumps from the sudden sensation but doesn’t stop you as she watches you take her breast into your mouth. 

“There, there… does it feel good drinking mommy’s milk?”

You nod, increasing the pressure of your suckling. She caresses your head and slowly gets turned on by the position you two are in. 

“Let’s have some fun while we’re at it,” she says, looking at your shorts.

She slowly moves her hand, unzipping your shorts, not wanting you to get distracted. She fishes out your limp cock and wraps her cold hands around your member. It startles you, the cold sensation, but you don’t lose your attention on her breast. 

Jessica gets a firm grip and slowly pumps your cock, peeling your foreskin until your mushroom head is in full view. 

Hungrily, Jessica says, “I missed this cock so much.” You slightly open your eyes and see Jessica licking her lip. “It’s so nice and thick.” You feel her grip get stronger as she pumps you, “I know you’re fucking other women while, in a way, you're a fucken man whore.” 

All you do is listen as you continue to suckle on her breast. Her strokes intensify, using your percum as lube. You grunt, “fuck… keep going.”

As she increases her stroking pace, you hear the door suddenly open, “Unnie, I brought you something to eat…” Krystal’s eyes widen at the scene before her, “Umm… sorry…” 

“Don’t, it’s fine, come in.”

Krystal walks into the room and tries to avoid eye contact, but the sound of your meat being stoked prevents it. She stands a few feet away, but Jessica calls out for her, “Come, remember this cock?” 

Krystal shyly walks towards the both of you and just watches as her older sister strokes your cock. Her eyes focus on the large amount of pre cum leaking from your cock. 

With Krystal just above you, Jessica grins and increases the intensity of her strokes. “Remember his cock inside of you? How his cum filled you inside.” Jessica watches as her sister’s breathing becomes heavy, the memory of her being taken by you. Krystal feels herself getting wet just thinking about it.

Suddenly, she feels a hot sensation on her face, which snaps her back to reality. She touches her cheek and looks at her finger, a semi-transparent liquid. “What the hell… did he cum on me?” 

Jessica looks at Krystal and says, “Sorry, he couldn’t hold it any longer. Look, he’s still leaking.” Krystal remains silent, watching as the tip of your cock slowly releases a stream of cum.

“Be a good younger sister and clean him off, please.”

“What? Wh…why should I?”

“Please…. You know I would, but, you know…” and looks at you, still sucking on her breast. 

“Fuck, fine… where’s the tissues…”

Jessica tries to hold her grin, “Oh, I didn’t mean to use tissues; that’s a waste. How about you use your mouth.” 

“What? Why?”

“Don’t you know how precious his cum is?” 

“But…”

“Do it…” 

Krystal realizes how serious her sister is about this. She nods and slowly sits on the opposite side of Jessica. She gulps as she sees your cock covered in cum. Her body trembles as she puts her tongue on your slimy cum covered cock. 

“Come on, Krystal, lick it off like a good girl.” 

She whines, but deep down, she feels a sense of adrenaline from being treated so poorly. Slowly, she licks the base of your crotch, working her way from the bottom. 

Eventually, after much licking, she gets to the tip of your cock. “Go on, have a taste from the source.” 

Krystal grabs your cock and slowly presses it between her lips. Her mouth stretches as she takes most of your cock. She slowly bobs her head, remembering the previous time she had with you. 

On the other side, you feel Krystal’s hot mouth on your cock and give a slight view. Jessica turns your cheek and kisses you, distracting you from what’s below. She suddenly whispers in your ear, “Go on, baby, have a little fun. She’s told me she can’t forget that one night.”

Your expression changes, and grabs Krystal’s head, “Your sister said you like my cock.” Krystal lifts her head and notices your smirk, causing her heart to suddenly beat faster. 

“Come on, this cock isn’t going to suck itself.” 

“Uh..uh…”

”Uh.. what? Go on.”

Krystal's body trembles, and nervously nods her head. She goes back to pleasuring your cock. She feels your gaze, knowing that you’re watching her as she goes down on you. 

“Fuck… try taking more of it…”

She tries taking more of your member into her mouth, but it’s too much. Her mouth is already at her limit; she feels like her mouth would break. Krystal looks up and sees your face, “Go on…”  

You get frustrated as Krystal takes her time and decides to give her a helping hand. Without her noticing, you put your hands around the back of her head and push her down. Krystal eyes widen by your sudden action. She feels her mouth stretch to its limit and tries to pull away but can't. It might just be a slight amount of pressure, but it’s too much for her small frame. 

Krystal feels like her jaw is about to break, and a slight panic kicks in. She looks up at you and notices your face of satisfaction. She’d seen that face before with her boyfriend whenever she would go down on him and get upset when he would be forceful. With you, it was another story; she knew that you could be sweet based on your interaction with her sister but knows that getting you upset wasn’t something she would want to do. 

She takes a deep breath and lets herself be used by your cock. You bob her head on your cock, feeling every part of her mouth and throat. You feel no resistance coming from Krystal and continue to enjoy yourself. 

“Your mouth feels so good. You two are really sisters, haha.”

You press her head deeper, reaching her throat even more. The deeper you push, the more of a reaction you get from her. “I can’t stand it anymore, I’m going to fuck your face.” 

Krystal’s facial expression changes as she feels a tighter grip around her head. She begins to gag as you thrust your cock back and forth. “Fuck, yes. That’s it.” 

“Gawk, gawk, gawk…”

All you hear is the sound of your cock hitting Krystal’s throat, becoming a real-life fleshlight. Little by little, the lack of air causes her to panic; she puts her hands on your thighs and tries to push you off. 

Instead, you hold her tighter than before, wanting to see her struggle with the remaining air she has. Krystal pushes you once more; she gives you a few smacks on the leg, signaling that she’s about to pass out.

She looks at you, and you can see the look on her face; she is begging you to help her. Words like,  “Please, stop, I can’t breathe” go through her brain, but she can’t say out loud. 

With her head on your hands, you feel Krystal tremble, her eyes twitching and starting to roll back. Suddenly, your balls explode and pour into Krystal's throat. You hold her with all your might as you pump her stomach full of your thick milk. 

Krystal’s eyes finally roll back completely as her last remaining air runs out. “That was good,” you say as you pull out your flaccid cock out of her mouth. 

Krystal slips off and hits the floor, your cum oozing out of her. You watch as there is no reaction from her. You kneel and grab her face, giving it a gentle slap.

 *Cough, cough*

Krystal coughs heavily as her body takes in as much air as possible. “Look at the camera, little sis.” 

Jessica snaps a series of pictures of her sister and says, “This is what you get for getting on my bad side.” 

———

You’re returning to Korea after spending a few weeks with Jessica and your child. Currently, you’re in a conference call with Jieun to discuss the final details about the survival show that you and JYP plan on doing soon. 

“Everything is going well with the preparations. You should have the most up-to-date information on the survival show.” 

“Thanks for your hard work while I was gone.”

”It’s no problem, sir. I’m more than happy to step in when needed.”

There is a brief silence, “Something on your mind, Jieun?”

”Yes, sir. I have some news.”

”Go on.”

”I’m sending you a file through your secure phone.”

*Ding* 

You grab your phone, see it’s a jpeg attachment, and download it. The screen changes, and you see Jisoo, Jennie, Rosé, and Lisa standing in a line, holding something in their hand. Your expression changes, “Is it what I think it is?”

”Yes, sir. Congratulations on breeding all four members.”

You can’t help but have a large smile and ask, “What was their reaction?”

”Jisoo and Jennie took it quite well. Lisa was a bit confused at the beginning but accepted the fact. Rosé, on the other hand, was bawling at the news and locked herself out for a whole day, but after a firm talk, I made her understand her position in the company.”

”Good…”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, sir.”

”Relay a message to them.”

”Of course.”

”Tell them that I expected a lovely welcome when I arrive.” 

[zepskies]

Lol YESSS I know you love a bit of angsty heartbreak. 😜 Thank you so much, friend! Can't wait to see what you thought of the penultimate chapter. 💖

Oh, Micheal is just such a lovely, lovely person, isn't he? 😒 In the words of Taylor Swift: Michael doesn't measure up in any measure of a man...

oh God yeah, perfect quote for this pos, honestly. 😣

Hahaha omfg I loved Sam so much during this chapter! He was awesome!!! Go Lawyer!Sam 😎🤎 (And I have no idea if you intended for my mind to jump to Changing Channels and French Mistake Sam with these lines, but it did, so THANK you 🤣🫶)

LMAO I'm deaddd - Sam in Changing Channels is exactly the cadence of all his lawyering/"agreeing" with Michael to keep him talking. It's very "play your role" for sure! And French Mistake Sam is the icing on the cake. 🤣🤣🤣

I do understand his struggle after the war, but it's literally NO excuse to treat his wife like shit, cheat on her, lie to her, spend her money for his trashy sidepiece, and God knows what else. You don't want an anchor? Fine. Get divorced. The fact he keeps her around and won't let her find her own happiness after she literally saved his life is so mind-boggingly selfish smh The least he could to show his gratitude is not be a gigantic cuntface 🤬

First of all, LOVE that you dug up that Freddie gif. Leave it to you to find the perfect one there. 🤣🤣

And yes ALLLL of this! Louder for the people in the back!!!

That's exactly how I hoped readers would react to Michael's scene. Is he pitiable in a sense? Sure. Does he inspire sympathy? Maybe. But it doesn't excuse his selfishness, especially when you contrast him with Dean and his experiences vs. his actions.

Ugh, God, poor thing! 😭💔 With all the romanticism of that period sadly also comes the shame of taboo topics (not to mention feminism in general taking a backseat lol) Really feel for her here! Wish she wouldn't blame herself as much. Her husband is a dirtbag 😔

Ooof yep, that's something I hoped would come across as well. I wanted the reader to be strong but realistic to the time period in that sense. But it shows how her moral character differs from her husband. 🙄 Even now, she feels guilty for betraying him, even if she also doesn't. It's more the principle of it that she feels shame for, if not the actual emotional act.

SCREAMING 😳😳😳 The whole flower shop scene was like watching a train wreck. Poor Dean! So many stingers in those few sentences!! 😩 (And man, I wanna choke Michael!!! Buying flowers? Dinner? Are you fucking kidding me??? WHAT THE F–???)

Ughhhh God ikr? Poor Dean, indeed!! 😭😭 What's ironic is Michael doesn't know that that's almost exactly what Dean did to cheer her up the night before. So now, even Dean might be looking at his own actions as "not enough." But Michael has every shade of audacity, doesn't he? 😤

But did you stop the angst there? Nope! The reader part of me hated you, while the writer part highly commended you 😂💜

*snorts* honestly thank you - this compliment feeds me so much. 😂💕💕

I already knew it wouldn't be fast, but I knew this was going to be a problem. Where would she stay during this? Michael certainly won't have it, and I really fear for her safety here 🥺 (Reading the teaser for the last part, I think I have good reason to, even though I know you said once earlier I didn't need to. Still, you got me shaking here, girl 😅) Surprised Sam wouldn't think about that, considering everything he found out about the guy so far 👀

Ooh yes, these are all good questions! Her safety and where she'll stay is definitely a factor coming into play in Part 5. After what Sam has found out, he's going to make sure she's looked out for, for sure! 💜💜

This was such a dreamy, swoon-worthy movie scene *sighs* 😍🫠 And then they had to start talking, didn't they? Specifically Dean. The infamous DW self-loathing enters the AU 😆 I really just wanted to cover his piehole and tell him to stop talking, kiss her for real, and take her with you. Hide out in Kansas till everything blows over 😭

Ugh right?? Things started out so nice, why tf did Dean have to open his mouth? lmaoo

"I'm no good for you"!Dean has entered the chat. 😒 But no DW love story would be complete without a little self-loathing, right? 🙃

LOL love that image of literally covering his piehole.~

But I know it hurts, my lovely. I'm so sorry to do this to you. 🥲🤭

And I'm so glad the brothers had a long overdue chat as well! I still feel so incredibly heartbroken for Dean 😭

Oh yeah, Sam and Dean needed to have that moment - for Sam to see how much he was hurting big bro, and for Dean to get that off his chest. Ultimately though, if these guys can survive three years of the war apart, they can survive learning how to be brothers again too. 💜

I can't wait for the last part of this & how it all will tie together in the end! Eeeek! This is so, so, so incredibly good, friend!!! 😍😍😍 (And I get to read it on Patreon tonight too hehe 🩵)

Aww I love you so much for wanting to join my Patreon, friend!! I can't wait to see what you think of how it all shakes out--with much drama of course. you know me lmao 😘💖💖

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

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Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.” 

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes. 

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list. 

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.” 

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you. 

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.  

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?” 

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.  

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you. 

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far. 

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp. 

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.” 

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel. 

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand. 

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol 

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

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[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 27

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

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---

Christmas flies past you in such a hurry that you feel like you hardly get to hold onto the joy of it at all - and it is joyful, as bright and as happy as the first one you can remember.

There's the morning in your apartment, sipping coffee and scrolling mindlessly on an internet where, for once, you don't see a single word that twists inside your gut when you read it. Then there's the preparation at work, and the livestream, full of lighthearted games and gift exchanges and you laughing at Felix as he drops the packets of chicken in his box all over the ground, disbelief still painted across his face. And then there's dinner, all together as a family, and the more personal gifts that you didn't give on camera, and the lively talk that carries all of you into the evening without anyone noticing.

You've had good days and bad days in Korea. You're relieved to get to the end of the day and realise that this is one of the better ones.

Your gifts are small and few, but meaningful, different groups of boys pooling together to give you something they truly thought you could use. Headphones, an expensive dress you'd eyed once on a shopping trip, hats to hide under in the airport. Small things you needed but hadn't gotten around to buying, things you'd been doing without until you had the money to invest in them. Your gifts to them had been much smaller, just like your budget; your biggest gift was their dinner and the evening you'd spent cooking it alone. The favourite thing you received was their faces after they'd eaten.

Still, it flies by too fast. You blink, and the day is over, and suddenly you're sitting in the corner of their couch paying minimal attention to the movie playing on the TV and waiting for the clock to finish ticking its way down to midnight. In the other corner, Jisung sits enraptured by the plot, soaking in every moment of the dramatic romance, the Christmas disaster and the miracle you already know is coming right at the end. Even with most of your attention on the conversation happening at the table behind you, you can tell what's about to happen; but you're not here to ruin his night. You're just...soaking it in. Enjoying it.

You're happy.

"What are you watching?" a voice asks behind you, hands leaning heavy on the back of the couch despite the flapping and shushing of Han's hands. 

You turn to answer Chan in his stead, finding him leaning there comfortably while he eyes the scene playing out on the TV. "Rom coms," you tell him in a voice that is only just hushed to an acceptable level. "They're supposed to fall in love at some point."

"They are in love," Jisung argues, his eyes leaving the screen only to glare at you. You wonder if he's aware his cheeks puff out with indignation when he does that, completely ruining the effect. "They're just too dumb to realise."

"They're going to get together at the Christmas Ball," you tell Chan, and ignore the way Jisung grumbles about spoilers as he turns back to the movie. "It's so cheesy."

"You didn't want to watch Love Island," Jisung cuts in before Chan can reply.

"I said we should watch Home Alone."

"I told you, I wanted some drama."

"Home Alone is drama."

"Go away then, if you don't want to watch," he huffs in mock exasperation, the laugh that huffs from the back of his throat when you stick out your tongue at him betraying him. 

When he turns back to the screen, Chan's hand taps at your shoulder. "The others are walking home now," he says, leaning down as if to mutter conspiracies between you. "Do you want to come with us?"

"With us?" you repeat, though you're already lifting yourself off the couch, stretching out tight muscles as you stand. "Where are you walking to? You're already home?"

"I'm just walking," he answers. "It's a nice night."

You glance at the heavily curtained window. "It's snowing."

"And?" he says. "Snow's nice. We never see snow."

"You should try winter in Melbourne," you snort, amused by the light dancing in his eyes. "So cold it might as well be snowing. Worse than snow, actually."

"You'll be fine walking in the snow then."

A yawn interrupts your put-upon sigh, and all of the effect it would have had. "I just have to grab a coat on the way down," you acquiesce, watching the other boys pulling their coats on by the door.

"Just borrow one of mine." Without waiting for an answer, Chan turns on his heel and disappears into the hallway. You trai after him slowly, meeting him on the way back out his bedroom door, coat in hand. "Try this," he says, and thrusts in at you.

You don't know where your apprehension comes from. Maybe the intimacy of borrowing clothes from someone - maybe just from coming face-to-face with the abject kindness that drives him to offer it to you without a moment's hesitation. It clogs up in your throat anyway, whatever it is, threatening to turn your face red. 

You have to force yourself to take the jacket, pulling it on with robotic movements. It hangs loose on your frame, the shoulders drooping sadly down your arms, but it is soft and warm and long enough to cover your hands, disguising your lack of gloves.

"This too," Chan says, and pulls a beanie straight down over your head, covering your eyes. You squawk at the sudden blinding, fighting your sleeves. By the time you have it straight on your head, your hair flat again beneath it, he is dressed too - and still laughing at you, his smile too wide to be innocent. You slap his arm hard enough to bruise. He doesn't even do you the mercy of rubbing it.

"Cute,' he says as you walk back down the hall.

Only the chance of public ridicule stops you from hitting him again. "I nearly fell over."

"Never," he insists. "You would have been fine anyway. The jacket goes all the way up to your ears."

"Give me one of Han's next time," you grumble, even as you pull the coat closer around you.

Chan's smile is beatific. "You think Hannie ever does laundry?"

"Disgusting," you say, with a face to match, and then you walk right into the group gathering by the door before he can expand on that thought anymore.

"What's disgusting?" Seungmin asks.

You wave him away. "Han Jisung," you answer. "It's a long story."

He accepts it at face value, nodding it away. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead, head inclined towards your clothes. 

"Walking you home, apparently." You pause, glancing at Chan. "I was bullied."

"Are you saying goodbye to the others, or are you coming back?" Chan asks sweetly, ignoring every word you said. 

"I'm coming back," you sigh. "I have to see the end of the movie."

"But not the middle?" Seungmin snorts.

"It's a bad movie," Chan advises, and then follows him out the door. You walk with them, cramming into the elevator once the rest of them are in. It's snug, with six of you, and too warm for the thick coats you're dressed in - but just as you start to sweat, you step outside into the frigid night and forget all about the elevator and its false summer, instead hudding down into your collar for warmth.

"Do you miss home yet?" Felix asks behind you, watching you grabbing at the warmth still left in your body.

You slow a little to let him catch up, eyes on the backs of the boys walking in front of you. "Just the summers," you answer wryly. "Winter sucks."

Felix laughs, pushing his beanie further down with one hand. "I like it," he admits. "Snow on Christmas? Come on."

"What's the point when it's too cold to go out anyway?" you throw back. "At least in the summer you can go out for Christmas. Go swimming or something."

Felix's mouth twists thoughtfully, his eyes getting that faraway look that says he's thinking of some other place than the wide street you're walking down. "Now I want to go to the beach," he sighs. "Mum said it was so hot in Sydney today, it would have been perfect."

"It rained for a little while in Melbourne," you say, and he laughs. "I think it was nice though. My grandparents flew over for the first time this year."

Felix glances at you in surprise. "You have family in Korea?"

"They live in Busan," you explain. "I don't really know them very well. They came for the In Life concert, didn't you see them?"

"No?" He puts on a show of helplessness, his hands spreading wide. "You didn't come and introduce them?"

"No?" you answer. "They took me out to dinner, and then we had filming or something on the day after, so they went home."

Felix blows out a sigh, shaking his head again. "You could have invited us to dinner. I want to meet your family."

You wave him away. "It's not a big deal," you insist. "Seriously, I hardly talk to them. I saw them for like, the third time ever last Christmas, and they told me to go back to Australia and get a medical degree instead of trying to be an idol."

"I hope Christmas with us was better than that."

"Nearly as good as going home," you say, and grin wildly at the offended look on his face, his mouth curving into a perfect 'O'. "My mum taught me how to cook lamb over the phone in the middle of her day, you know. What did you do for me today?"

"I didn't try to help you with the lamb," Felix throws back, quick as a whip. "And I told you how nice it was, so many times."

"True," you admit, and listened to the sound of his laugh rising in the still air. Your eyes turn upwards, to the shadow of his building towering over you. "Are you saying this was better than going home to Sydney then?"

Felix's mouth twists. "No," he says, very slowly, as you join the others at their door. You try to bite back your smug grin, a thousand retorts springing to mind that you've run out of time to say. Not that Felix looks like he's won anyway, his face wry as he turns to the others' conversation rather than trying to continue this one.

"Lixie," Seungmin says as you complete their circle, saving him from crushing defeat. "Minho wants to go to Jeju in summer."

"Do we have holiday time in summer?" Felix asks.

"We'll just run away," Minho answers, and offers nothing more than a stone-cold poker face to indicate if he is joking or not.

"Or," Seungmin tacks onto the end. "If we're being serious, we'll just ask to film something."

The look Minho gives him would be withering, if you didn't know that it was only an empty threat. "I'm being serious," he insists, and only cracks a smile when Seungmin rolls his eyes and Chan places a hand on his shoulder, barely holding in a laugh.

"I would love to go to Jeju," Felix says wistfully, and then turns to you. "What about Y/N?"

"She doesn't get a choice," Seungmin says. "Forced vacation."

"Why am I being forced?" you ask. "I can choose to go on vacation."

"Vacation to the company doesn't count," I.N puts in, and enough of them snigger that you don't bother arguing with them. 

"Fine, okay," you sigh, ducking your head and waving a hand. "Merry Christmas, goodnight now. Nice to see you."

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Seungmin says smugly, his hand ruffling your beanie before heading inside. The others follow; Minho with a smile, I.N a small comment where they can't hear. Felix hugs you, and then throws his arm around Chan's shoulders for a moment and gets dragged into hugging him too before he can disappear, I.N closing the door behind him with one last wave.

Suddenly, the street seems very wide and quiet, the night stretching out around you with nothing to break it apart.

"Can I walk you home?" a voice asks by your side, and you turn to see Chan standing beside you still, one hand outstretched in offering.

"Weren't you always walking me home?" you answer; though you take his hand anyway, savouring the close of his fingers around yours even through the sleeve of your jacket. 

"I wouldn't want to assume anything," he says, and bites back a grin. Your hand thumps his shoulder, just hard enough to make a sound. "Don't hit me, it's Christmas. I'm being polite."

"Mhm." You nod, your hand falling back by your side. He squeezes the fingers of your other hand, only enough to make you aware of his grip. "You're always polite, of course. Never making fun of me."

"Never," he agrees readily. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his mouth turning upwards. "What other girls?" he questions, as innocent as anything. In the half-light between street lamps, you think you can see his ears turning red, and you struggle to hold back a laugh.

"What about all the ones you're going to see tomorrow?" you say; and maybe the others were right, when your thoughts turn immediately from Christmas back to work, to the looming performance and the fans that oversee it.

"Oh, them?" Chan looks off high into the distance, as if mulling over the thought. "I can be mean to them. It's totally different. You can be mean to them too, if you want."

"They only just started being nice to me like, this morning," you tell him. "Now isn't the time to start playing games."

"Really?" His eyes light up, the playfulness of his smile vanishing. 

You nod along, unable to stop the wry smile that is plastered to your face. "In the livestream comments," you say. "I mean, there was still the whole awards boycott thing going around, but...I don't know. People were actually acting like I'm a part of the group? It's like, a Christmas miracle or something."

He falls silent for several seconds, his eyes silently studying your face. You can't quite meet the intensity of his gaze, your own eyes dropping to your entwined hands, swinging between you as you walk. He's thinking hard about something; time passes, your footsteps crunching in the snow and the buzz of car engines on a nearby street the only noise that permeates the air between you, and still he doesn't speak. 

"What are you looking at?" you ask when you can't bear it anymore, your gaze creeping up to meet the corner of his and then focusing on the road ahead of you instead.

"Nothing." With a jolt, he suddenly realises he is staring and glances away, searching for anything else to look at. "You seem happy, that's all."

It takes you a moment to answer, carefully considering the emotion that wells up in your gut. "I am, today," you answer. "It...I don't know. The performances this month have been good, the fans were happy today. It feels like something might change now."

"Good," he says, and smiles - small, but more soft and genuine than the amusement that had shone loudly from his face earlier. "I've been worried about you."

A scoff chokes itself in your throat. "I know," you manage to say, around the stone that lodges itself there. "I've been worried about you worrying about me."

His feet stutter in their tracks, his grip tugging on your hand as he saves his balance. "What are you worried about me for? Don't do that."

"Someone has to, don't they?" you say. "I see you spending all that time looking out for me, I feel like I should at least try to give it back."

His head ducks, shy. "You don't have to do that. I like taking care of people."

"Didn't I tell you to stop worrying about me like, six months ago?"

"Something like that. I didn't listen."

"You shouldn't break your promises like that."

Chan squeezes your hand hard, his knuckles bumping against your hip. "You promised to stop practising so much too, you know."

The accusation stirs a memory of a conversation, much clearer than the one you'd been trying to dredge up. It's funny; you remember, just that short time ago, talking about things like debut and the company - and now you can't fathom feeling those same nerves anymore. The fear of being dropped from the company, the pressure from fans, the expectations set upon the group and therefore you as proxy...all of those are fears you're still familiar with, but a fear of Chan himself? When he lends you his jacket and walks hand-in-hand down the street, so slowly that it might take you all night to get home if you continue like this?

Never. Not again, not not that you know him properly. There's no one you would trust more in the world than him.

"I think we should forget about those promises," you announce. "I like my job. And I like you caring about me too."

"Really?" he asks, and you think, from the way that he eyes you, that you need to give the other boys a piece of your mind. Too many jokes about old age, one too many acts of pushing him away. Maybe you need to give him a piece of your mind too - for letting himself believe, even for the moment of doubt that flickers over his face, that you wouldn't really mean it.

"Yes, really," you reply, and try to refrain from the tiraded of emotion that threatens to spill out afterwards, all in the wrong tone of voice. "It's been really hard lately, you know, with everything - I mean, it's fine, but still. You're always there. I like that. The others are there too, but - even in the middle of the night, you're always there. It's nice."

As if on cue, your building appears in front of you as you finish speaking, looking out from between its neighbours. "How are we ever going to go to bed on time if we both like talking in the middle of the night?" Chan asks, pulling you to a stop before you can head for the door. 

You find yourself shrugging, eager to linger. "Do we have to fix it?" you ask. "We're doing it right now, you know."

His mouth quirks. "Maybe tomorrow, then," he proposes. "Or we can just spend the rest of our lives only talking at midnight."

"I don't mind," you say with a shrug. "Midnight is a good time. Two AM is even better."

"I'll think about it."

He looks around, searching for something else to comment on, some way to keep the conversation going even when it feels like you have run out of things to talk about (except that you haven't, because you never could, because talking to him is so easy no matter what). In the corner of your eye, your door looms, calling you back to the warmth of his apartment and the quiet dark of your own - but his hand doesn't leave yours and his feet don't move, and even though you know it is stupid to be standing around like this in the snow, you can't bring yourself to let it go and bring on the end of night so suddenly. It's been such a nice day, and the walk home so warm, that you don't want to let it go, not until every second has been squeezed out of it.

There's still the movie, you remind yourself, thinking of Han sitting up there above your head watching, but your mouth doesn't say that. Instead, it asks, "Do you want to walk down to the corner store?"

You only realise later that Chan doesn't ever stop to ask why, or to complain about walking even further in the snow. In the moment, his smile consumes you, his feet automatically turning towards the store; and then again, you are immersed in your own world, stealing five more minutes from a night that cannot go on forever.

But for just this one night, you are happy. For just one night, you have something that is all yours.

Him. 

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[wirewitchviolet]

Let's talk about how Ranma is trans in the 2024 anime, part 1

Way the hell back in 2018, after a random exchange with a friend, I sat down and wrote a series of four blog posts where I looked at the manga Ranma ½, which ran from 1988 to 1996, explicitly through a lens where I assumed the protagonist is in fact a trans girl. A major component of the series being that Ranma and several other characters fell into various pools in a cursed set of natural springs causing them to magically change into whatever tragically drowned in one when hit with cold water, then back to their original body with hot, and Ranma fell in the girl one, so it was bound to be a series that would crack a lot of eggs regardless, but my memory of reading it years before transitioning was that it worked on a mundane level too, particularly later. I did somehow forget a bit towards the end where Ranma honestly just kinda straight up comes out of the closet, but I'm not going to link to that panel yet again for the sake of preview links not blending together. Anyway, those posts were already the most popular things I ever put on this blog and have never stopped circulating, despite it being a pretty old and largely forgotten series at the time.

I had always had the idea that I really should go back and also watch the anime adaptation(s) of Ranma, which deviates a good bit from the manga, but that is 161 episodes, 3 movies, and 11 OAVs which are terribly terribly paced, and I don't actually get paid for this. But then lo and behold, here's a brand new anime adaptation coming out decades later, looking really nice, and surely that will deviate even more from the source material, so here I am diving in to find all new bits of gender stuff to talk about, under the fold here and-

Oh. Turns out the new anime series is actually an EXTREMELY faithful adaptation of the original manga and the only deviations I've actually noticed are that there's a little bit less nudity and the one scene with Ranma's breasts fully on display goes the route of not drawing nipples. And really that's only significant because the original anime adaptation somehow got away with that one. Speaking of the original anime run, this adaptation brings back the entire surviving voice cast, and continues the tradition of coloring Ranma's hair red in cold-water form as an extra tell for the audience. And speaking of color, one thing this adaptation does now and then that I really appreciate is punctuating certain scenes with the sort of cool pastel palettes (see above) that were used for the cover illustrations of the original manga.

Another thing the 2024 anime does is throw in a quick little vignette before the opening credits of each episode to restate that Ranma and Akane are engaged, and the feminizing water thing, which mostly feels like it's there as just a little extra emphasis that regardless of all the other shenanigans going on, those two are the one actual couple and making it clear that the rest of the tangled web of crushes and obsessions don't really matter. Something I feel like this adapatation is keen to emphasize in general. In fact, being as nearly 1 to 1 an adaptation as it is, the title of every episode is directly lifted from the chapter names of the manga, so we can just slap together a little infographic and see what's getting compressed a bit and what's getting the time it needs to breathe!

We're chewing through the extended fight scenes pretty quick and slowing down any time Akane's having an emotional moment or some time in the spotlight basically. Which makes sense since the action scenes in the manga are like all full page splash images with a word of text and need to be flowing quickly, and because we have the benefit of hindsight knowing that the Kunos become irrelevant real quick. We're also squeezing out a little early identity crisis stuff for Ranma in the process (there's an early dream sequence after first meeting Kuno, coming to grips with the whole "since I'm a girl, dudes want to sleep with me" realization that barely makes it in and a few early moments of internalized misogyny that get dropped), and we really give Shampoo's debut some space (not QUITE as much as the above suggests, most of episode 10 is wrapping up a three parter on the ice skating with her just punching through the wall as a cliffhanger at the end).

The whole thing is also paced out to nicely cover the first four volumes of the manga, out of 38. They might up the compression rate a little, but as it stands, it's going to take another 8 or 9 seasons to get through everything at this rate. In comparison, my first blog post got through three times this much of it, but the original anime covered only the first half of this in the same episode count (and then for some reason introduced Shampoo and Mousse early and didn't get through the ice skating until episode 27).

Anyway, like I said, this doesn't really change things up enough to have a lot to say about how clearly Ranma is trans. Jumping back to the start though yet again, it really cannot be emphasized enough though just how clearly, even from the very first episode, she is SO much more comfortable presenting as a girl, not at all nervous meeting Akane's family like that, then suddenly super tense and awkward and closed off when interacting with... really anyone while boy-moding. So I guess it's time to bust out some of these other lenses to look at this...

Let's talk about how Akane is gay, part 1

I mean, we've established she's into Ranma, with extra emphasis in this adaptation, and we've established that Ranma is in fact a girl, but that's just the one data point. What else do we have? Well, she's quite explicitly not a fan of guys, particularly guys who are attracted to her, and we're keeping plenty of a focus on that while not wasting time trying to pretend Kuno matters at all in the grand scheme of things. The closest she ever comes to showing interest in a guy is Dr. Kuno, and the anime here is strongly emphasizing how that's less of a real crush and more just emulating her oldest sister (Nabiki of course is also some flavor of queer, and I don't think anyone has ever questioned that) since that's kinda what you do, right? She also gets intensely jealous of the idea of Shampoo kissing Ranma while assuming Ranma is a girl, talks about how hot she is, and hell, at the start of things when everyone's assuming they've somehow gotten into a situation where one of the three sisters has to marry a cis girl, Nabiki points out how that works out perfectly for her. Because she is extremely gay.

Let's talk about how Ryoga is trans, part 1

OK so this isn't the same absolute slam dunk as Ranma turned out to be, but there is a surprisingly strong case to argue that Ryoga is also a trans girl. What do we know about Ryoga after all? Real real socially awkward. Only has one sorta-friend from childhood, who turned out to be trans later. Can we call Ryoga a furry? I'm not even talking about the pig curse, but there's this whole feral wolf vibe before that's even established. In a series where basically every guy who is ever introduced is a horny creep obsessed with rigid gender roles, Ryoga does not bat an eye at seeing women naked (which comes up oddly often), spends a lot of these early arcs hanging out with the gal pals to help practice gymnastics and skating, deals well enough with the pink heart collar and being called Charlotte, and like so many of us, Ryoga is introduced to the series indignantly sputtering about how Ranma's situation shouldn't really be called a curse and is a situation we'd be happy to be in. You could argue that Ryoga's saying this just relative to the pig curse, I guess, but I do at least get the vibe that Ryoga wouldn't be too super worried about finding hot water with that one.

Speaking of the pig curse, I feel like every time I revisit Ranma I have a different perspective on the whole "P-Chan" situation. With this adaptation, it does feel significantly closer to "it's really just this super awkward situation where I've been looking for a good moment to explain and at this point it's been so long she'll probably kill me" than "I am a loathsome sex offender using a disguise to snuggle up with this girl who thinks I am a small animal" and Ranma is doing an appropriate amount of "I'm not going to blurt it out, but you should seriously come clean already" so, glad to know we're downplaying that.

Also, the emphasis on Ranma and Akane as The Couple in this adaptation really makes it clear that Ryoga isn't so much into Akane as just kinda... incapable of conceiving of any sort of existence that doesn't involve being Ranma's rival/friend/polycule member.

Anyway, I guess that's where I have to leave this until the second season drops? Have a patreon link?

[sengenism]

The Ishigamis and The Gifts of Science

Dr. Stone is a love letter to humanity and its sciences. The main character, Senku, often acts averse to all forms of affection, and the only love he doesn't deny is his love for science. But Senku is so so full of love. He just expresses it in a way other than physical touch or words of affirmation. He gives.

But let's go back to the one who taught him so– Byakuya Ishigami, his father. The love of Senku's life.

Byakuya is introduced in the tenth chapter of the manga as a dotting father who sells his car to present Senku with scientific instruments he will need for a more efficient research. This car is Byakuya's means of transportation, and given that he is crying and shaking in this scene, it could not have been easy for him to lose it. But his love for Senku is so big, that he wants to support his son's passion even if it means sacrificing a great convenience for him.

And Senku? Senku truly fell in love with science at this moment.

If there is anything that Senku is, he is Byakuya Ishigami's son through and through. They may seem like two very different people, as Byakuya is an openly affectionate guy while Senku is more closed off with showing his true emotions. But Senku takes more from Byakuya than not, and one of them is by showing his love and/or care for others through giving the gifts of science.

And it starts with Byakuya.

[Bodysuit Acquired!]

Byakuya had failed his first attempt at being an astronaut ten years back, but he doesn't give up and tries again. Senku then creates a bodysuit that manipulates muscle movement to help Byakuya pass his swimming test. And while the bodysuit doesn't quite help Byakuya to swim, the thought Senku had put into it had motivated Byakuya more than ever to pass the test. This is one of the fundamentals of gifting– sometimes, it really is the thought behind it that matters.

This motivation is what Byakuya credits during his interview with JAXA for passing the tests. He understands that Senku might not have given him any words of encouragement, but this bodysuit was all the words that were needed between them. Senku wants Byakuya to achieve his dreams just as badly. It's the way Senku shows his love for his father.

And it's the way Senku shows his love for others too.

[Glasses Acquired!]

One of the primitive aspects of the Ishigami village is that it considers bad eyesight as a type of "disease". Fuzzy disease, to be exact.

Suika wears a melon mask at all times to help clear her eyesight, which Senku later reveals is due to the pinhole effect. She, however, has never told Senku or the others about having the fuzzy disease. Senku himself notes how odd it is for her to wear a melon around, and confronts her about it once he decides to create glass. This is one of the most beautiful scenes in Dr. Stone, as Suika finds out that her disease was never a disease, and is finally able to see as clearly as the others. Senku basically gives her perfect eyesight, something she didn't even know was possible before.

[Antibiotics Acquired!]

One of the most beloved people in this village is the priestess, Ruri. Two of Senku's new friends, Kohaku and Chrome are deeply affected by her unknown fatal disease. Senku is such a person who would help a stranger even if there is no benefit to do so (though he would never admit to it), what more a person who his new friends truly love and care about. He cures Ruri of pneumonia, giving her a chance to live a life without the worry of it being her last day every day.

[Cola Acquired!]

Senku forms an alliance with Gen, who plays the role of Tsukasa's spy, for the promise of a bottle of cola. Both Senku and Gen are aware that the cola is only a front for Gen's loyalty to Senku and the Kingdom of Science, for Gen needs his superficial reputation as a comfort and cannot simply join them if there is no personal benefit for him to do so.

This cola is also the first gift post-petrification that Senku brands himself on, probably because it represents the first gift that is not out of necessity and leans toward a comfort/luxury that they both used to enjoy in the modern world.

For a modern man such as Gen, drinking his favourite soda in the stone world might have been one of the happiest days in his life.

[Cotton Candy Acquired!]

Senku cares about people so much, even if the people in question have tried to kill him. Senku sees Homura as a soldier who is merely following the orders given by her leader, but he also sees the Homura as a lonesome girl sitting by herself on trees day and night.

As usual, Senku hides his kindness and care by showing an evil ulterior motive, such as turning Homura to their side using the cotton candy, but Ruri points out that this is a facade. Similarly to Gen, a person with such an ego is unable to seem as if he is doing something good out of the kindness of his heart.

[Stove Acquired!]

As winter approaches, the elders in the village are worried about losing people to the cold. Senku hears about this and creates a stove which has a multi-purpose of cooking and also radiating heat for the people to stave off the coldness of winter. And speaking of winter...

[Christmas Acquired!]

Senku hangs up lights in the tree for the "light bulb test" on a random night. Except the date isn't random at all and he drops enough hints for Gen to catch on that it is the night of Christmas. The significance of the day is only appreciated by Gen and himself, as they are the only modern timers in the village. It is for the sake of nostalgia, but Senku would rather be caught dead than admit that he is a sentimental guy with such irrational feelings.

And well, it all comes back to that scene with Byakuya, doesn't it? If you recall, Byakuya calls himself "Santa" while giving the scientific presents to the young Senku. This indicates Senku received them during Christmas. Which means... Christmas is a sentimental day to Senku and his father. An anniversary of Senku receiving his Christmas presents from Byakuya, which led to his deeper dive into his science obsession. The beginning of it all, one would say.

And even though he's dead and buried, Byakuya never stops giving. He gives Senku the Ishigami village to provide Senku with allies. He gives Senku Lillian's music, because he believes in the light of music and understands the importance of media to society. He collects platinum till his last breath, because he believes that Senku will need it someday. Byakuya keeps on giving to Senku, because his love for his son is so huge and unconditional. And because he promised.

Surely, there is no greater love in the manga than Byakuya's love for his son and Senku's love for his father. Byakuya could easily win ten billion best father awards... well, not like there's much competition for that in shounen mangas.

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 12

˗ˏˋ vanilla coffee ˎˊ˗

"There's a science to making perfect coffee, he says. But there's no science to explain why watching him make it—shirtless and sleep-rumpled—makes you forget every reason you shouldn't want him."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7,4k

rating: explicit (sex)

content: jungkook literally has a vanilla kink at this point i'm sorry that wasn't even planned he's just got free will, coffee lessons that are somehow hot, tiny shorts being instigators, verbal sparring as foreplay, protected sex, titty play, titty worship, penetrative vaginal sex, him fingering her

✧ author's note ✧

Listen. LISTEN. I don’t know what kind of demonic possession took over me while writing this chapter, but I had zero control over my own hands. Like, the coffee scene? The mug sharing? The delicious moment??? I AM IN HELL. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

I started this chapter with the intention of them being petty little gremlins about vanilla-scented products, and somehow it ended with Jungkook making a whole latte just to flex on Y/N. A LATTE. And don’t even get me started on the mug proximity crimes. The way Y/N is actively short-circuiting over his hands and forearms like a Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time?? We are ALL in trouble. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

And then—oh, god—the sweatpants menace. If you know, you know.

As always, please send thoughts, screams, and existential crises to the comment box. Love you, stay hydrated, and if a man ever offers to elevate your coffee… RUN. (Or sit in his lap. Your call.) (¬‿¬)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Good tired is still tired.

Your bag hits the dining table with a thud that perfectly matches how your brain feels right now—heavy and slightly bruised. 

7PM. 

You gave him way more than forty minutes. Actually gave him two whole hours, not that you're counting. 

Not that you care. You're just... observant.

But then you catch it—that familiar scent hanging in the air. Vanilla. Your mind immediately goes to that specific vanilla body wash that costs way too much but is the only thing that doesn't make your skin break out.

Oh, he fucking didn't.

Your fist connects with his door maybe a bit harder than necessary. There's a loud thud from inside, followed by what sounds like someone falling off a bed, then a muffled "shit” before footsteps approach.

The door swings open and—oh.

Oh no.

He's shirtless, because of course he is. Hair a disaster, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid silver ring catching the light as he runs a hand down his face. There's a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks... soft. Which is absolutely not what you need right now when you're trying to be angry.

"What," he growls, voice rough with sleep, "is your problem?"

Right. Anger. Focus on that.

"My problem?" You gesture vaguely at the air between you. "My problem is you letting random hookups use my shit!"

His brow furrows, like he's trying to process your words through a fog of interrupted sleep. Then his expression does this complicated thing—confusion to understanding to something else you can't quite read.

He presses his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phoenix, I didn't." When he looks at you again, he seems more awake. "I told her your stuff was off limits."

"Then why does it smell like—"

He brushes past you, heading toward the bathroom, and you absolutely do not notice how warm he is when he passes. Or how he still smells like rain under the vanilla.

"Are you seriously walking away while I'm—"

He stops so suddenly you almost run into him. Turns. Points at the coffee table.

"It's your candle."

You follow his finger and... oh.

There's one of your vanilla candles burning quietly on the table, nearly at its end. Which means it's been lit for...

He groans, running a hand down his face again. "You said to open the windows, and I just..." He waves vaguely at the candle. "Whatever."

"You..." The words aren't quite computing. "You lit my candle?"

"You told me to air out the apartment."

"So you used my candle to get cozy with some random—"

"For fuck's sake, Phoenix." He looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. "I lit it because you like these stupid vanilla things, okay? Thought it'd make the place smell nice when you got back."

Oh.

Something warm and uncomfortable squirms in your chest. Because that's... that's actually kind of...

"Well." You cross your arms, refusing to acknowledge the weird feeling. "Maybe ask next time before using my stuff."

"Maybe don't ghost me for two hours when I asked for forty minutes."

"I was studying!"

"With your phone on silent?"

"Some of us have actual academic responsibilities, Rogue."

His mouth twitches. "Some of us have other responsibilities."

"Yeah, bet ‘pussy eating’ looks great on a résumé.”

“Didn’t eat her pussy. Just fucked it.”

You grimace. “TMI.”

He shrugs. “You brought it up.”

“You were the one bragging about responsibilities like it’s a noble calling.”

“Hey, takes dedication. Skill. Stamina.” A smirk. “Not my fault you’re fixated on it.”

Fixated—

“Right. Just like I’m fixated on your four-hour recovery nap.”

“Wasn’t napping the whole time.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

“I literally didn’t.”

He's fighting a smile now, you can tell. Which is annoying because you're trying to be mad about your candle. Or your body wash. Or... something.

"Whatever." You turn toward your room, because this conversation needs to end before you do something stupid like thank him for thinking about the smell. "Just ask next time."

"Before lighting your pretentious vanilla candles?"

"They're not pretentious."

"They're thirty dollars each."

"How do you know how much they—" You spin back around. "Have you been looking up my candles?"

"No."

"Oh my god, you totally have."

"I was curious why they cost so much when they all smell the same!"

"They do not all smell the same, you absolute heathen."

He raises an eyebrow. "French Vanilla and Vanilla Bean are literally the same thing."

"I'm not having this conversation with someone who probably thinks Old Spice is a personality trait."

"At least I don't need a PhD to buy soap."

"No, you just need—" You stop, narrowing your eyes. "Wait. How do you know what's in my shower?"

"You know what?" He stretches, and you absolutely do not track the movement with your eyes. "All this talk about vanilla is making me crave coffee. Specifically..." He grins, slow and deliberate. "Those vanilla capsules you hide in the back of the cabinet."

"Don't you dare—"

"The ones behind the protein powder?"

"Those are mine." You follow him as he saunters toward the kitchen, still annoyingly shirtless. "I specifically said they weren't for you."

"Come on, Phoenix." He's already moving toward the kitchen, all loose limbs and bare chest like putting on a shirt is beneath him. "Let me show you how to actually make coffee. Teach you some culture. Some technique."

You swat at him as he passes. "I know how to use a coffee maker."

"Sure you do." His laugh is rough with sleep, and you hate that you notice. "That's why you murdered a perfectly good espresso shot this morning."

"I did not—"

"The beans were crying, Phoenix. I heard them."

But you're already following him to the kitchen because apparently you hate yourself. 

He's wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hang just low enough to be illegal in at least three states, and his hair is still a disaster from sleep, curling at the nape of his neck.

"First rule," he says, running his hands over the coffee maker like it's something precious, "is respecting the machine."

"It's a coffee maker, not royalty."

"See? No respect." His fingers dance over the settings with practiced ease. "That's why your coffee tastes like sad bean water."

You lean against the counter, watching as he measures grounds with ridiculous precision. 

"My coffee tastes fine."

"Your coffee tastes like betrayal and broken dreams." He adjusts the grind size, movements quick and sure. "You probably think instant coffee is acceptable."

"Only when I'm feeling particularly spiteful."

His horrified gasp is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh. "You're a monster."

"Guilty."

He shakes his head, tamping down the grounds with absolutely unnecessary focus. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and you definitely don't notice. Just like you don't notice how his hands look wrapping around the portafilter, or how his ring catches the kitchen light when he locks it into place.

"Watch," he says, flipping switches with the confidence of someone who definitely spent too much time watching barista tutorials on YouTube. "This is where the magic happens."

"It's coffee, not alchemy."

"Shh. You're ruining the moment."

The machine hums to life, and okay—maybe you can kind of see why he's so precious about it. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the espresso streams out, dark and perfect.

"See how it's not running too fast?" He's fully in teacher mode now, gesturing at the flow. "That's what you want. Nice and steady. Not that waterfall disaster you created this morning."

"Are you done being pretentious yet?"

"Never." He grabs your vanilla capsules—the ones you specifically told him not to touch—and starts steaming milk. "But I'll make it worth your while."

"By stealing my coffee?"

"By elevating your coffee." The milk pitcher moves in his hand like it's an extension of his arm. "You'll never want that chain store stuff again."

"Bold of you to assume I want anything you make."

His smile is all trouble. "Liar."

And okay, maybe he has a point. Because the drink he slides across the counter a few minutes later looks... kind of perfect. The foam is glossy and smooth, and the vanilla smell hits just right.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You take a sip and—fuck.

Fuck.

"It's..." 

No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

But he's already grinning, the bastard. "Say it."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Phoenix." He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "Admit it. I made your vanilla whatever-the-fuck better than you ever could."

"I will literally die first."

"That good, huh?"

You flip him off, taking another sip instead of answering. But then he's there, right there, and when did he get so close? His fingers brush yours as he takes the mug, gentle but deliberate, and your throat goes dry.

He holds your gaze, something dark and playful dancing in his eyes. Doesn't ask permission with words—just tilts his head slightly, the question clear in the quirk of his mouth. And you should say something. Should stop him. Should—

The mug touches his lips. Your lips were just there. Three seconds ago, your mouth was exactly where his is now, and that shouldn't make your stomach clench but it does.

His eyes are too much. Too dark, too intense, too fucking knowing as he takes a slow sip. Have they always been this brown? This smoky? Like whiskey in low light, like trouble wrapped in honey. 

The kind of eyes that should come with a warning label: Danger. Side effects may include stupid decisions and ruined underwear.

His tongue darts out, catching a stray drop on his lower lip. Slow. Deliberate. The silver ring on his hand catches the light as he lowers the mug, and his voice drops to something husky.

"Delicious."

Nope. Absolutely not.

You snatch the mug back, ignoring how your fingers tingle where they brush his. "Make your own, you coffee nerd."

Retreat. Strategic retreat to the couch is definitely the smart play here. Because your brain is currently short-circuiting, trying to process how one word—one stupid, fucking word—in that voice can make your thighs press together.

His laugh follows you, low and knowing. The sound wraps around you like smoke, like the way he smelled that thunderstorm night, like—

Griffin chooses that exact moment to slink into the living room, green eyes judging you both as he hops onto the windowsill. He stretches, impossibly long, before curling into a perfect orange circle, pointedly turning his back to you both. 

At least someone in this apartment has standards.

Focus. You're focusing.

But then you hear him moving behind you. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft appreciative hums as he works the coffee maker. The whisper of fabric as his sweatpants shift with his movements. Each sound feels magnified, like your brain has decided to process everything in HD surround sound.

Don't look back. Don't do it. Don't—

Fuck.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Because his back is a work of art, all broad shoulders and defined muscle, and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair that even from behind he's attractive enough to make your mouth water. The way his shoulder blades move as he works the machine, the dip of his spine disappearing into those low-hanging sweats, the unruly hairs curling at his nape...

Snap your head forward. Drink your coffee. Stop being a horny disaster for five consecutive minutes.

But you can still hear him. Still feel his presence behind you like a looming cloud. Still taste the ghost of his lips where they touched the same spot yours did on the mug.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just tired and touch-starved and maybe a little worked up from your stupid assignments—

"Want another taste, Phoenix?"

His voice is closer now, right behind you, and you absolutely do not shiver. "Didn't anyone teach you to drink your own coffee?"

"Didn't anyone teach you that stealing tastes better?"

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge how his words squeeze your chest. "You're impossible."

"You like impossible."

And that's... that's not something you're equipped to handle right now. Not with him standing there all sleep-warm and shirtless, voice rough like gravel, smelling like rain and coffee and sin.

"I like peace and quiet," you lie, taking another sip of your rapidly cooling drink.

His laugh is soft, dangerous. "Liar."

The couch dips as he drops down next to you, thigh pressed against yours like he owns the space. Like personal boundaries are just suggestions. He has a mug in hand now, and his coffee smells kind of amazing and you hate him for it.

You shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh—warm, heavy, there. His fingers span the width of it easily, and your brain helpfully supplies memories of those same fingers in other contexts. 

It doesn’t escape your notice, how his eyes linger on where your shorts have ridden up your thighs from your hours in the library. 

"No," you manage, swatting his thigh with yours.

"No what?" His voice is still rough from sleep, and it's doing things to you. Unfair things.

"No manspreading next to me." You try to sound annoyed instead of affected. "Keep your sweaty balls to yourself."

He squeezes your thigh, just once. Just enough to make you want to throw the mug at him. Or yourself. "My balls aren't sweaty."

"Bet they are.”

"Want to check?"

"You're actually the worst." But you don't move his hand. Why aren't you moving his hand?

"That's not what you said last time."

And fuck him for bringing up last time. Fuck him for smelling like rain and coffee and sleep-warm skin. Fuck him for the way his thumb is drawing absent circles on your thigh, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Lapse in judgment."

His laugh rumbles through you, too close, too much. "Which time?"

"Pick one."

"I'd rather pick you up."

You turn to tell him exactly where he can shove that line, but it's a mistake. Because he's right there, all heavy-lidded eyes and sleep-soft mouth, and your brain fizzles. His hair is still a mess, curling at his temples, and you want to grab it. Want to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Want to—

"You're staring, Phoenix."

"Untrue."

His fingers flex on your thigh. "Big word for someone who can't stop looking at my mouth."

"I'm not—" But you are. You absolutely are. "Shut up."

"Make me."

Always those two damn words. Always saying ‘make me’, like he knows how it riles you up. Like he likes how it riles you up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and you can feel his pulse through his fingers on your thigh. Or maybe that's your pulse. Everything feels too hot, too close, too—

"Your coffee's getting cold," you manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.

His smile is slow, knowing. "Yeah?”

His eyes drop to your shorts—the ones you've been wearing all day, the ones that rode up your thighs during your study session. And okay, maybe they're a little too short. Maybe you felt Jimin's concerned glance when you stretched in the library. But it's not your fault the AC in your car is temperamental at best.

"These can't be comfortable after sitting in the library all day," he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem. “Could help you out of them."

"Thought you were tired from your afternoon activities."

"Second wind." His thumb traces the seam where it cuts into your thigh. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring how your body wants to lean into his touch. "I am here."

"No," and his voice drops lower, rougher. "Here." He pats his lap, and the casual confidence of it irritating. Hot. Irritatingly hot. "Unless you're scared."

"Of what? Your ego?"

"Of how bad you want it." His eyes flick to your chest, where your shirt dips just low enough to be interesting. "Been thinking about these shorts all day. Since you drove me to class."

"Didn't realize my driving skills were such a turn on."

"Your driving skills are terrible." His hand slides higher, testing. "But watching you grip the steering wheel..."

You swallow. "That's kind of pathetic."

"Yeah?" His fingers find the spot where your shorts meet skin. "Then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Because you're annoying me."

He laughs, low and dangerous. "Hop on, Phoenix. Let me annoy you properly."

"That's your big move? 'Hop on'?"

“As long as it gets you on top of me...” He smiles now, actually smiles. “I’d say it’s working.”

And fuck him for being right. Fuck him for the way his eyes are all pupil now, for how his skin is still warm, for how he smells like everything you want to taste.

"You're awful," you breathe, but you're already shifting closer.

"Show me how awful."

His fingers hook through your belt loop and suddenly you're being yanked forward with zero warning. The squeak that leaves your mouth is embarrassing.

"Rude," you swat at him, but he catches your wrist easily. His hand is so warm around your cold skin.

"C'mere," he breathes, and before you can process it, you're straddling him. 

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling you closer until you fall forward, catching yourself with hands on either side of his head.

He hums, the sound vibrating through you where you're pressed against him. And—yeah. Well. That's definitely not his phone in his sweats.

"Ride me?" The way he says it is almost lazy, but his eyes are dark, hungry. That half-lidded look that means tarnation.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Phoenix." His fingers flex on your ass, making you rock against him. "Don't be mean."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how good he feels under you. "Mean?"

"Been hard since I saw you in these fucking shorts this morning." He bites his lip, looking up at you through his lashes. "Just thinking about your thighs spread over my lap like this..."

"That sounds like a you problem."

His laugh is breathless, a little wild. "I’ll make it an us problem."

"Thought you were tired from earlier."

"Different kind of tired." His hands guide you into a slow grind against him. "This is more... inspiration."

"You're actually insane."

"Yeah?" He rocks up, making you gasp. "Feeling pretty sane right now. Feeling like I really want you to—fuck—" 

You'd rolled your hips, just to shut him up. Just to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But now he's looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert, and his hands are everywhere, and—

"That's it," he breathes, voice gone raspy. "Just like that, come on..."

He guides your hips into another roll, watching you with that hungry, hazy look. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, controlling the pressure, the pace.

"Been thinking about this," he breathes, voice rough. "How you'd look bouncing on my cock. How your tits would—fuck—" You grind down harder, feeling him twitch against you. "Haven't even gotten to see them properly yet."

"Poor you," but your voice shakes when his hands slide up under your shirt, spanning your ribs.

"Poor me," he agrees, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "All I got was that quick fuck against the window. Then you cumming on my tongue." His eyes are dark, pupils blown. "But this? Getting to watch you ride me? See these bounce while you—"

"You talk too much." You're trying for annoyed but it comes out breathy.

"Make me shut up then." His hips snap up. "Come on, Phoenix. Show me how well you can take it, yeah?"

"That's your big plan? Get me all worked up in the living room?"

“Getting worked up anywhere you’ll let me.” His fingers find your nipples through your bra, rolling them until you arch. “Been waiting to get you like this. Spread out on top of me, swallowing me deep in this greedy pussy…”

You let out a breathy laugh, grinding down just to spite him. “Yeah?” Your voice is pure teasing, but the heat is real. “She didn’t wring you out completely?”

His grip tightens on your waist, nails pressing in just enough to make you feel it. “Seems like she didn’t.”

You hum, dragging your hips forward again, slow and deliberate. “Mm. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, rough and taunting, but his hands—his fucking hands—are already shoving your shirt up, fingers tracing up your spine before yanking your bra down just enough to expose you. His thumb drags over one nipple, his breath warm against your throat. “You wanna fix that?”

You pretend to consider, rolling your hips again, dragging your pussy right over the thick ridge of him. Fuck. He’s not even inside you, and it’s already so good.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “Nix.” His voice is wrecked—the kind of hoarse, hungry sound that goes straight to your cunt. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” He thrusts up, slow but deep, and you suck in a breath. “Think I’m fucking tired?”

And yeah, okay. He’s still hard as fucking steel beneath you. Still needy. Still looking at you like he’s seconds from losing what little patience he has left.

“It’s these fucking shorts,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your ass like he wants to leave bruises. “Oh my god, this fucking ass.”

You hold back a laugh, rolling your hips again, enjoying the way his breath stutters. “That easy, huh?”

His hands tighten on you. “You know what you do to me.” His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you quiver. “S’why you wore these, right?”

You don’t answer, just reach between you to shove down his sweatpants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. And—fuck. He’s so hard it’s almost obscene, thick and flushed and already leaking. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, running a teasing finger up his shaft, watching his stomach tense. “Didn’t even get a full reset, did you?”

His jaw flexes. “No.” A muscle in his cheek jumps as he watches you wrap your hand around him. “The fuck do you expect when you walk around in these little fucking—” His breath hitches when you thumb over the head, smearing the wetness there. “Shit—shorts. The second I saw you, I knew—”

“You knew what?” You press the question into his skin, lips just beneath his jaw, hand still working him slow.

His grip on your ass tightens, grounding, punishing. “Knew I was gonna end up inside you tonight.”

And fuck. That sends a fresh wave of heat through you, has your thighs squeezing around him. Because yeah, okay, maybe you had the same thought the second you walked in and saw him standing there in nothing but those damn sweatpants.

But there’s still one thing gnawing at you. One thing that makes your brain fight for a fraction of control through the heat.

“Did you use condoms?”

His head snaps up, brow furrowing like you just asked if water is wet. “Of course I did. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You exhale, relief flooding through you faster than the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

“Okay, fuck. Okay.” You swallow. “Where are they?”

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—instead of answering, he grabs your tits. Both hands, rough and impatient, unclasping you bra like it personally offended him.

“Jesus—wait—” You barely manage to lift your arms before he’s yanking it over your head, flinging it somewhere behind him.

“You on the pill?” he murmurs, barely pausing his focus on your tits.

“No.” You don’t even hesitate.

And to his credit, he doesn’t either. “Okay. Condoms it is.”

Respectful. A menace, but respectful.

You barely have time to process that before his fingers are pressing into the small of your back, guiding you forward, making you press flush against him as he leans toward the coffee table.

And you—because apparently you’re both equally insane—just let him.

His other hand reaches forward, jerking open the small drawer in the coffee table, fishing out a foil packet with practiced ease.

“You keep condoms in the living room?”

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“In case?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you fuck in your room like normal people?”

“Yeah?” He grabs the foil packet, tossing it onto the couch beside him before his hands are right back on your waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “But, y’know… just in case you wanted it.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Me?”

“You, Phoenix.” He squeezes your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he has to touch you while he says it. “I usually fuck in my room. But you and me—we already did it against the window, so I figured…” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Might as well be prepared.”

“I—” You blink, processing, trying to form actual thoughts. “That’s crazy.”

He shrugs, so fucking nonchalant it’s unfair. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it.” His mouth curls, eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare chest and back again. “Imagine I had to stop and go all the way to my room right now.” He pauses, letting the implication settle. “Wouldn’t that just kill the mood?”

And okay. You do snort at that.

Because this is ridiculous.

Because this is actually thoughtful.

Because he’s still hard as a rock under you, talking about condom logistics while casually groping your ass, like he’s planning for a fire drill and not fucking you senseless on the couch.

“No, like. You’re a complete nut case,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Quick access,” he corrects, and then—fuck.

His mouth is on your tits again.

No hesitation, no teasing buildup, just his tongue dragging over one nipple, warm and slick before closing his lips around it.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching where they brace on his shoulders. “Jesus—”

He hums against your skin, like this is just an extension of the conversation. Like he can talk about fucking you and have his tongue on your tits in the same breath.

And then, because he’s Jungkook and apparently completely fucking obsessed with your chest, he moves to the other one, sucking deep and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“Can’t help it,” he mutters against you, voice rough. “Tits too fucking perfect.”

Which—okay. You shouldn’t preen at that, but his mouth is so fucking warm, and his hands are so fucking big—

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and his breath stutters.

And then he’s leaning back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, pupils blown. “You gonna let me fuck you cowgirl now, or you wanna keep pretending we’re still talking?”

You poke at his dick playfully, watching with satisfaction as it twitches immediately.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking up to yours, but he doesn’t say a word. Just watches—completely absorbed—as you pluck the condom from the side and roll it down over him, slow and deliberate.

His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly, and when you glance up, you catch it—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice all low and wrecked.

You smirk, dragging your fingers back up his shaft just because you can, because you like making him twitch, like how he watches you like he’s seconds from losing his mind.

His hands are already on your thighs when you lift up, finally removing those tiny ass shorts—but when your fingers hook into your panties, he stops you.

“Keep them.”

You blink, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” His hands skim up, palms rough against your bare skin. “They’re red and lacy and fucking beautiful—” His voice breaks off into a sharp exhale as he shifts under you, cock nudging against the damp lace between your legs. “Just shove them to the side and let me fuck you like this.”

Heat licks down your spine, and fuck, maybe it is kind of hot—his voice raw, gaze locked where you’re already so wet for him.

“Yeah?” You drag the fabric aside, slow and teasing, letting him see what he’s about to have. “You want me to ride you like this?”

“Nix.” His voice is all smoke and gravel. “Fucking sit on it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders.

And then, in one swift motion, you sink down onto him.

“Fuck—”

Jungkook shudders, breath breaking apart as he bottoms out inside you, hands clamping down on your hips so hard it’s murderous. His fingers dig deep into your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to slam you down harder, deeper, but he doesn’t—he just grips, holds, feels.

And fucking watches.

Because this—this—is his favorite.

The way you stretch around him, the way he can see it, can watch himself disappear inside you from this angle. The lace of your panties bunched to the side, the way your slick coats his cock, the slow, obscene drag as he throbs inside you.

His jaw clenches, his head falling back, but his eyes stay locked on where your bodies meet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You suck in a breath, thighs trembling slightly, trying to adjust to the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you completely. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift beneath your palms as he groans deep in his throat.

“You feel that, Nix?” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to squirm at the way that sounds coming from him, the way his cock pulses inside you like he can feel every little squeeze.

His grip on your hips flexes. “Come on, let me hear you.”

You swallow hard, already feeling too fucking warm. “I—”

“I what?” His hands slide down, palms rough and greedy as they find your ass, grabbing handfuls, spreading you just to push inside you deeper. “Fuck, Phoenix, you feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs twitch, heat licking up your spine, and okay—okay, maybe that makes something inside you tighten. The way he wants you to feel it. The way he sounds like he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you. Sitting so fucking pretty on my cock like this.”

Your breath stutters.

“Fuck—” His fingers flex again, grip punishing, possessive. “Knew you’d look good like this. In this position. Been dreaming ‘bout it.”

You exhale shakily, pressing your palms harder against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your hands.

“Yeah?” The word slips out before you can stop it, quiet, breathless, barely more than an exhale. 

And then, even as much as you convince yourself you hate dirty talk—his dirty talk—how you tell yourself it’s cringe… You find yourself engaging. You find yourself slipping. 

“You wanted me in this position, Ro? Riding you?”

And Jungkook? He fucking relishes on it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dark eyes flicking up to yours, mouth curling slow, dirty. “Getting bold on me, Phee?”

Heat rushes up your throat, your pulse pounding, but you don’t look away. You can’t—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with how deep he is inside you.

“God,” he groans, hands gripping your ass again, spreading you wider just to watch himself sink into you even more. “You should see how you look right now.”

His voice is wrecked—half-growl, half-moan—and you have to fight the way your thighs want to squeeze around him, hold him there.

But he notices.

And grins.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like hearing it, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He tilts his head, thumbs digging into your skin, grounding, teasing. “Think I finally got you to like it.”

And fuck—fuck—you can’t even argue, because his cock twitches inside you and your whole body reacts, a shiver running up your spine.

His smirk widens. “See?”

You exhale sharply. “Rogue.”

“Phoenix.” His hands tighten again, his voice a slow, taunting drawl. “C’mon, yeah? Ride me.”

Your thighs flex as you lift yourself up, the slow drag of him leaving you just enough to make you whimper, then you sink back down, faster this time, harder.

Jungkook’s jaw goes slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s barely holding himself together. “Christ—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You move again, rising and dropping, setting a pace that has his breath coming out in ragged exhales, his nails biting into your skin. Every inch of him stretches you open, fills you up, makes your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

And then—

His right hand moves.

Fingers slipping lower, rough against your skin, then lower, lower—

Until he’s spreading you.

His fingers part your folds, stretching you open wider just so he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“For fuck’s sake Ro—”

“Shit,” he exhales, low and wrecked, eyes locked on where his cock is sliding in and out of you, the obscene wetness coating both of you. “Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.”

Your thighs shake, breath shuddering, and you want to tell him to shut the fuck up—but you can’t, because you may not see it, but you feel it. The way your body takes him, how slick and messy it is, how deep he’s buried every time you drop back down.

It’s filthy. He’s filthy.

“You’re so nasty,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest for balance.

He laughs, dark and smug. “And you fucking love it.”

Before you can snap back, he finally—finally—looks up at you.

And his breath stutters.

Because, of course, in this position, your tits are bouncing.

His pupils blow wide, throat working through a hard swallow, and then—his hands fly up immediately.

Grabbing. Palming. Squeezing.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking apart, gaze flicking between your tits and your face like he doesn’t know where to look first. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in, and then—his head falls back. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice wrecked, low and so needy you almost mewl, because you’ve never heard him like that. “Gonna cum so fucking bad—”

Your rhythm stutters. “Don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Fucking—” He grunts, muscles tensing beneath you as his hands clamp down harder, like he’s fighting it, trying to hold on, but— “Oh my fucking god, Phoenix—”

You can feel him struggling—his thighs trembling beneath you, abs flexing tight, his cock twitching inside you, buried so deep.

“How the fffffuck—” his breath shudders, “do you expect me—Jesus Christ—to hold b-back when your tits—god—”

His hands are everywhere—palming, grabbing, fucking worshiping your chest like he’s possessed—and then his mouth is there again, latching onto your right tit, tongue flicking over your nipple, sucking deep and wet.

“Shit,” you whimper, back arching.

“Fuck—fuck—” 

He suddenly leans back, dragging you down hard onto his cock as he thrusts up to meet you, hips snapping with short, frantic rolls.

Your breath shatters, thighs burning, your whole body jolting with every desperate slam of his hips. 

And his eyes.

Jesus.

His eyes are locked on you, wide and hungry, flicking between your parted lips and your chest.

And then—

“Grab ‘em,” he pants, voice rough, ruined. “Fuck—grab those titties for me, Phee.”

Your stomach flips.

“Grab’em while you ride me—” His breath catches, his abs flexing. “Fucking—God, I need to see it—”

Heat floods your spine, your pulse pounding as you do what he says—palms sliding up, gripping the soft weight of your tits, squeezing just enough to lift, to move, to give him exactly what he wants.

And his reaction—

“Jesus fucking—” His head falls back hard against the couch before snapping back up, completely fucking wrecked. “Oh my god—look at them—look at you—fuck, fuck—”

His fingers dig into your hips, forcing you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you as he thrusts up, trying to get deeper, trying to burn this into his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Phoenix— I swear to fucking God—” His hands slide down, gripping your ass. “Fucking dripping— so messy for me—”

His voice breaks on a groan, hips slamming up, chasing it, his body seizing up as he loses it.

“Shit—shit—I’m—oh my god—fuck—I’m cumming—”

And then—he snaps.

His grip on your waist locks, his whole body tensing beneath you, and his head tips back, mouth falling open as he moans—a deep, raw sound from the bottom of his fucking chest.

He creams inside the condom, hips jerking up in short, shallow thrusts, pulsing thick and hot as he spills into it.

His hands shake as they guide your hips down, grinding you onto him, milking every last drop, needing to feel every second of it.

And you—

You’re about to sigh, about to roll your eyes, because seriously? He just came? You haven’t even—

But before the frustration can even fully settle, he moves.

One second, he’s slumped against the couch, breathless, spent. 

The next—he’s flipping you onto your back.

Your gasp barely leaves your lips before his hands are on your thighs, gripping, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right, pushing your knees toward your chest.

And then—no hesitation.

No questions asked, no smug teasing, no half-assed effort—just his fingers shoving your panties back to the side, replacing his cock with two thick fingers, burying them inside you like he already fucking knows you can taste it.

Your breath shatters. “Jesus—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, focused, dark eyes locked on your pussy as his fingers curl, stretching you open, pressing deep. “Not leaving you hanging.”

And fuck—fuck—his thumb.

Right there, dragging over your clit, pressing just right with slow, deliberate circles.

Your thighs twitch, your hands clenching in the couch cushions as your body jolts from the sudden shock of pleasure. “Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groans, gaze flicking up to watch your face, your wrecked fucking expression as he fingers you open. “Gimme that pretty little shake—know you’re close.”

You barely process your own whimper before he’s pressing in harder, thrusting his fingers faster, his thumb working you like he owns your orgasm.

“You think I’d leave you like that?” His voice is low, hushed, wrecked, pressing filthy into the space between you. “Think I’d fucking cum and not make you lose your mind, too?”

“Ro—”

“Nah, Phoenix.” His fingers drive into you, slick and obscene, thumb relentless. “You’re gonna cum all over my hand—” he leans in, breath warm against your throat, “and I’m gonna watch every fucking second of it.”

His fingers pump into you, wet and filthy, every slick thrust echoing between you. And god, the sounds are just so fucking obscene it makes you want to die a little.

“Come on, give it to me, Phee,” Jungkook rasps.

You can barely breathe. His thumb keeps dragging over your clit in these slow, devastating circles, the pressure just right, and your whole body is trembling, your thighs twitching where he holds them open.

“Listen to that,” he groans, gaze flicking down, mesmerized. “So fucking wet for me. Making a mess all over my hand.”

And then his mouth is on you again.

He latches onto your tit, sucking deep, tongue flicking over your nipple before pulling off just to groan against your skin. 

“God, your vanilla shit Phoenix. Makes you taste so good. Could suck on these all fucking day—”

“Jungkook—”

“Yeah? You gonna cum?” 

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his arms because—fuck—fuck. The pressure is too much, his fingers so deep, his mouth so hot, and you’re right there—right fucking there—

“That’s it,” he groans, hand drenched, your walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on, give it to me.”

And then—

It hits.

Pleasure rips through you, fast and all-consuming.

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—just groans, watching you fall apart.

“Mm, yeah that’s it,” he mutters, fixated on the way you shake, the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, soaking his palm. “So fucking good, huh?”

His name slips out in a wrecked, shattered moan, and he loves it, enjoying every sound, drinking in every twitch and tremble.

He finally slows his movements as you shudder through the aftershocks, his fingers still deep, thumb pressing lazy circles to wring out every last second of it.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice a little breathless, and when you manage to blink down at him, he’s staring at his own hand—glistening, messy, coated in you.

His throat works.

And then—his eyes flick back to yours.

And he fucking grins.

Jungkook collapses on top of you.

Full weight. No warning. Just dead fucking weight pressing you into the couch, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—get off!” You yelp, struggling beneath him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nnngghh,” he groans into your neck, voice muffled, completely ignoring you. “Shut the fuck up and let me rest for five minutes.”

You blink up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking done. “Weren’t you sleeping, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“Your point?” His breath is warm against your skin, his body solid and heavy, still way too fucking hot from everything that just happened.

“My point,” you grumble, wiggling under him, “is that you’ve done literally nothing today except nut and nap, so why are you tired?”

“Because,” he mutters, arms tightening around your waist, “I’m a growing boy.”

You snort, smacking his bare back. “You’re a menace.”

He just hums, pressing his face into your neck like he’s about to fall asleep right there, and for a second, you let it happen—just breathing, the two of you still wrecked, bodies cooling down, silence stretching.

But then—

“Oh, shit—”

Jungkook jumps, suddenly wide awake, jolting upright so fast he nearly knocks you off the couch.

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Wait—” He leans over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes huge and excited. “Do you have any toys?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“Toys,” he repeats, fully invested now. “Sex toys, Nix. I didn’t even think about it, but—fuck—I could’ve made you finish with one.”

You blink again, brain scrambling to catch up. “No?”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

“Why would I—” You sit up slightly, pushing at his chest. “Do I look like I came here with a full-ass sex kit?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, genuinely baffled, “don’t you girls have dildos and shit?”

“Oh my fucking—” You shove his shoulder. “Do you really think when I was packing my shit to move in, I was like, ‘mmm, yeah, definitely need to bring my dildo’?”

His eyes narrow. “So you had one?”

“No—”

“So you’ve never had one?”

“No, Ro, my parents would’ve killed me.”

He pauses, frowning like he’s actually considering that for a second. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation—

“Okay, then we’re going toy shopping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, fuck that.” He waves a hand, like this is a done deal, like you don’t even get a say. “You’re getting something. I refuse to believe you’ve gone your whole life without at least a vibrator. That’s a crime.”

“A crime?”

“Yes.” His face is serious, like this is a personal offense to him. “You deserve to cum even when I’m not here.”

“I don’t need you to cum.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Oh my fucking—” You drop your head back against the couch, groaning. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being a good friend.” He grins, smug as hell. “And an amazing fuck buddy.”

“We are not friends.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’re not friends.” You cross your arms, looking him dead in the eye. “Fuck buddies. No friends.”

Jungkook gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you just deeply wounded him. “That hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

“Aren’t we, like, friends with benefits or something?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies. No friends. Just the benefits.”

“That’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Coming from Mr. Stupid himself? Woah.”

“Pft. Right.” He stretches, cracking his neck, still grinning like an idiot. “Then we’re going this weekend.”

“To what?”

“Buy you a vibrator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet.”

You swat at him, grin still on his face and all. 

next | index

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@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[phantomrose96]

*emerges days later, after rereading the whole fic and finally reading the new chapter, covered in blood and tears, slightly sweaty* That was great 💯 The scene of the boys covering the couch and chair was so me-coming-home-from-the-hospital-coded. Yes, I'm in absolutely dire straights rn and in desperate need of sleep. No, I will not allow The Gunk to defile the furniture. Akane taking stock of the shoes: " Okay there's my slip-ons ... Ritsu's new runners ... Hisao's blood-covered loafers ... everything's in order here ..." BOTH OF THEM! [insert "two of them" meme]

(Great chapter Chrissy, thank you so much!)

(ABoT Ch48)

Yay!!!!!!!!

And yeah yeah, honestly the most fun part of the chapter (or any chapter) is going "okay I know the fundamental pieces of what happen. Instead of just drawing a straight line from A-to-B, what are the character-driven things that happen to give it flavor, personality, uniqueness?"

And the idea that, even after all the everything that happened, Ritsu is still Ritsu and "hey let's not get Mom's couch dirty. she doesn't like that' is at the forefront of his brain and that's how you end up with 3 idiots who've been on 14 different kinds of brink-of-death standing in a living room going "no yeah we have to get the plastic couch cover. we have to put it on the couch, first." Home for the first time in 4 years since his kidnapping and the first thing Mob does is learn how to snap a plastic couch cover on a couch. Sounds like you can vouch for this so I take this as a win.

ALSO, it absolutely is super funny to me to write Akane seeing Reigen's shoes at the doorway and just brushing them off as some pair of Hisao's she doesn't recognize, but IN HER DEFENSE!!! WHICH IS MORE LIKELY? The adult-man sized shoes (which are maybe very dirty and okay maybe covered in blood if you look closely) belong to the adult-sized man who lives in your house and is your husband and keeps his shoes here, OR they belong to SOME RANDO GUY you've never met who's in your house and missing several fingers and covered in blood and also is here returning your children--one of whom has been missing for 4 years. ONE OF THESE IS MORE LIKELY.

[cherry-holmes]

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña

Chapter 16 (pt. 2)

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: You have many questions. And Javier is terrified about what your reaction could be.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: +1.9k

Warnings: mmm none, i guess

A/N: PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR TAKE ME SO LONG😭 I was having some struggles in my life, I’m better now if you want to know😁

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Why didn't you tell me about her?"

You asked as soon as you stepped back into the hotel room where Javi was staying. You were curious about the mysterious woman who had almost become his wife, but you didn't want to make a scene. You'd never been the jealous type, unless you had real reasons to be. So you held back, not wanting to accuse him without hearing what he had to say first. It was a very personal part of his life, something that probably hurt him at the time... or maybe still did. But you couldn't ignore the sting in your chest, the need to know what on earth happened between them.

"Because it's something I'm not proud of," he answered honestly, his voice tinged with anguish, afraid of how you'd react. He didn't want to lose you again, so he knew he had to choose his words carefully and be completely open, so you could see he wasn't that man anymore.

"Is it because you regret not marrying her?" you asked, your voice almost a whisper. You didn't know exactly what you expected to him to say. If he did regret it, it would be heartbreaking. But if he didn't, then perhaps it shouldn't matter to you. Or should it?

"Absolutely not," he replied quickly, stepping closer and taking your soft hands between his, gently caressing them.

Then, he told you the whole story: He was very young when he met Lorraine. They dated for a few months, and then she was the one who popped the big question. She always wanted to marry young, and she thought Javi was the one. So he said yes because it seemed like the reasonable next step for a man his age, trying to live up to his family's expectations. But deep down, he knew that wasn't what he wanted. So he left her at the altar.

He continued, "I realized I didn't love Lorraine. I didn't want to marry her. I wanted to do something beyond the police trainee I was doing in Laredo. I wanted to make a difference in the world."

You listened attentively, trying to picture a very young Javi, already preparing for marriage. You kind of understood him. You were also a young girl trying to find your place in the world, feeling the pressure of expectations to marry as soon as possible and start a family. And just as him, you felt the need to knew the world first, to be independent and proud of yourself before tie the knot.

"Marrying her probably would have saved me a lot of shit in Colombia because I probably wouldn't have gone," he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. "But then I never would have met you. So, I'm very grateful I didn't. I would go through all that hell again a million times just to be with you. Just to follow you wherever you want to go. You've brought so much light and happiness into my life, bonita. More than I ever thought I could deserve. Te amo. And I'm sure I want to be with you forever. I do want to marry you, mi cielo."

He couldn't shake the feeling that he had disappointed you. Again. And again. And again. And that there wasn't a single word he could say to repair the damage. Every time you placed your blind trust in him, every time everything seemed to be going smoothly, he messed something up.

Javier had known this for a while, actually. He had even considered not coming for you after Washington. Perhaps you would be better off without him. Javier was a tortured, traumatized man who never seemed to learn his lessons; he had guilt and ghosts chasing him. And yes, you had your own, but he always admired you for being stronger than he would ever be. Resilient, still hopeful in this rotten world.

But he was also selfish. He couldn't even bear the thought of not being with you. The jealousy of you not being with him. His. The mere idea of spending the rest of his days without the touch of your soft skin and the soothing tone of your voice made his heart physically ache. You had power over him, but it doesn't scare him at all. He would do anything for you. Whatever it took to keep you safe, warm, and happy.

And you were well aware of that. You could feel his care and protection over you, like an invisible warm cloak on your shoulders. You trusted him with blind faith despite everything.

Your silence was killing him. He would be on his knees if needed, begging you not to leave him, pleading for you to believe in his love. Javier Peña would do anything you asked, absolutely anything, in exchange for your forgiveness.

"Please, baby," he begged, desperation lacing his tone. "Say something..."

After another second that felt like an eternity for Javi, you opened your beautiful lips and murmured, "It's okay."

But there was something in your tone that didn't convince him. He still felt a weight on his chest. You weren't looking at him; instead, you kept staring at your hands.

"Bonita..." Javi's voice was soft, filled with concern as he leaned in closer, searching your face, his heart pounding with anxiety. But before he could say anything more, you sighed deeply, your expression softening.

"You're nine years older than me," you began, your voice calm but carrying a weight of something he couldn't name. "You've experienced more things than I have. How could I blame you for anything that happened before us?" You reached out, gently resting your hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. "It's part of how things are in a age-gap relationship. I get that."

His breath hitched slightly at your words, relief washing over him, but there was still a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "There's a but, isn't it?"

His voice was tentative, as if he was afraid of the answer.

You hesitated for a moment, biting your lower lip. "It doesn't mean it don't make me feel... well, jealous," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "A little." You offered him a small, almost shy smile.

He reached out, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His thumb traced your jawline, sending shivers down your spine as he gazed at you with tenderness.

"You have no reason to be jealous," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, making your heart race. His thumb caressed your bottom lip, his gaze locked on yours, and you could feel the heat rising between you. "I'm yours," he whispered against your lips. "There's no part of me that doesn't belong to you. My body and soul are only yours."

You leaned into his touch, your breath catching as his fingers slid through your hair, his hand resting on the nape of your neck, pulling you toward his lips. There has always been something electrifying in the way he kissed you, the way he touched you, as if he couldn't get enough of you. It was gentle yet possessive and devoted at the same time.

But before anything more could happen, he pulled back. You felt a cold breeze where his warmth had been, suddenly craving his touch and the promise of something more. But before you could even process what was happening, he moved swiftly toward his suitcase, rummaging through it. Your heart skipped a beat when he turned back to you again, holding a small black velvet box. His hands trembled as he opened it to reveal a stunning vintage diamond engagement ring.

"You mean everything to me," Javi said, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know if I'll ever be worthy of you, but God knows how badly I want it to be." His voice cracked, and you felt a surge of emotion, tears welling in your eyes as you looked at him. Damn, how much you loved that man.

"This ring belonged to my mother," he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "I brought it with me from Laredo. I was planning to propose to you the way you deserve, but... fuck, I need you to know how serious I am. Marrying you isn't something I just came up with. It's something I've wanted for a long, long time." His voice softened as he dropped to one knee. "So, bonita, will you accept me? With my flaws and my past? With all the love and devotion I have for you, will you marry me?"

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you saw his frame kneel in front of you. You couldn't stop the flood of emotions, thinking about everything that happened back in Colombia, everything that happened just hours ago with your family. Everything that had happened in your life since you was just a little girl desperately longing for the loving arms of her parents, arms they never truly offered. You cried for the lack of love in your life.

Yes, you had love from your sisters and your grandparents, but it never quite filled the void your parents had left behind. You had omitted the worst parts to Javi when you talk about your parents. It wasn't just verbal abuse: your mother was physically violent, and when your father drank, he would make inappropriate comments about your and your sisters' bodies. It made you feel ashamed and vulnerable. You didn't want him to think of you like that.

So you cried, testifying his love, because you never felt you were worthy of devotion, and love. If your parents couldn't love you, why would others?

He must have seen the sadness in your eyes, the way your beautiful and delicate features shifted from tenderness to something else, quickly turning to melancholy. At first, he feared your response might be a no - even when you said yes at his first proposal -. But he knew you too damn well, he knew there was something more. It was the same expression you had when you remembered something about your parents or your infancy. He never pushed you to share everything about your childhood; all he knew was that it had been difficult for you and your sisters and deeply painful to remember.

Javier didn't had to say anything, not verbally. His hand reached for yours, and just by his gently, warm and confident touch he made a vow: you will never be alone. He would never leave, or hurt you. His life was yours, and yours were his to protect.

Finally, you nodded, accepting his arms as your shield, his heart as a reminder of what you deserved. You dropped to your knees in front of him, your hands shaking as you whispered, "Si," your voice breaking.

Javi's breath hitched as he slid the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling slightly, and both of you admire the ring on you finger. He'd never saw a more beautiful image. He pulled you close, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tightly against him, as if he never wanted to let go. You felt his warmth, his love, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Your hands tangled in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, wanting to feel every part of him. Javi pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathless. "Te amo," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Para siempre."

NEXT CHAPTER

[floridecuts]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

And here's the epilogue, guys! Hope you'll enjoy it! ^^ I actually had wanted to draw Yashiki with the kids for this part's chapter art but this week hasn't been great for me on the creative side, sadly. After a lot of struggling I threw the towel and ended up just drawing (a hopefully cute) Yashiki. Anyway, I want to give my thanks again to all readers and a special big Thank You to everyone leaving comments! I'm super grateful for your support and that you took the time and effort to write these!! <3

With this part, we've finally cracked the 100-pages-mark! I never thought this project would become this big when I started working on it a few months ago, but here we are! xD So this plays one day after the successful pacification of the Departed. Yashiki is still in the hospital to recover but already feeling a lot better! I guessed it would make sense to have him getting a cold because of the events the night before - he'd been dragged out of bed by the Departed, held in it's clutches for who knows how long only wearing thin hospital clothes in a chilly cold room (because spirits often cause the room temperature to drop). Not to forget that his health state hasn't been the best in general since he fell victim to the curse. I just liked to add that small detail. ^^

I was glad that I found a way to include Ai and Tsukasa here, so I got almost every Mark Bearer included in this story (sorry Banshee ^^'). I know it's probably a bit weird that Ai is wearing her idol costume here when doing a hospital visit. I thought about drawing her in some alternate everyday clothes but decided against it because I didn't want her to be the only one to wear a non-canon outfit. My explanation for her wearing that in this scene is that Ai just returned from that "idol-buisness trip" and, after hearing that Yashiki is in the hospital, went straight there after work.

I hope I did Moe's character justice here. I can just imagine her being a little cheeky and very enthusiastic about the OOPArts Monthly. About the rabbit figurine: I had the idea that Yashiki, being very talented in crafting, once carved that rabbit for Saya, maybe even when they were still kids. It could have been one of his first masterpieces! It had been a precious item for Saya, a symbol of her brother's love for her, so she held it dear and unconsciously it became infused with her spiritual energy. Even after her death her spirit kept watching over Yashiki. To help him when he fell victim to the Departed's curse, her spirit reached out to Yasuoka, guiding her to the Kujou Mansion to get that figurine. Yasuoka didn't exactly know what it would do, but she knew it would be important, so she put it inside that O-Mamori and gave it to Yashiki at her visit. I like to think that, after the Departed's case, Yashiki keeps holding onto it, always carrying it in his pocket, both as a memento to his sister and a lucky charm.

The idea with the OOPArts article about Yashiki was actually a spontaneous idea. I found the thought so amusing that I just had to include it! xD Hope it makes someone else smile too! Also, a blushing and embarassed Yashiki is so adorable! In the end Mashita appears and saves Yashiki from Moe's mischief. He came because Yashiki specifically asked him to. Since he woke up from that coma there's been something Yashiki needs to talk about with him. What it is about will be covered in the bonus part - the next and also last part of this comic (it's gonna be extra long!). I chose to make a seperate bonus part because it's Yashita shipping content (nothing drastic though!). But still, in case anyone does not want to be confronted with this shipping they can just skip that last part without missing any story relevant content. But from what I've seen in the few months I've been in this fandom, I got the impression this won't be much of an issue. xD

Lastly, I am happy to announce that the bonus part is actually a collaboration with a friend! I want to give a shout out for her amazing and beautifully written Yashita fanfictions! You can find her works on AO3, her username is MoonflowerSong. Go check them out if you like, they are so sweet! <3

Link: MoonflowerSong on AO3

I wish you all a nice week! Thanks for taking a look! :)

[airandyeah]

Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.6

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This also has the general warning of Toji and Sukuna both honestly being menaces.

Your eyes fluttered open, the morning light filtering in through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the unfamiliar ceiling. A slight throbbing echoed in your skull, the remnants of last night’s drinks making themselves known as you stirred against the surprisingly soft sheets.

Panic came first—where were you? Your heart kicked up, and your body tensed as you sat up abruptly, looking around the room with wide eyes. It was simple, neatly kept, but not yours. Shit.

And then, like a dam breaking, the memories rushed in.

The drinks. The laughter. Toji’s knowing smirk. Sukuna’s sharp eyes watching you closely. Their teasing words and the heat of their presence pressing in from either side. The feeling of strong arms supporting you when the alcohol finally got the best of you. The murmured reassurances that they wouldn’t cross any lines.

Your hands flew to your body, patting down your clothes. T-shirt? Still on. Jeans? Still buttoned. Shoes? Kicked off neatly at the side of the bed. A slow exhale left your lips. They actually didn’t do anything.

The house was quiet.

No heavy footsteps. No low murmurs of conversation. No teasing voices calling you a lightweight for barely keeping up last night.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting the wooden floor, cool against your skin. A quick glance around the room confirmed what you already suspected—it was the guest room, a space barely lived in but still thoughtfully prepared. A folded blanket rested on the edge of the bed, and a glass of water had been left on the nightstand.

They had taken care of you. And they were nowhere in sight.

A part of you was relieved. Another part? Frustrated. You weren’t sure which part annoyed you more.

You pushed yourself up, body slightly sluggish, but functioning. If they were gone, that meant you could slip out without dealing with whatever smug remarks they’d surely throw your way for staying the night.

Still… you couldn’t shake the odd feeling settling in your chest.

They hadn’t taken advantage. They hadn’t hovered. They had simply let you sleep, made sure you were okay, and left you alone.

And somehow, that made you even more uneasy.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and stepped toward the door. Time to figure out what the hell came next.

The moment you stepped out of the guest room, the scent of sizzling food hit your nose—eggs, bacon, something rich and buttery. You blinked, the scene before you not at all what you expected.

Sukuna, of all people, was standing at the stove, quietly focused as he moved a pan over the flame, the muscles in his back flexing beneath his fitted shirt. He looked… calm, almost domestic, though the sharpness of his tattoos and the natural smugness in his expression kept him from ever looking too soft.

Meanwhile, Toji was sprawled on the sofa, a book in one hand, his other arm draped lazily over the back of the couch. He didn’t even glance up when you entered the room, though you knew damn well he’d noticed.

The sight was oddly peaceful.

It made you hesitate.

You were supposed to be sneaking out, slipping away before they had the chance to start their usual teasing. Instead, you stood there like an idiot, watching them exist so normally—not as the cocky alphas who pushed your buttons, but just… two men in their own home.

Then, of course, Sukuna ruined the moment.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he drawled, glancing over his shoulder, his lips twitching up. “Figured you’d be out cold longer after the way you conked out last night.”

Toji let out a huff of amusement, still not looking up from his book. “Lightweight.”

And there it was.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you crossed your arms. “I’m not a lightweight,” you muttered, but it lacked real bite. You shifted awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you’d woken up in their home, in their guest room, with them cooking you breakfast.

Sukuna turned fully then, raising a brow as he leaned back against the counter. “Sure you’re not,” he mused, eyeing you up and down before smirking. “Hope you like your eggs runny.”

Before you could snap back, Toji finally closed his book, stretching out like a lazy cat. “You eatin’ or you stormin’ off?” he asked, gaze finally meeting yours.

You wanted to say storming off. You really did.

But your stomach betrayed you with a well-timed growl, and both men grinned.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Toji chuckled, tossing his book onto the coffee table. “Sit your ass down, Omega.”

Your hands clenched into fists at the casual way he called you that, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you muttered a curse under your breath and shuffled toward the table, trying to ignore the way your pulse skipped when Sukuna set a plate in front of you, all smug satisfaction.

You were definitely in trouble with these two.

It was almost eerie how well-mannered they were. You sat at the table, half-expecting one of them to throw a piece of food or crack some crude joke about last night, but it never came. Instead, they ate quietly, using their knives and forks for everything but the bacon and toast, their movements unhurried, refined even.

No loud tones, no teasing remarks—just the occasional clink of silverware against plates and the low murmur of a few exchanged words about the food and the juice.

You took a slow sip of your drink, eyes flicking between them as if waiting for the act to drop.

Sukuna caught your gaze first, raising a brow as he speared a piece of egg onto his fork. “What?”

You hesitated, glancing over at Toji, but he was focused on his food, calmly cutting into his breakfast with an ease that didn’t match the sharp, wolfish aura he usually carried.

“This is weird,” you finally admitted, setting your cup down. “You two—eating like this.”

Toji scoffed but didn’t look up. “What, you think we eat like animals?”

“Yes,” you answered flatly.

Sukuna let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Gotta keep some mystery, sweetheart. Can’t have you knowing everything about us just yet.”

That shouldn’t have sent a flicker of something hot down your spine, but it did. You ignored it, choosing instead to focus on your plate.

It was only after a few more bites that you realized something else—this was nice. The quiet. The lack of tension.

But that only meant one thing.

They were waiting.

And you weren’t sure if that made you more nervous or excited.

Toji leaned back in his chair, fork idly twirling between his fingers as he finally looked up at you. “Look, for however obnoxious we are out there,” he gestured vaguely toward the door, “we don’t spend all our time acting like overgrown pups.”

You narrowed your eyes, skeptical. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Sukuna snorted, still focused on his food. “Just ‘cause we like getting under your skin doesn’t mean we’re idiots. We live here—we keep it clean, we cook, we act like actual adults.”

Toji smirked. “Shocking, huh?”

Honestly? A little. You hadn’t expected them to be complete slobs, but part of you had imagined their cabin to be more of a bachelor’s den—messy, chaotic, full of empty liquor bottles and a lingering scent of trouble. Instead, it was… lived-in, warm even.

“You’re telling me you two don’t wrestle in the living room over the last beer?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

Sukuna gave you a lazy grin. “Nah. We buy enough for both of us.”

Toji chuckled, shaking his head before turning his gaze back to you. “Surprised?”

You glanced around at the clean space, at the well-kept kitchen, at the way they sat—calm, easy, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for them.

Maybe you were.

But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of admitting it.

“…A little,” you muttered, stabbing your fork into your food.

Sukuna huffed a laugh. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re still plenty bad when we wanna be.” ~~~ The moment you stepped into your bedroom, you knew something was wrong. The air felt damp, thick with the scent of moisture and wood rot. Then, you heard it—soft but steady.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Your stomach sank. Your eyes snapped to the ceiling, where a dark, water-stained patch had spread across the wood. A small puddle had already formed on the floor near your bed.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," you muttered, stepping closer.

A quick touch to the wall near the damage told you everything you needed to know—swollen wood, damp to the touch. This wasn’t new. You just hadn’t noticed until now.

Fantastic.

Frustration bubbled up as you yanked your phone from your pocket. No way you could stay in here with this mess. But where the hell were you supposed to go?

You scrolled through your contacts, your thumb hovering over the one name you refused to acknowledge.

No. Absolutely not.

You would rather sleep in your damn car than—

The deep rumble of an engine outside made your head snap up.

They hadn’t left yet.

Cursing under your breath, you bolted for the door and threw it open just as Toji and Sukuna were about to pull away. You waved them down, your pride taking a brutal hit as both trucks came to a slow stop.

Sukuna leaned out of the driver’s side window, his smirk already in place. "Miss us already, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. "I have a problem," you admitted through gritted teeth. "And I need a place to stay."

Sukuna’s brows shot up, and Toji let out a low chuckle from the passenger seat.

"You literally just left our guest room, and you already wanna come back?" Sukuna teased, resting his chin in his palm. "Didn’t think you’d miss us this quick, sweetheart."

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes. "Shut up and get out of the damn truck."

That got their attention. Exchanging glances, they stepped out, curiosity flickering in their eyes as you turned and motioned for them to follow.

The second they stepped inside and saw the spreading water damage, their smirks faded.

"Damn," Toji muttered, stepping closer to inspect the ceiling. He pressed his palm to the damp wall and gave a low whistle. "This isn’t just some small leak—you’ve got real water damage here."

Sukuna crossed his arms, eyes sweeping over the room before landing on you. "And I’m guessing you don’t have a backup place to crash?"

You crossed your arms right back, shifting uncomfortably. "Would I have stopped you two if I did?"

His grin returned, slow and sharp. "Guess not."

Toji sighed, shaking his head. "Looks like you’re coming back with us, then."

You wanted to argue, but the steady drip, drip, drip of water behind you killed any protest before it could leave your lips.

This was going to be a long stay.

You moved quickly, tossing clothes into a bag, grabbing your laptop, a few framed photos, and whatever else you deemed important. It wasn’t like you had much choice—staying here wasn’t an option with the water creeping its way through your bedroom.

Toji leaned against the doorway, watching with a raised brow. "You pack like you're never coming back."

You shot him a look. "Maybe I’m just being prepared."

Sukuna snorted from behind him. "For what? Moving in permanently?"

You ignored them, zipping up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. "Just helping myself to a little peace of mind. Not that it’s any of your business."

Toji smirked. "If you're staying under our roof, it kinda is, sweetheart."

Rolling your eyes, you brushed past them, heading for the door. "Let's just go."

They exchanged glances before following you out, Sukuna chuckling under his breath.

This was going to be interesting, to say the least. ~~~ When you got back to the cabin, Sukuna and Toji wasted no time showing you around.

First, they took you through Sukuna’s room—a minimalist space with sleek furniture and a dark, almost imposing vibe. Black sheets, dark wood, and an odd collection of antique knives on the wall gave it a mysterious, almost intimidating feel.

Toji’s room was next—completely different. It had a more laid-back, comfortable vibe, with a leather chair in the corner and a few scattered books. His bed was big, the sheets a deep shade of green that matched his quiet, practical style. He tossed a glance over his shoulder as you took in the room. "Don't get any ideas," he warned with a grin.

Then they led you down the hallway to the guest room, which you had stayed in the night before.

"This’ll be yours for now," Toji said, giving you a little nudge. "At least until your place’s fixed."

You bit your lip, not sure how to feel about being here. It was temporary, you told yourself, but something about it felt different.

They moved on to show you the laundry room, then the living room and kitchen. The layout was surprisingly nice—spacious, with a big stone fireplace and a cozy couch that looked perfect for lounging. The kitchen had a rustic feel, with wooden counters and shelves lined with mason jars of spices and canned goods. It wasn’t luxurious, but it had a charm.

You knew, however, that this place was going to be the last place you’d want to get too comfortable in, especially with them. They were a constant reminder of how things never quite went the way you expected, and being here felt like playing with fire.

After showing you everything, Sukuna raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You good with the guest room? No complaints yet?"

You shot him a look. "It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with."

Toji laughed softly, glancing at Sukuna. "Guess we know how to treat our guest, huh?"

You could tell they were enjoying this a little too much. You couldn’t help but complain as they showed you around. The cabin was nice enough, but there was something about it that felt too much. Too masculine, too... Alpha. The whole place reeked of it—the heavy scent of their dominance in the air, like it was just a part of the furniture itself.

Everywhere you went, it was suffocating. The air felt thick, and you could almost taste the assertiveness, the intensity. The slight musk of them clung to the walls, the furniture, the very floorboards beneath your feet. Even the sheets in the guest room smelled faintly of them, as if their presence had saturated the very space.

You wrinkled your nose, pretending not to notice how your body instinctively responded to their scent. The faint pulse of heat that flared in your chest was something you desperately tried to ignore. It wasn’t fair—this was your space for now, not theirs.

"Does the whole place always smell like this?" You blurted out, unable to hold back.

Sukuna glanced at Toji, both of them looking almost amused at your discomfort. Toji smirked, leaning against the doorframe of the living room. "It’s our cabin. What’d you expect?"

You let out a frustrated breath, eyeing the rustic furniture and the big, open spaces. "Could you... maybe air it out a little?"

They both laughed. Sukuna gave you a slow, teasing grin. "You’re the one who decided to stay here, sweetheart."

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to keep yourself from reacting to the low hum of their laughter. "It’s just a lot, that’s all," you muttered, more to yourself than to them.

Toji’s expression softened a little, but he didn’t back down. "We’ll get used to it. Just try not to let it get to you too much."

Easy for him to say. With the way your body was reacting, it was easier said than done.

Sukuna, always the one to push boundaries, grinned as he leaned against the doorway. “You think this place smells bad now? Wait until it’s close to rut time. You won’t be able to get away from it.”

His comment hung in the air, and for a moment, you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. The thought of them... that close to their rut, the intensity of their scent overwhelming the whole cabin, sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You couldn’t help but snap.

“Shut up,” you muttered, slamming the door in their faces. The sound of it echoing in the small hallway made you flinch a little, but it was better than facing them and letting your body betray you any further.

You heard their chuckles from the other side, and a part of you knew they were enjoying the irritation they’d caused. But it didn’t matter. You could hear them, muffled, talking between themselves. They’d probably make fun of you for it later, but for now, you needed space. You needed peace—away from the stench of them, away from the heat they dragged with them.

Leaning against the door, you sighed heavily, trying to steady your breath. The last thing you needed was to feel this exposed. You needed to regain control, but every time they got too close, it felt like you were slipping. ~~~ Later that night, when everything was still and quiet, you found yourself lying in bed, the sheets tangled around you. The cabin was unnervingly silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards or the soft murmur of the wind outside. You tried to push the thoughts of them away, but they lingered like an uninvited guest, making it hard to relax.

Then you heard it.

The low murmur of voices, drifting from the living room. It wasn’t loud, just a quiet conversation, but the cabin’s layout made it easy to pick up on the faintest sounds. You tried to ignore it, but your curiosity got the better of you.

You shifted in the bed, pressing your ear to the wall, straining to hear what they were saying. It wasn’t intentional; it was just the overwhelming need to understand what was happening around you, to make sense of all the tension between you and them.

“Did you see the way she looked at you earlier?” Toji’s voice was soft, but you could hear the amusement in it.

“Yeah, like she wanted to rip our heads off,” Sukuna responded, and you could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “But she’s got that spark. I told you, she’s not like the others.”

You felt your chest tighten. Were they really... talking about you? You felt a mix of unease and something else—something you weren’t quite ready to admit to yourself.

“To be fair, she’s stubborn as hell,” Toji continued. “She won’t give in easily, but... I don’t know. I like the challenge. And she’s different.”

Sukuna chuckled, a sound that was more predatory than playful. “You’re right. It’s gonna be fun breaking through that wall of hers.”

You flinched at his words, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. "Breaking through" your walls? What did that even mean? Was this all some kind of game to them? Were they really just going to push and push until you were cornered? The thought sent a cold shiver through you.

"She’ll come around," Toji said, his tone thoughtful, almost gentle. "She’s just not used to people wanting her like this. She's not used to being wanted, period."

There was a pause. You could almost feel the weight of their words hanging in the air, the tension building between them.

“Yeah,” Sukuna finally replied, quieter now. “But that’s gonna change. We’ll make sure of it.”

The conversation drifted off after that, and you couldn’t bring yourself to keep listening. Your mind was racing, a mix of confusion and frustration churning in your stomach. They liked you. Both of them did, in their own way. It was clear in how they spoke, the way their voices dropped when they admitted it, but something about it felt... wrong. Was it really you they liked, or was it the challenge of getting you to give in to them?

You pulled the covers over your head, trying to block out their voices, but the words lingered in your mind, refusing to let you sleep. It wasn’t just the weight of what they said—it was the realization that you had no idea what to do with any of it.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @tojislongshlong , @jaxawinchester , @ectomotive , @hishearttohave , @makingtimemine , @tojinxies Perma Tags: @thenightperson

[archiewantsheetmetal]

Phantom Railway Rambles!!

so im gonna yap before the first chapter comes out!! Which should be by tomorrow or the next day.

So! As you know, the two bugs (layton and luke) are going to be travelling together after losing everything they know. I wanted to really highlight their codependency and their jarringly similar situations in canon but in like. a different font.

In phantom railway. Hershel has literally EVERYTHING taken from him. Like it's more than just the evidence of the accident and nearly his life. They take his money. They take everything he owns that's of any interest. Oh and now that I'm thinking about it. Maybe they didn't beat his ass into a coma but maybe he had to drag himself away from the scene. Run hershel run. So now he's got poorly healed injuries and breaks.

I've had a conversation with someone and they mentioned Hershel having trust issues developing in the years following. Like he's definitely going to have seen how dark humanity can be and how dark is actually is. The world is a very dark shade of gray to him now. Things are never going to be given to you, especially if you have nothing to give in return. People are always going to take, and if they're desperate enough for something, they'll kill you for it.

With that being said, I think he would never let himself become too attached to anyone. He'd never stay in one place for too long, either. He doesn't want to get attached to anything, really, because he knows that nothing is permanent. Things that hold love are fleeting. Love sharpens the claws of grief. Also he never stays in one place because of something else too but yk. that's mostly it.

Luke!! However. I'm thinking of having him seeing the brighter shade. I want him to take after his mother in seeing the good in things. Maybe even to a fault. I want him to parallel Hershel that way. They're going to get on each other's nerves so so so bad at first.

Siiiiigh. I want Hershel to start seeing a little bit of past loved ones in Luke. And I want him to be a little reclusive to have anything to do with him because of that. Like the bare minimum would be all he does at first. Makes sure he doesn't freeze. Makes sure he eats. That sort of thing. But Hershel "I crave the company of another person" Layton is obviously. going to get attached to him whether or not he likes it. Sorry buddy. He's your godson but now he's your boy. Go root through trash together.

Luke's also gonna lie to him. Lie his fucking heart out btw. Luke your ass is not lost. He's going to find out soon you stupid boy. He hears you crying in your sleep.

AND!!! about their clothes. Because I've been thinking about it a little. I think Hershel would have learned to sew from Lucille and so he knows how to patch up his clothes. But he ALWAYS. makes sure. the hat is ok.

Also Herhsel. patching up luke's shirt. for him. scratches my head.

Okay sorry. Thinking out lioud here. I think it might be out by morning or sometime later in the afternoon. I hope you guys like it. Grin!

[mogruith]

BG3 Photomode Tutorial #2.5: More Scene Manipulation

Chapter 0: Overview

Chapter 1: Script Extender Debug Console

Chapter 2: Scene Manipulation

In continuing from the last tutorial, I wanted to talk about how you find and play cutscenes. There's a couple ways to do this but I will show you my way because I think it is the most thorough way if you need to figure out what flags you may need to edit in order to get this working. It'll also give you the tools you need to troubleshoot flag settings.

In the above screenshot, you can see a cutscene that is meant to be played in the Shadowcursed lands: The cutscene where you play the Lyre to summon Kar'niss. It is a complex scene with tags to resolve and multiple NPCs - some of which aren't humanoid.

I will show you how to find a scene based on a snippet of dialog, how to locate its name and UUID so you can plug it into this command:

Osi.QRY_StartDialogCustom_Fixed("SCL_Drider_Caravan_HalfOrcCaster_865adfae-1b72-1ed2-f961-d55abd4fb7b1","S_GOB_DrowCommander_25721313-0c15-4935-8176-9f134385451b",Osi.DB_Avatars:Get(nil)[1][1],"S_Player_Gale_ad9af97d-75da-406a-ae13-7071c563f604","S_Player_Astarion_c7c13742-bacd-460a-8f65-f864fe41f255", 1,1,-1,1)

Warning: Please keep in mind, this is still a very finicky process. Again, take it slowly. And please don't be afraid to ask for help if you're struggling. Once you get the hang of it, you can pull out scenes and troubleshoot them into playing with ease.

There's also a good chance I'm glossing over something and not explaining it clearly/accurately. Please send me an ask, DM, comment to clarify anything that's confusing!

BG3 Dialog Reader

In order to do this my way, you'll need to download BG3 Dialog Reader and generate HTML files that include all the dialog of the game. There's already a very lovely tutorial on how to do this, so I recommend you follow it. EDIT: Or download their parsed files from their Google Drive: BG3 - parsed dialogue (1.7).zip

You've probably seen posts in this format before:

So you should now have HTML files located somewhere on your system. You need to search for a line that you'll find in the cutscene you want. Now you need to ask yourself: What line can I search for that is unique to that cutscene so that if I search for it I will get exactly what I'm looking for?

In the Drider-Lyre scene I recall an NPC asking "Did you bring the lyre?" so that's what I searched for. I use the Everything search tool because it's awesome and search for the file like so:

You will need to take a look at this file later, but for now, just take note of the name: SCL_Drider_Caravan_HalfOrcCaster. This is the first half of what you need to complete the first parameter in the command at the beginning. And we are going to use this to find the UUID.

Finding the UUID

To find the UUID, you're going to need another tool. The BG3 Modder's Multitool. Go to their GitHub, look along the right column and click on the link in the Releases section.

After that, click on bg3-modders-multitool.zip to download it. Extract the files to a new folder somewhere handy and run bg3-modders-multitool.exe.

In BG3 Modder's Multitool, click on Configuration and set the bg3.exe location to your Baldur's Gate 3 executable (E:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Baldurs Gate 3\bin or something along those lines). The Documents folder should auto-populate but you may want to double check it.

Now click in Search Index. It's going to start a process where it searches through the BG3 files. This can take a while the first time, but will be instant after that.

Once it's complete, you can now take the name of the scene and pop it into the new Index Search window that popped up.

In the results on the left, there will be a lot of files that list it, but I generally look for ones that say Assets\Dialogs\[PAK] and end in _merged.lsf and click on it. Then click Convert & Open.

This should open in Notepad or Notepad++. Now search this file for "SCL_Drider_Caravan_HalfOrcCaster" - keep in mind there can be MULTIPLE results. Note that the first instance you will get is SCL_Drider_Caravan_HalfOrcCaster_AtTower. This is the wrong scene.

You are now looking in the code a couple lines above that string for a value that is an ID type and has a value that's a lot of letters and numbers. This is the UUID.

So you have what you need to create this first parameter. Combine SCL_Drider_Caravan_HalfOrcCaster with the string of letters and numbers separated by an underscore. Like so:

SCL_Drider_Caravan_HalfOrcCaster_865adfae-1b72-1ed2-f961-d55abd4fb7b1

Plugging into the StartDialogCustom Command

Note that this copies straight in to this command in the first parameter:

Osi.QRY_StartDialogCustom_Fixed("SCL_Drider_Caravan_HalfOrcCaster_865adfae-1b72-1ed2-f961-d55abd4fb7b1", "S_GOB_DrowCommander_25721313-0c15-4935-8176-9f134385451b", Osi.DB_Avatars:Get(nil)[1][1], "S_Player_Gale_ad9af97d-75da-406a-ae13-7071c563f604", "S_Player_Astarion_c7c13742-bacd-460a-8f65-f864fe41f255" ,1,1,-1,1)

Now on first glance this looks pretty much like other times I've shown you this command, except note that there's FOUR actors. When a cutscene doesn't play at first (after double checking the UUID), this is very often the reason why. This is the minimum because the roles for the half-orc and Karniss need to be filled. First position is Kansif the Half-Orc, second is Tav, third is Brawler Vez, and fourth is Kar'niss.

Note: Kar'niss CAN be played by a non-Drider NPC - they will float angrily around carrying the lantern. It's hilarious. Try it. Here's when I tried it with my Tav:

Setting and Clearing Flags

Now. Depending on where and when you play this scene, the scene may or may not play or it will quit early. There could be a few reasons for that. The UUID could be wrong, the number of actors could be wrong, or a flag could be set that's not supposed to be set.

Let's have a look at the BG3 Dialog Reader file for this scene to see what flags are in use.

By default you should be able to see checkflags (blue) and setflags (orange). Look at the top of the page for a reminder of what the colors mean. The blue check flags are checking to see if the flag is set or not. If SCL_Drider_HasMet_CaravanFirstTime = False then you have met the drider caravan yet and this line will play. You will notice that after that is the orange SCL_Drider_HasMet_CaravanFirstTime setflag. That means the game will NOW set the flag as you have now met the Caravan for the first time. There may be occasions where you need to change the flags to get a cutscene to play. Here's the good news: There's handy commands for that!

print(GetFlag("flag",Osi.DB_Avatars:Get(nil)[1][1]))

Osi.ClearFlag("flag", Osi.DB_Avatars:Get(nil)[1][1])

Osi.SetFlag("flag",Osi.DB_Avatars:Get(nil)[1][1])

The bad news is you will have to find the UUID for each flag! So we gotta go back into BG3 Modders Multitool and search for the flag SCL_Drider_HasMet_CaravanFirstTime

Thankfully, you'll only get one result and the big string of letters and numbers is the UUID you need.

Now you combine them like you did with the cutscene name and UUID before, separated by an underscore: SCL_Drider_HasMet_CaravanFirstTime_39e94029-84f7-418d-ddce-8947bcbb7688

So let's say the cutscene isn't playing because you're on a save where that scene has already played. Clear the flag on your Tav: Osi.ClearFlag("SCL_Drider_HasMet_CaravanFirstTime_39e94029-84f7-418d-ddce-8947bcbb76", Osi.DB_Avatars:Get(nil)[1][1])

And I think we will leave it at that. I realize this was a LOT to cover. Go through this very slowly. It will take time to understand what is happening here.

And as always, if you have something you're trying to do and you're struggling with the directions, I can try to help! Please send me a DM, Ask, whatever else and I'll gladly help you with whatever you're trying to do.

Thanks for reading and sticking through this so far!

[captainstressed]

so ive been working on a post-breakup bucktommy fix it for a hot minute and she's almost finished so i wanted to share the first chapter here before i put the entire thing on ao3.

its starts from the 'tommy's bubbling me' scene from 8x07 except its from tommy's pov. its mostly hurt but i swear the comfort is coming!

title: i love you, im sorry. word count: 1341 chapter: 1 of 2/3

Tommy hit backspace, deleting the drafted text he’d written to Evan with a sigh. Dropping his phone beside him on the couch, he reached out to grab the open bottle of beer from the coffee table and took a long swig. It wasn’t far off three in the afternoon but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to particularly care; he’d come off shift within the last hour and wasn’t scheduled back in until the next day, it also wasn’t as though he was planning to have more than one or two. He needed a distraction, something to temporarily cloud his mind that wasn’t Evan. Buck. He’d lost the right to use his given name the day he walked out of his loft.

It had been just over two weeks since the break up; fifteen days if he was counting, which he was. He had ran the conversation over in his mind an infinite number of times since then and each time he hated himself a little bit more.

“Did you just break up with me?”

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

He slammed the bottle back down on the table with more force than necessary. He was a fucking coward. He’d been a coward back when he was at the 118 and he failed to stand up for Hen and Howie against Gerrard; Tommy had been battling his own internal demons but that didn’t excuse his behaviour then and it sure as hell doesn’t now.

He had told Buck that if they ended up moving in together, then the younger man would end up breaking his heart; something that he wasn’t sure he would be able to move on from. The irony of it all was that through his own cowardice actions, Tommy had beat him to it and succeeded in breaking it all by himself.

Bringing his hands up, he pressed the heals of his palms into his eyes. He felt the sting of tears and took a breath, willing them to remain at bay. He had no right to cry, not when this was all his fault. He had broken up with Buck; had panicked at the thought of moving in with him. Not because he didn’t want to, but because when his heart was inevitably broken, the fallout would have been too much for him to fathom.

Tommy wondered if this imaginary scenario would have left him feeling anything like the way he felt right now. His palms were wet, the stars dancing behind his eyes the only outcome of his efforts. Swiping the tears that were only replaced by more a moment later, he wiped his hands across his jean clad thighs and tipped his head back against the back of his couch.

His fingers itched to grab his phone; he wanted to call Buck, apologise for being such a coward, for joining the list of people who had walked away from him and beg him for another chance. It was selfish, he was selfish.

He didn’t deserve Buck; Hadn’t been deserving of being his first relationship since discovering his true identity. Buck had trusted him, had let Tommy in. The two of them shared words and experiences that were completely new to Buck and it made Tommy feel sick that he had taken these things from him, with the promise of protecting them and him only to run when his own insecurities got in the way.

Curling his hand into a fist, he bought it down on the cushion beside him. The movement jostled his phone and lit up his home screen; his background was a picture of an LA sunrise, which to anyone else wouldn’t seem particularly special but to Tommy it held precious memory.

It had been taken a few months prior during one of his early morning runs, by Evan. Tommy had mentioned to him that one of his go to’s for winding down after particularly gruelling shifts was to hit one of the many hiking trails and if he was lucky enough to finish a shift before the day had officially started, then he could sometimes catch the sunrise. It was a way to remind himself that in spite of the often tragic calls he dealt with whilst at work, a new day was just on the horizon and with it the renewal of hope and possibility of brighter times to come.

He’d thought the idea was beautiful and asked if he could accompany Tommy sometime should their shifts lineup. They ended up going one morning after Tommy had finished a forty-eight and Evan was due to start his own a few hours later. They’d found a perfect spot to watch the sunrise and paused their run to drink it in. Evan had taken a picture just as the sun was peaking over the horizon, setting it as his phone background and almost shyly explaining to Tommy that this way whenever he looked at his phone it would remind him of not only the reason behind it but also of Tommy.

It had been one of the many times in which Tommy had wondered how he got so lucky as to find someone as adorable as Evan. He’d even asked him as much, which earned him a blushed smile that Tommy couldn’t help but kiss off his lips. Before asking him to send him a copy of the photo and setting it as his own background too.

Tommy could have changed it in weeks since the break up, probably should have done if he’d had any desire to move on. He wondered if Evan had changed his; selfishly he hoped he hadn’t.

He stared at his phone until the screen went back to black, mulling over his scattered thoughts before picking it up and unlocking it. It reopened back onto his text thread with Evan, they hadn’t spoken to each other via text since Howie’s wedding and the memories of that day and night settled heavily in the pit of his stomach when he compared how he had felt then to how he felt now.

His thumb hovered over the bubble to start a new message; Tommy knew what he wanted to say, what he’d wanted to tell Evan even before they broke up. He had never called his own feelings towards Evan into question, self hatred threatened to bubble to the surface once more when he reminded himself that the only person he had called into question was Evan himself.

Evan who had never been anything but open and honest with Tommy from the start of their relationship. Sure, he’d put his foot in his mouth a few times at the start and sometimes he got a little ahead of himself, but it was one of the many things Tommy loved about him.

Tommy loved him. Loves him.

But he let him go because he’s a coward.

With a sigh, he tapped the bubble to send a new message but paused. After weeks of radio silence Tommy knew it wouldn’t be fair to drops these heavy feelings on Evan straight away. If at all a voice in his head snarked. What if he was too late? What if Tommy ending things had been the wake up call Evan needed to realise that though Tommy had been his first, he didn’t want him to be his last and these last weeks had just helped cement those feelings.

The thought caused him physical pain. His entire reasoning behind breaking up with Evan in the first place had been to shield his heart from inevitable break, but it had quickly become apparent that he was destined for this fate regardless. He couldn’t allow himself to consider that Evan loved him back. He hadn’t deserved it before the break up and he sure as hell didn’t now. The difference now however was that he felt as though he had nothing else to lose, and he owed Evan the truth no matter what the outcome may be.

Fuck it.

“Can we talk?”

Tommy held his breath and hit send.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Beta March 1st Update

We have just recently released the March 1st update to the public Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy beta on itchio!

This is one of the shortest spans of time between two big beta updates, but the changelog is still pretty expansive, a lot of quality-of-life stuff, clarifications, typo fixing, lots of focus on bug-hunting in general, so overall this version should be much easier to understand.

The biggest new additions are a bunch of new art pieces, and we finally finished the Module Writing Guide in Chapter 7, so you can use all 10 steps to help you get your Eureka Mystery Module Game Jam submission ready.

Now, we can finally start moving forward at speed again on copy-editing.

Full changelog below

CHANGE LOG 

Copy-editing Progress: Thoroughly copy-edited up to p. 302. Half-ass copy-edited up to p. 322.

Don't forget, we also released Eureka adventure modules “The Eye of Neptune” and “FORIVA: The Angel Game” into free beta on itch.io!

WHOLE BOOK

Removing Examples of Play for time and more importantly page count reasons. There is a small chance they may get added back in. 

CHAPTER 1 

Added an example of very rare circumstances where Ticks can just pass from a task without a roll or Scene change. 

Adjusted some phrasing in “Be Prepared to Lose”

Added “Approaching this Game” section

Added that if a Tier of Fear fear comes up mid-session that your investigator does not have on their sheet, you add it to their sheet in the tier that it makes sense right there mid-session. 

Made it more explicitly clear that failed and partially succeeded investigative rolls should not give false information.

CHAPTER 2

Edited a mistake in the Chemistry Skill 

Clarified that a character cannot have multiple instances of the same Trait 

Clarified that even with the Did You Know Trait, an investigator can still gain bonus Investigation Points from other Traits. 

Fixed a typo in the optional fears in the tiers of fear section

Slapped in a section that better explains how the character sheet works, will fix this up later

Clarified that My Glasses Trait gives a Contextual bonus and clarified Go With Your Gut

Moved “Creating NPCs” from Chapter 7 to Chapter 2.

Really cleaned up “Creating NPCs” and “Morale” and made it much more clear

Added Sunscreen to item list, for vampires. 

Added a toolbox to the item list.

Added an option for trivial items to cost 1 Tick instead of a Wealth Roll. 

Raised the price of campers and RVs

Added a section of the item list for additional property

Split First Aid Kits into three separate items, representing different levels of preparedness. 

Added Emergency Medication, such an epinephrine, to item list 

Added prescription medication to item list

Added clarification that unless stated otherwise, most items include the means to use them, such as cameras coming with film. 

Clarified that the WP price of vehicles includes the fuel to power them

Added more drugs

Added a paragraph about how WP costs are decided and how one might adjust them for different places or time periods. 

Added a note about legality for weapons other than firearms

Increased the WP cost of certain electronics 

Added remote control drone to item list

Added a separate item list section for Medicine.

CHAPTER 3

Clarified Epicenter Initiative and fixed typos

Added a lot more bullet point summaries

Clarified falling damage.

CHAPTER 7

Finished the “Setting the Stage” section

Cut “Connections (Optional Rule)” for now. We might put it back in later, but the thing that this rule does is something that most groups have little trouble doing on their own, and we really need to reduce page count.

Moved “Creating NPCs” from Chapter 7 to Chapter 2.

Reordered chapter 7

Removed “Character Moments (Optional Rules)” for now, might put it back in. 

Removed “Car stalling Out” Might put it back in. 

Removed “Clues direct the party” and “Clue redundancy”, might put them back 

Finally completely finished the mystery module writing guide but it still needs editing

Clarified that converting some “investigation” modules from other games is not as easy as it should be. 

More art has been added.

CHAPTER 8 

Fixed typo in the Wolfman “Unstoppable” section

Fixed it so that the Wolfman “Just Built Denser” section does not make wolfmen inherently be super tall

Fixed typo under the Curse section of Changeling

Clarified how the Manifest Weaponry Mage Ability interacts with other Traits.

New hunting table entry added (this one was from a submitter, those slots are still open, you can email us about getting your own custom hunting table entry at anim.contactus@gmail.com)

Added another new fan-submitted hunting table entry. 

Fixed typo in “Where Does the Blood Go?”

Clarified Telekinesis mage power and gave it an effective range.

Clarified that dogs can’t own dogs. 

Even further clarified that talking dogs are dogs. 

Fixed typo accidentally saying that there were four types of investigators. This was because Mage used to be a separate category on its own.

Changed the default modifier for the Composure roll that vampires must make upon being exposed to sunlight the first time each Scene from +3 to +5. They will still potentially lose a lot of Composure to sunlight because this roll is also modified by the huge negative modifier that is affected by how much coverage they are wearing, but when starting at +3 it was taking way too much Composure for the monster type that has the least options for restoring Composure. 

More art has been added.