#The Day Emma Cried

[fullscoreshenanigans]

*All the farms have English as their primary language of communication, but each farm has a different secondary language they also teach. **I don't have general headcanons for the farms as a whole, but I headcanon specific human characters as multilingual besides Ayshe and Norman speaking the old demon language (share in the reblogs/replies)

Headcanon and not canon because it's more interesting and because for simplicity sake's I think Shirai would say everyone living in the demon world speaks and writes in English by default for reasons below the cut:

• The Western setting was chosen to intentionally make the anachronistic aspects of the farms feel more natural:

(Mystic Code Book Chapter 1)

• The majority of the legible text shown not related to the original faith is in modern English in the Japanese raws for both humans and demons (them using international Morse code and sounding it out in English as opposed to using Wabun, the signs in Goldy Pond being in English) due to Shirai writing for a modern audience:

(Chapter 1 | 4 | 17 | 41 | 52 | 57 | 64 | 65)

However, Shirai's never said other languages weren't formally taught at Grace Field besides Latin:

(Mystic Code Book Chapter 4 Q&A)

And even if the children were being taught to the tests for commentary on standardized testing, you could argue the kids could learn on their own time if language books are classified under the arts based on the first light novel's description of the library's contents:

(TPN Light Novel 1: A Letter from Norman - “The Day Emma Cried”)

With the issue of "why didn't Ray ever bring up learning other languages after reading all the books in the library?" coming down to the same reason as this:

(Mystic Code Book Chapter 6 Q&A)

He just never brought it up. _(:△」∠)_

Also to promote @puff-poff's demon culture posts (found here and here):

[fullscoreshenanigans]

#I mean. she's an emotional child and should be allowed to cry #no need for shaming tears (via @officersnickers)

One of my favorite things about the series is how it doesn't shame any of the characters for crying, regardless of gender.

(Chapter 55)

So I think Silent's ire is rooted in the simplification and sanding down of her character in order to more easily facilitate stock narratives/scenarios rather than the act of Emma crying at all, especially when it's such a significant moment of "The Day Emma Cried" short story from the first light novel (released back in 2018) that it's the focus of the title and it's laid out plainly in the text itself as something that both Norman and Ray recognize.

Norman notes it again years later during chapter 4/S1 episode 2.

It's why his reunion with Emma in chapter 118/chapter 119 is such a striking moment with how her tears initially seem to flow without any preamble, only wordless disbelief as the magnitude of everything happening rapidly registered in her brain and a figurative switch has been flipped.

It's not that she doesn't experience those emotions, but that it's not how she generally regulates and expresses them.

(Chapter 3 | Chapter 49 | Chapter 109 | Chapter 110)

I'm assuming the fanfics in mind weren't having her cry as part of a character study examining the ramifications of how being thrust into a leadership role at such a young age and internalizing so much trauma while maintaining a front for the sake of others and leaned into being more tropey, which is something that people are free to write as an exercise in flexing their creative muscles, but it's not something I'm keen on reading either.

Alright, so something tha really bugs me in the tpn fandom, particularly in fanfics, is how they characterize Emma. There's a lot of fic I've read that make her a crybaby. Now there isn't anything wrong with a character being a crybaby but it isn't accurate for Emma. Yes she's emotional and sensitive and open about it, but you need to remember that she's canonly only ever cried 3 or 4 times in the span of 15 years.

[alittlechaotics-blog]

Just finished One Day and my chest hurts, I have a headache and my eyes are so thick from crying I can barely see properly. 10/10 show... No notes... I don't think I've ever loved something so completely the way I loved this show from beginning to end. Wow... Just wow.

[embersofhope-if]

THE SECOND TBOSAS TRAILER DROPPED!!!!!

I KNOW

ive been going feral over it on twitter🤭

^^here it is for anyone who hasnt seen it yet😋😋

[fullscoreshenanigans]

This is a very good question because on the one hand most of them aren't expected to live past puberty, tied up with how Grace Field has this underlying oppressive air to it alongside rigid routines that can be applied to the clothing they wear like Kei Toda puts forth in chapter three of her book (one that I know you don't favor but for the sake of discussion):

And Grace Field might potentially be limited in what books it offers on the subject, either explicitly discussed in nonfiction texts or as an aspect of fictional stories.

(TPN Light Novel 1: A Letter from Norman - “The Day Emma Cried”)

But on the other hand, it couldn't hurt?

One of the main policies of Grace Field is the children living healthy lives and experiencing rich emotions, so to explicitly curtail and punish exploration of gender seems unnecessarily antagonistic and counterproductive. While Moms might not actively direct attention to it with how the farm system prioritizes their biological capabilities (obligatory "gross"), if a child brings it up on their own, it seems more beneficial to let the them explore how they feel during their blissful time at Grace Field than to tell them to squash it down and bottle it up.

So I have a headcanon that Christy is transfem. It literally started from a joke because I've seen "Chris" and "Christy" both. But it grew on me. I imagine her playing a lot with Yvette and other young girls and eventually realize she likes Christy better than Chris. (Though I eventually call her Cherise). She doesn't understand what it means until reaching the human world. It's so cute.

I LOVE THAT WHAT. christy is absolutely one of my favorite (s)he is just s o utterly precious to me, i cant even put it into words oml😭😭😭😭😭

that would be such a fun thing to explore tho. like. would any of them even know that concept exists? how would she realize what she was feeling was dysphoria? and most importantly- what Adorable ass outfits would anna and gilda (and nat) dress her in😭😭😭💗💗💗

[leaving-fragments]

unreal unearth is still a gem btw

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 17

˗ˏˋ reconnecting ˎˊ˗

"Fridays are not always the best day of the week, you can vouch for this one at least. It's Emma's birthday party and you're not sure you two still vibe together or not after all this time. And coming home... you don't expect Jungkook to be awake, especially not with your cold war going on. But he is."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 9,6k

content: begrudgingly gift-shopping, hidden treasures, old vs new friendships, reconnecting, pretty girls and the inability to discern whether it's flirting or polite talk, AM talks, actually listening (thank god, progress!), and vanilla kink striking again because jungkook in this fic has free will and i cannot control him

✧ author's note ✧

WASSSSSUPPPP my peoplessss!!

Okay so here’s Chapter 17—aka the chapter where all of you start collectively projecting your unresolved issues with your high school best friend, your fuckboy roommate, and your local pastel/goth lesbian duo. I say that with love.

Now LISTEN. I keep raising the bar for this story like but honestly?? That’s on YOU. You absolute feral gremlins with your “when’s the next update” comments like I’m a vending machine that dispenses emotional damage. (It’s fine. I thrive under fear and pressure. You’re welcome.)

About this chapter!! So my initial plan was for Nix to buy Jungkook an actual vinyl player… until I did the research and realized those bitches go for 150-300 bucks even secondhand. Be fr. They are NOT in a relationship. This man is her hot emotional disaster roommate who’s been beefing with her for three days and literally slammed a door at her. I would not spend a single euro on that man beyond what is legally required. Fifteen dollars for a John Mayer record? That’s the sweet spot. It says “I hate you but I know what music you like and I think about you when you’re not around and that makes me want to bite drywall.”

Also: if you know that Inside Wants Out is an early acoustic EP that’s kinda slept on but has a few gut-wrenching tracks about vulnerability and romantic ambivalence… well. Have fun.

Now shut up because I love writing female friendships and this chapter is my offering to the goddesses of sapphic chaos. Yeji and Irya being absolute queens??? We love. But also EMMA. Emma and that awkward tension of do we still fit? Did we ever really know each other or was it just proximity and hormones and being stuck in the same suburban hellscape? That shit is SO REAL. Reuniting with old friends is like a spiritual liminal space and I needed to capture that gnawing weirdness.

AND JIMIN. The eyeliner scene??? I almost CRIED writing it. I had to pause. That man is so soft it makes me want to shove him into a pillow fort and protect him from the world. He’s so good. He sees her, without wanting anything in return. You better analyze it or I’ll strangle every single one of you.

Now. Regarding the very tense bathroom cologne scene. I was actually going to drag the cold war out longer, truly. I had plans. But Jungkook opened his slutty little mouth and said, “No, actually, I’m feral and I’ve been suffering in silence and she smells like sex and nostalgia and I must act.” And what was I supposed to do? Argue? Please. I have 0 narrative agency here. That much is clear.

Also his birthday is coming. So like. I didn’t want to enter that subplot with them still fake-ignoring each other like divorced parents. You’re welcome.

ANYWAY. The next few chapters are slower paced but VERY important. It’s all those little moments where the characters start changing without realizing it. The kind of growth you only see in hindsight. The slow part of the slow burn. But I swear to god I’m obsessed with how it’s turning out and I just want to share it with you and roll around in the angst like a dog in grass.

Okay that’s all. I love you. Go scream in the comments or eat drywall. Or both! <3 Mwah.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Fridays aren't supposed to sneak up on you like a debt collector with something to prove.

Usually, you spend the whole week crawling toward Friday like it's an oasis in the desert of your existence. Monday is hell. Tuesday is hell's waiting room. Wednesday offers a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, the week won't actually kill you. Thursday is its own special brand of torture—so close to freedom you can taste it, but still trapped in the purgatory of obligation.

And then: Friday. 

Glorious, beautiful Friday.

Except this one. This one materialized out of nowhere, ambushing you with its presence and the sudden, horrifying realization that you have exactly zero hours to prepare for what's coming.

So here you are, somehow already standing in a flea market that smells like mothballs and questionable life choices, watching Yeji hold up a fishnet... something against her body while Irya coos over crystals that probably came from the dollar store.

"What do you think?" Yeji asks, draping the fishnet monstrosity over her shoulders. "Is it giving 'fashion-forward' or 'I found this in a dumpster'?"

"Definitely dumpster," you mutter, eyes scanning the crowded stalls without really seeing them. 

Because your mind? Your mind is elsewhere—specifically on the fact that you still need to find a birthday gift for your insufferable roommate.

Jungkook. 

Just thinking his name makes your jaw clench. 

It's been three days since your argument, and the apartment has been a cold war zone of pointed silences and aggressive door closing. 

He wants to be petty? Fine. You can be petty right back. Twice as petty, even. So you’re not talking to him either.

"Hello?” Yeji waves a hand in front of your face. "You've been staring at that old guy selling taxidermy squirrels for like, two minutes straight. Should I be concerned?"

You blink, refocusing. "What? No. I'm just... looking."

"For what exactly?" Irya appears at your side, a small purple crystal clutched in her palm. "You said you already got Emma's birthday present."

"Just browsing," you lie smoothly. "Flea markets are full of... treasures."

Yeji snorts. "Since when do you care about 'treasures'? Last time I dragged you to a vintage store, you said it smelled like 'dead people's closets.'"

“No I didn’t.”

"Right." Yeji doesn't look convinced, but she's already distracted by a display of chunky silver rings. "I'm gonna check these out. Meet you at the food trucks in twenty?"

You nod, grateful for the chance to browse alone. Not that you have any fucking clue what to get Jungkook. What do you buy for someone whose entire personality seems to be "brooding film student with inexplicably good taste in coffee"?

It is like an abandoned warehouse, this flea market—stalls crammed together in haphazard rows, hipsters and bargain hunters elbowing past each other, haggling over everything from antique doorknobs to hand-knitted beanies that look like they were made by someone's cat…

You wander aimlessly, passing stalls selling vintage cameras (too expensive), artisanal coffee beans (too obvious), and leather-bound journals (too pretentious, even for him). 

Nothing feels right. 

Not that it matters—it's just a stupid obligation gift. You shouldn't care this much.

But you do. And that's annoying as fuck.

Then, a rickety table stacked with milk crates catches your eye—or rather, the handwritten sign that reads "RECORDS $5-20" in faded Sharpie. 

The elderly man behind the table looks like he's been selling vinyl since before your parents were born, his weathered hands carefully flipping through a box as a customer asks about some obscure band.

You wait until they leave, then approach, trying to look like someone who actually knows something about records. The crates are dusty, disorganized, with no apparent system. Just hundreds of albums crammed together like sardines.

"Looking for anything specific?" the old man asks, voice gravelly from what you assume are decades of cigarettes.

"Just browsing," you say, already flipping through the nearest crate.

Most of the covers are faded, corners bent, some with water damage or mysterious stains you'd rather not identify. You recognize maybe one in ten artists—a lot of jazz, classic rock, some folk singers your dad probably listened to in college.

This is stupid. You don't know what you're looking for. Jungkook collects vinyl but doesn't even own a record player. What kind of pretentious bullshit is that? It's like buying books just to display them on a shelf without reading them.

You're about to give up when your fingers pause on a familiar name.

John Mayer.

The album cover is slightly worn at the edges, but otherwise in decent condition. 

"Inside Wants Out," it says in simple white letters against the picture of a dude (you guess it’s John) in the background. 

You don’t recognize it at all.

But Jungkook listens to him. His vynil collection is basically a shrine to him. 

So you ask "how much?", holding up the record.

The old man squints. "Fifteen."

Fifteen bucks. Okay, that’s... actually reasonable. Not so expensive that it seems like you care, but not so cheap that it looks like an afterthought. 

Just a casual, "hey, saw this and thought of your weird vinyl collection" kind of gift.

Perfect.

"I'll take it," you say, already digging in your bag for your wallet.

The man slides the record into a paper sleeve, takes your money, and hands you your change with a nod. 

Transaction complete. Gift acquired. Problem solved.

You tuck the record under your arm, feeling oddly satisfied despite yourself. It's just a record. Just a stupid birthday gift for your annoying roommate who thinks he knows everything about everyone, including your taste in men.

But as you weave through the crowd toward the food trucks, you can't help but wonder if he'll like it. If his face will do that thing—that brief, unguarded thing where his eyes light up before he remembers he's supposed to be all cool and detached.

Not that you care. You're just fulfilling a social obligation. That's all.

That's absolutely all.

"Did you actually buy something?" Yeji asks when you reach her, eyeing the record under your arm. "Since when are you into vinyl?"

"Just decoration. For the vinyl wall.”

Irya peers at it. "John Mayer? Isn't he like, your dad's music?"

"He's not that old," you find yourself saying, then immediately wonder why you're defending John fucking Mayer of all people. "And anyway, it was cheap."

"Whatever you say." Yeji shrugs, then holds up a small paper bag. "I got those earrings we saw last week. The ones that look like little daggers."

"Nice," you nod, grateful for the subject change. "I'm starving. Can we get food now?"

As you follow them toward the food trucks, you resist the urge to check the record again, to make sure it's not too scratched or damaged. It doesn't matter. It's just a record. Just a gift.

Just something to cross off your to-do list before Emma's birthday tonight and Jungkook's surprise dinner tomorrow.

Nearing the trucks, suddenly everything smells good. Too good. The kind of good that makes decision-making a fucking nightmare.

You slow your steps, scanning the options.

One truck’s got sizzling skewers of grilled meat, charred at the edges, dripping onto soft pita. Another is doing fresh arepas, the scent of melted cheese thick and indulgent in the air. A few feet away, some guy with tattooed knuckles and an unreasonably aggressive beanie is ladling out steaming bowls of Vietnamese pho.

And then there’s the birria taco stand—because of course there is—and the line is criminally long, people clutching Styrofoam trays of consommé like their lives depend on it.

Your stomach rumbles.

By the time you settle on something—one of those ridiculous but beautiful smash burgers, glossy brioche bun soaking up all that greasy, caramelized goodness—you barely get your wallet out before Yeji hip-checks you out of the way.

“I pay, I pay, I pay,” she announces, tapping her phone against the card reader with swift finality.

You blink. “Okay, what?”

Yeji grins, entirely too pleased with herself. “Well, I’m obviously paying for my beautiful girlfriend, and I kinda figured I’d put you in the package deal.”

You snort, giving her a shove. “Fine. But beers later on me.”

“Deal,” she says easily, tossing the receipt onto the counter like a Wall Street exec closing a million-dollar deal.

Irya latches onto your arm, steering you out of the way so Yeji can continue flirting with the guy behind the counter—some blue-haired, too-many-rings kind of guy who’s already leaning into it, smirking as Yeji compliments his “artistry” with the grill.

“She’s ridiculous,” you mutter.

Irya hums, but there’s amusement in her eyes as she grabs your food, balancing her own order on top of yours. “Just my type of ridiculous.”

You shake your head, leading the way toward a set of old picnic tables at the edge of the food truck lot. The wood is worn, graffiti-scratched and dented from years of use, but it’s clean enough. You drop into a seat, setting your tray down, and Irya follows, sliding in across from you.

She sets her elbow on the table, chin resting lightly in her palm, and smiles. A lock of blonde hair falls loose, catching the light, and she tucks it back behind her ear absently.

“So, Emma’s birthday tonight?”

You unwrap your burger, glancing up at her. “Yeah.”

She studies you for a second, eyes warm. “Excited?”

You hesitate. 

“Yeah,” you say again, but it comes out different this time. Not untrue, exactly, but not as sure as it should be.

Irya notices. Tilts her head slightly, patient, the corners of her mouth tugging into something knowing. 

“You don’t have to be.”

A breath of something close to laughter slips out of you.

 “I mean, I am excited,” you say, because you are. “It’s just—it’s been a while. We used to be really close in high school, but then, you know… life.”

Irya nods, thumb idly tracing the grain of the table. “She’s in Columbia, right?”

“Yeah. I stayed in-state for a bit before moving here. Different cities, different schools, different everything.” You shrug, picking at the edge of the wax paper lining your tray. “We tried to keep in touch, but it’s not the same when you’re not living through the same things anymore. And then you just… don’t talk as much. And then that becomes normal.”

“And now?”

“Now she’s in the city, and I guess we’re both trying to reconnect.”

“That’s good,” Irya says, and she means it. “It’s nice when people want to find their way back to each other.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, glancing down at your food, pushing a fry through the puddle of ketchup on your tray. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Irya watches you, quiet for a second. Then—

“She’s inviting a lot of people, right?”

You nod, grateful for the slight shift in direction. “Yeah. Told me to bring people, too, so I figured you and Yeji. Maybe Jimin.”

“Jimin would love that.” Irya grins. “He’s been in study-group hell all week. He deserves some fun.”

“You think?” You manage to say whilst chewing on the potato. “I thought I wouldn’t be doing him any favors. Like, he’s the type of person to say yes just out of obligation. And I didn’t want to pressure him into anything.”

Irya makes a soft sound of amusement, propping her chin in her palm. “Nah. If Jimin really didn’t want to go, he’d find a way to say no without actually saying no.”

You pause mid-chew. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’d do that thing where he apologizes like, three different ways in the same sentence, but somehow, you still walk away not totally sure if he said yes or no.”

You snort, swallowing. “Okay, yeah. That sounds about right.”

Irya grins, poking at her fries. “And anyway, he actually likes going out. He just overthinks it first.”

“You say that like you’re sure.”

“I am sure,” she says breezily. “I have classes with him. I watch it happen in real time.”

“Real time?”

“Oh, yeah. Like, someone invites him somewhere, and you can see him start to spiral. Like, ‘Okay, but what if I go and I regret it? But what if I don’t go and I regret that instead? But what if I go, but it’s not fun? But what if I don’t go, and it was fun, and now I’m missing out?’” She mimics his voice, exaggerated and tragic, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but that is a valid crisis.”

“It is,” Irya agrees, laughing too. “But the point is, once he actually gets there, he has a good time.” She levels you with a look, half teasing, half expectant. “So invite him.”

You sigh, reaching for another fry. “Fine.”

And then—

“I got us free dumplings.”

Yeji appears out of nowhere, sliding into the seat next to Irya and dropping a white takeout box onto the table like she’s just secured a goddamn business deal.

You blink. “How?”

She shrugs, already reaching for a dumpling. “Wouldn’t take my money.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Irya hums, all faux-innocent. “Didn’t happen to have anything to do with that very long, very intimate conversation you were having with the guy behind the counter, did it?”

Yeji smirks around a bite of dumpling. “I dunno. Did it?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Men and their non-existent gaydars.”

“Right? Kinda sucks when she grabs all their attention,” Irya smiles, reaching for a dumpling of her own.

“Not my fault he was easy to entertain,” Yeji says, looking entirely unbothered. “Anyway, eat. They’re fresh.”

You don’t argue. The dumplings are good—warm, crisp at the edges, the filling rich with just the right balance of spice.

Yeji watches you for a second, chewing thoughtfully. “So what were we talking about?”

“Jimin,” Irya supplies.

Yeji groans. “Ugh. Tragic little academic. Is he still alive?”

Irya nods, popping a dumpling into her mouth. “Barely. But we’re dragging him to Emma’s party tonight, so he might actually remember what fun feels like.”

Yeji quirks an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Emma?” She flicks a glance at you. “Your other friend? Birthday girl?”

You take a sip of your drink. “Mmhm.”

Yeji hums, tapping her chopsticks against the takeout box. “Bestie competition, then.”

You nearly choke. “Oh my god.”

Irya grins, delighted. “It is kind of serious. High school bestie versus new college besties.”

Yeji tilts her head, considering. “I don’t know, man. Legacy friends have an unfair advantage. History. Nostalgia.”

“Yeah,” Irya sighs, fake mournful. “How can we ever compete with the memories?”

You level them both with a flat look. “You’ve known me for a month.”

Yeji leans back. “It’s been a whole month already? Woah.”

“We’re joking. I’m sure we’ll get along.” Irya adds.

You snort, shaking your head.

Yeji watches you for a second, still smirking, but then the expression shifts—just a little. 

“Are you excited?”

The question catches you off guard. Not because it’s unexpected, but because it’s… genuine.

You pause, setting down your cup. 

“Yeah,” you say, slower this time. “I mean, I haven’t seen her in a while, so it’ll be—nice. A little weird, maybe. But nice.”

Yeji nods. “You gonna introduce us?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah?”

Irya arches her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You groan. “Oh my god, what is that supposed to mean?”

Yeji shrugs, reaching for another dumpling. “I mean, if she’s bestie material, we gotta vet her.”

“Shouldn’t she be the one vetting you two? She’s known me since I had braces and a regrettable side bang phase. Feels like she’s got seniority here.”

Yeji gasps. “Wow. So you’re saying we have no authority in this situation?”

“We really don’t.” Irya muses, almost singsonging.

“I don’t know,” Yeji muses, tapping a finger against her chin. “I feel like we bring some very important qualifications to the table. For example, we met Y/N when she was already in her fully realized, evolved form. We didn’t just settle for her because we grew up in the same town.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus.”

Yeji nods, completely serious. “Yeah, we got to make an informed choice. Handpicked, if you will.”

“Wow, lucky me.”

Irya grins. “So lucky.”

You shake your head, reaching for another fry. “Just… behave.”

“I always behave,” Yeji says, smirking. “You’re just afraid we’ll be better besties than Emma.”

You scoff. “That’s not even remotely the issue.”

“Then what is the issue?” Irya prompts, head tilting to the side.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud feels like giving it weight. Giving it power.

You exhale. “It’s just—there’s a difference between keeping in touch and actually knowing someone after years apart. And I guess I don’t know if we still… fit the way we used to.”

That quiets them for a beat.

Yeji tilts her head, watching you with something unreadable in her gaze. Irya rests her chin in her palm again, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

“That’s fair,” Irya says, voice softer this time. “It’s weird when people grow in different directions. Sometimes you come back together. Sometimes you don’t.”

You nod, not entirely trusting yourself to speak.

“But hey,” Yeji cuts in, voice as casual as ever, “if she sucks, at least you’ll have us.”

You huff a laugh. “So generous of you.”

She winks. “I know.”

And just like that, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter.

You stare at your reflection, one eye perfectly winged, the other a smudged disaster—like your life, really: half put together, half absolute chaos.

You lean closer to the mirror, squinting at your uneven eyeliner with the kind of intense focus that FBI agents would reserve for defusing bombs or something. You've been at this for twenty minutes now, and your right eye is starting to look like it's been drawn by a five-year-old with a crayon during an earthquake.

"Fuck," you mutter, reaching for a cotton swab. 

Third time's the charm, right? 

Or maybe fifth. 

You've lost count.

From the living room, Griffin's thunderous purr competes with Yeji's animated voice. She's been trying to convince Yoongi to produce some track for her for the past fifteen minutes, her persistence almost admirable if it weren't so clearly futile. Yoongi's monotone responses barely register over the distance, but you can picture his expression—bored, unbothered, probably wanting to kill himself before engaging.

"Orange cats are literally the basic bitches of the cat world," Yeji declares loudly enough for you to hear. "Black cats have personality. They have depth. They're mysterious."

"Tell that to Griffin," Irya responds, her voice warm and amused. "He seems pretty content being basic on your lap right now."

"That's cats for you," Yeji sighs dramatically. "The least person who wants them is the one who gets them."

You smile despite your eyeliner frustration. Because it’s ironic—Yeji, who swears black cats are superior, is now trapped under Griffin's substantial orange weight. 

That's karma, feline edition.

You’re wearing a dress to the gathering—the same one from that night in January. You've worn it exactly once since buying it, and now it's making its second appearance. 

It's not like you planned it this way. It just happened to be the perfect outfit for Emma's birthday dinner. 

(At least that's what you tell yourself as you deliberately avoid examining your motives too closely.)

Emma. Your high school friend. Your only real connection to your life before college. 

Before this apartment. 

Before Jungkook. 

You haven't seen her in months (since that night in January), and there's a strange anxiety bubbling in your stomach that has nothing to do with your makeup struggles. 

You did vibe back then. But… was it a ‘we vibe because we are going out’ situation; or was it because you two actually connected?

People change. You've changed. The question hanging in the air is whether you've changed in compatible ways.

At least you won't be alone tonight. Emma said you could bring friends, so naturally, you are bringing them along.

You dab at your eyeliner again, smudging it further. Great. Now you look like you've been punched. Or crying. Or both.

A soft knock on the door interrupts your silent self-criticism.

"Come in," you call, not bothering to hide your frustration. It's not like anyone in this apartment hasn't seen you in various states of disaster before.

The door creaks open, and Jimin's face appears in the gap, his expression shifting from curious to sympathetic as he takes in your makeup situation.

"Having trouble?" he asks, stepping into the small bathroom. 

The space immediately feels warmer with him in it. Jimin has that effect—like a human comfort blanket.

"What gave it away?" you deadpan, gesturing to your face. "The fact that I look like I let a toddler do my makeup, or the fact that I've been in here for half an hour?"

He laughs softly, the sound gentle and reassuring. "It's not that bad."

"Liar."

"Okay, it's a little uneven," he admits, moving closer to examine your handiwork. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face with unexpected intensity. "Let me."

Before you can respond, he's taking the eyeliner from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a brief moment of warmth.

"You know how to do this?" you ask, surprised.

"I have sisters," he says simply, which doesn't really answer your question, but you don't push it. "Close your eye," he instructs, his voice soft but confident.

You comply, feeling the gentle pressure of his hand steadying your face. His touch is light, precise—and you can’t help but feel this is some sort of significant moment. 

"Stay still," he murmurs, and you can sense the smile forming on his lips.

The eyeliner glides across your lid with surprising smoothness. One stroke, then another. No hesitation in his movement. You're impressed and a little confused by his skill, but mostly grateful.

"Where did you learn to—"

"Shh," he interrupts. "No talking or I'll mess up."

You fall silent, letting him work. There's something about Jimin that's always made you curious. He's like a book with half the pages glued together—what you can read is beautiful, but you sense there's more to the story.

"Done," he announces after a moment, stepping back to admire his work. "Take a look."

You turn to the mirror and blink in surprise. The wing is perfect—sharp enough to kill a man, as Yeji herself would say. It matches the other eye exactly, creating a symmetry you couldn't achieve on your own.

"Jimin, this is..." you trail off, turning to face him. "How are you so good at this?"

He shrugs, a small, almost shy grin playing at his lips. "I just have a steady hand, I guess."

There's more to it than that—you can tell by the way he avoids your eyes, the slight flush creeping up his neck. But something tells you not to press further. 

Everyone has their secrets.

Private pieces they're not ready to share. 

You, of all people, know that.

"Well, whatever the reason, thank you," you say sincerely. "You just saved me from looking like a hot mess at Emma's birthday."

"Happy to help," he replies, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You look beautiful."

The compliment is simple, genuine, without the weight of expectation or desire that usually accompanies such words from men. 

It's refreshing. Because you feel like Jimin sees you—really sees you—without wanting anything in return.

"We should probably get going soon," he says, glancing at his watch. "Yeji's been threatening to leave without us for the past ten minutes."

"As if she would," you scoff, reaching for your lipstick. "She's too excited about meeting Emma and judging her worthiness."

Jimin laughs. "True. Though I think she's more excited about the free food."

"Priorities," you agree with a smile.

You apply your lipstick—a muted berry shade that complements your eyeshadow without being too dramatic. The final touch to your appearance. Not too casual, not too glamorous. Perfect for a birthday dinner.

You've always loved makeup, the ritual of it, the transformation. 

Not because you're trying to hide or become someone else, but because it's an extension of yourself—another form of expression. 

You're so tired of those cliché "not like other girls" characters in movies and books who supposedly wear nothing but mascara yet somehow have flawless skin and perfect brows. 

As if enjoying makeup somehow makes you shallow or less authentic.

The truth is, most girls you know love makeup to some degree. Some for the artistry, some for the confidence boost, some just because it's fun. And you're no different. 

That doesn't make you basic or vain—it makes you human. 

A human who happens to enjoy the satisfying swipe of a good lipstick.

"Ready?" Jimin asks, holding the door open for you.

You take one last look at your reflection. The girl staring back looks put together, confident. 

Whether she actually feels that way is another story entirely, but hey—fake it till you make it, right?

"Ready," you confirm.

You're halfway out the door when you pause. 

Something's missing. The final touch.

"Oh, wait. Cologne."

Jimin nods understandingly, already retreating toward the living room. "Don't take too long or Yeji might actually follow through on her threats this time."

You turn back to the bathroom counter, sliding open the narrow drawer where your collection lives. Four different bottles stare back at you, each with its own personality, its own statement. Your fingers hover over them, indecisive, until they land on one particular bottle.

Amber, its color.

The golden liquid catches the bathroom light, glowing like trapped sunlight inside the crystal bottle. 

You haven't used it since... well, since that night in January. You've been saving it for special occasions, though what constitutes "special" has remained conveniently undefined.

You lift the bottle, turning it in your hand. You apply it to your wrists, your neck, your ears. And before you can overthink it, you bring it to your nose, inhaling lightly.

Memories unfurl instantly, blooming in your mind like clouds puffing up in a winter sky. They tumble through your consciousness, overwhelming and vivid, making it hard to breathe—though you're not entirely sure you want to.

His hands on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough pressure to leave phantom marks that lingered for days afterward. 

His slicked chin when he smiled up at you from between your thighs, all smug and proud for making you cum with his tongue. 

His infuriating, satisfied smirk that somehow annoyed you, but also turned you on.

Rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, soft eyes in the aftermath. 

You distinctly remember that was the first time you had thought Jungkook looked cute. Not just hot or sexy, but genuinely cute in a way that had caught you off guard.

And you didn't even know his name then.

The door swings open without warning.

You nearly drop the bottle, fumbling to catch it before it shatters against the tile floor. Your heart leaps into your throat as you look up, startled.

Jungkook peers inside, and you both freeze, staring at each other like you don’t know which one of you should stay and which one of you should leave. His eyes flick from your face to the bottle in your hand, recognition dawning in his expression.

A long pause.

Your eyes drift down his torso, inevitably.

He's wearing a black t-shirt that hugs his frame in all the right places, hair rumpled and messy. His rainy-like scent envelops the cramped space, mingling with the lingering notes of vanilla on your wrist like they’ve always belonged together. 

His eyes drift too. Drop lower, taking in the dress hugging your curves, fingers tightening on the doorframe, knuckles whitening with the pressure. 

You watch the subtle movement, the physical manifestation of restraint, and feel an answering tightness in your chest.

You haven't spoken since Tuesday. Since the fight about Jason. Since he suddenly starting talking about vibes like he’s the type of guy to trust his gut.

And maybe he is. 

And maybe you aren’t.

"Sorry," he says finally, breaking the silence. "Didn't know you were in here."

He avoids your gaze.

You don’t know if that makes you angry or anxious. It’s hard to determine what’s crippling your chest.

"It's fine. I was just leaving."

Neither of you moves.

His eyes drift to the cologne bottle again. Recognition, desire, frustration. 

Then, he masks it. 

But you caught it. 

He remembers the fragrance.

And how could he not? When he constantly praised it that night, how it rested on your skin, how good it made you smell, how fucking good you tasted.

"Going somewhere?" he asks then, interrupting your conflicting thoughts.

"Emma's birthday dinner," you reply, voice tight.

He nods slowly, gaze returning to the dress. The dress from that night. The dress he peeled off you with those same hands now gripping the doorframe like it's the only thing keeping him anchored.

You should move. You should cap the cologne, put it away, walk past him and join your friends who are waiting. You should maintain the cold war you've established since your fight.

Instead, you find yourself asking, "Did you need something?"

He purses his lips. "Just needed to pee.”

"Right," you say. "I'll get out of your way."

You cap the cologne, and you just know his eyes are tracking your every motion. Because that’s Jungkook for you—when he’s focused on something, it’s obvious.

You move toward the door—toward him—and it’s like suddenly, the small bathroom feels impossibly smaller. Like there’s not enough space for both of you and all the unspoken words crowding the air.

You'll have to squeeze past him. There's no way to avoid it.

His grip on the doorframe tightens further, as if he's holding himself back. From what, you're not entirely sure. Touching you? Yelling at you? Both seem equally possible.

"Excuse me," you murmur.

He steps back marginally, not enough to clear the path completely. 

Like he’s hesitating. 

Like he doesn’t know whether he wants to move for real, or stay rooted in place.

“Jungkook,” you say, and his name feels strange on your tongue after days of not speaking it. “Move.”

“You smell like that night,” he settles for staying instead of moving, voice dropping lower, annoyed. “You know that, right? You’re going to smell exactly like you did when I had you against that wall.”

Your breath catches. Heat blooms across your chest, up your neck.

“That’s not—” you start, but the lie dies on your lips. 

Because it is. Of course it is. You knew exactly what you were doing when you reached for that bottle.

You see his jaw work. His tongue peek against the inside of his cheek. His eyes lock into yours like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. 

“Have fun at your dinner,” is all he comes up with, stepping aside. 

The movement feels like it costs him something.

You move past him. Take a deep breath, pushing thoughts of Jungkook aside. 

Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about Emma, about reconnecting with a part of your life that existed before this apartment, before him.

But as you step into the living room, you can still feel the weight of his gaze on your back, can still smell the amber scent on your skin, can still hear his voice in your ear.

You know that, right? You’re going to smell exactly like you did when I had you against that wall.

And the worst part is, you don’t know why or how—but maybe that’s exactly what you wanted.

The restaurant is too loud, too crowded, too New York—but Emma’s hug is warm, and that makes up for it.

“Finally.” She squeezes you tight, like she’s trying to merge your atoms together. “You took forever.”

Yeji, behind you, snorts. “Blame her eyeliner existential crisis.”

Emma pulls back, eyebrows raised. “Oh? We still doing that?”

“We are always doing that,” you deadpan.

She laughs—her laugh. It’s the same as it was in high school, loud and full, like she actually enjoys things instead of just tolerating them. That hasn’t changed. Neither has the way she looks at you, eyes scanning your face, taking you in like she’s checking if you’re still the same person too.

The answer? You don’t know.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you guys,” she says, looping an arm through yours.

You let yourself be pulled in—into the restaurant, into her world, into the crowd of fifteen fucking people all squeezed around a too-small table in the back corner. She moves through the chaos easily, hand on your wrist, steering you like she used to when you were seventeen and invincible.

“This is Yeji, Irya, and Jimin,” you say as you go, pointing them out like exhibits in a museum.

Emma grins at them, all effortless charm. “Your uni friends. I’ve heard so much.”

Jimin, ever polite, smiles back. “All good things, I hope.”

Emma does not confirm or deny, which says enough.

There’s a blur of names you won’t remember—Emma’s friends, classmates, people who probably have their lives together in a way you do not. Someone pulls her into another conversation, and you hover awkwardly at the edge of the group, watching her slip back into a world that isn’t yours.

It’s strange.

You used to know everything about her. Every inside joke, every dream, every late-night insecurity whispered over FaceTime. 

But now—now you’re an observer. 

A guest.

Still, when she sits, she grabs your wrist again and tugs you down next to her.

“So,” she starts, picking up her glass—red wine, something deep and rich. “Are you finally admitting that I was right, or are we still in the denial phase?”

You blink, thrown. “About what?”

She gives you a look. “Do I have to spell it out?”

Your stomach knots.

Jungkook. She means Jungkook.

You exhale through your nose, reaching for your water instead. “We are so not doing this here.”

Emma grins, but she lets it go—for now.

Instead, she leans back. “God, I forgot how exhausting socializing is. I swear, law school is turning me into one of those people who can only function in coffee shops and libraries.”

You snort. “You were already that person in high school.”

“True,” she concedes, tilting her glass toward you. “But now it’s worse. Now I actually enjoy tax law. Like, genuinely. It’s fascinating.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Swear on my life,” she says, amused. “You should see me in my internship. I get excited about deductions. I have a favorite tax loophole.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Emma just grins. “Give it time. One day, you’ll come to me, desperate for tax advice, and I’ll be your only hope. And I will lord it over you.”

“You wish.”

“Oh, I know.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the way your lips twitch. It’s easy, falling into conversation with Emma. Easier than you thought it would be, considering how much has changed since high school.

“So, what’s the plan then?” you ask, nudging your knee against hers under the table. “You still set on Seattle after graduation?”

Emma hesitates. Not in a bad way—more like she’s holding onto something, waiting for the right moment.

“Actually,” she says, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about Europe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Europe?”

“Yeah.” She leans forward slightly, eyes lighting up. “I did a summer program there—France, Italy, Greece, Spain. It was insane. I loved it. I don’t know, I just—” She exhales, shaking her head like she can’t quite put it into words. “Seattle was always the safe plan, you know? The practical one. But now? I keep thinking about the Mediterranean coast. The markets, the people. It feels like people there work to live, not live to work like they do here in America.”

You watch her carefully. Emma has always been a planner, a strategist. She doesn’t make decisions lightly.

And yet—she looks alive talking about this.

“So, what?” you ask. “You’re gonna become a tax attorney in Greece? Help rich expats avoid paying their fair share?”

Emma snorts. “God, no. If I go, I’d probably work with international firms, corporate law, maybe even consulting. It’s different over there, you know? Taxes, policies, loopholes—everything shifts depending on the country, the treaties in place.”

“You realize you sound even worse now, right?”

“Shut up,” she laughs. “At least I’m passionate about something.”

You hum, thoughtful. “So, Europe.”

“Maybe,” she says. “Nothing’s set in stone yet.”

But you can tell, just from the way she says it, that it’s more than a maybe.

It’s funny. The last time you saw her, she was talking about Seattle like it was inevitable. Now she’s talking about the Mediterranean coast with the kind of quiet certainty that makes you think she’s already half there.

People change.

You’ve changed.

And yet, it feels like nothing between you two has changed at all. 

Emma eyes you for a long moment, then smirks. 

“Your turn.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’ve barely told me anything about your life,” she says. “How’s English? Still planning on breaking the hearts of young, impressionable students as a professor?”

“First of all, no. That is not the plan. And second—”

“You can’t tell me you don’t look the part,” she teases. “The eyeliner? The whole vibe? You’d have students falling in love with you instantly.”

“I hate you.”

She grins. “I missed you too.”

You feel it, then—the warmth of familiarity, of friendship. It settles in your chest, light and unburdened, and for the first time in a while, you think:

This is nice.

Even with the changes, even with the time apart, even with the half-truths lingering at the back of your throat—this is still Emma.

“Come on,” Emma nudges your arm, eyes gleaming. “Let me introduce you to my favorite tax nerds.”

You groan, but let her pull you toward the other end of the table. “If I die of boredom, I’m haunting you.”

“They’re fun,” she insists, dodging between chairs and half-full wine glasses. “For tax people, anyway.”

The group is mid-conversation when you arrive—something about offshore accounts, corporate loopholes, and why the ultra-wealthy pay less in taxes than you probably spend on coffee each year. (Fascinating.) Chris and Max, two guys who both look like they were born wearing pressed button-ups, are deep in debate, hands gesturing, voices overlapping.

But the girl sitting across from you—Nina—just listens, quiet, observant.

She clocks you the moment you sit down. And you clock her right back.

Dark brown skin, black curls tucked behind one ear, a delicate gold necklace resting just above the collar of an oversized sweater. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal slender wrists, and she has the kind of presence that doesn’t need to fill space to be felt. 

There’s something measured about her. Something thoughtful. Like she only speaks when there’s something worth saying.

She’s pretty.

Really pretty.

But it’s more than that. She’s composed in a way that makes you hyperaware of yourself—your posture, the way you’re holding your drink, the way she looks at you with a quiet, unreadable expression.

“Hi,” she says, voice smooth, accent lilting ever so slightly.

It’s just that—simple. Friendly. Maybe.

You clear your throat. “Hey.”

Emma gestures between you. “Nina, this is my friend from high school—the one I told you about?”

Nina hums like she remembers, tilting her head. “The one who thinks tax law is boring?”

You blink. “Emma told you that?”

“She warned me in advance,” Nina says, lips twitching. “Said you might try to stage an intervention.”

You shoot Emma a look, but she’s already sipping her wine, unbothered. 

“Well,” you say, turning back to Nina, “I was going to be polite about it, but now I feel like I have a responsibility.”

That gets a small smile out of her. Just a slight curve of the lips, like she’s amused but won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing just how much.

You don’t know why that makes you want to push, just a little.

“So,” you continue, tilting your head, “what is it, then? The thing about tax law that actually doesn’t put you to sleep?”

Nina considers this. Takes a slow sip of her drink. And when she speaks, it’s not rushed—it’s careful.

“It’s not about the numbers,” she says, setting her glass down. “Not really. It’s about human nature. About how people behave when they think no one is watching. Governments set up incentives, and people react accordingly. It’s a game of strategy. A reflection of what a society actually values, not just what it claims to.”

You weren’t expecting that answer.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass. “So, what—you think taxes are, like, a moral compass?”

Nina shrugs. “Not a moral compass. But they show you what people are willing to bend the rules for. What they think is worth cheating for. And that’s… interesting, I think.”

You watch her, trying to get a read on her. She’s got this almost effortless kind of intrigue—the kind of person who could make anything sound poetic if she wanted to.

Emma groans. “Oh god, don’t encourage her. She’ll start talking about capital gains tax next.”

Nina lifts a brow. “It’s actually fascinating, if you—”

“Absolutely not,” Emma interrupts. “Nope. I refuse.”

You smirk. “I don’t know, Em. I kind of want to hear her out.”

Emma glares at you. “Do not encourage the tax philosophy.”

But Nina is looking at you again. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way that screams I’m interested. But in a way that’s… present. Attentive. Like she actually finds this conversation worth having.

And maybe that means nothing.

Or maybe it does.

You’re not sure.

Which—God, why is this always harder with girls?

With guys, it’s obvious. But with girls—well. You think she’s enjoying this. But is she just enjoying it, or is there something else there? Is this just conversation, or is it something that, in hindsight, will feel like a moment?

You have no fucking idea.

The conversation shifts after that—Emma talks about her summer in Europe, Chris and Max start debating New York’s best pizza, someone brings up an upcoming bar crawl.

And then, at some point, Nina glances at her phone before looking at you again.

“You mind if I get your number?” she asks.

Casual. Easy. Nothing in her tone suggests it’s anything more than that.

“Emma talks about you a lot,” she adds, mouth twitching slightly. “I feel like I should probably fact-check at least half of it.”

Emma swats at her, but you barely register it, already pulling your phone out.

You’re not reading into it. You’re not.

But also—

You kind of are.

Still, you hand your phone over, watch as Nina types in her number, then passes it back. Just a name in your contacts now. Simple. Unassuming.

You have no idea if you just made a new friend or if this is something else.

And honestly?

You kind of like not knowing.

“Well, well, well,” Yeji drawls, sliding into the conversation without invitation. “Are we allowed to sit, or is this a tax-exclusive gathering?”

You exhale. “Jesus, Yeji.”

“What? We were getting bored.” She drops into the seat beside you, tossing an arm over Irya’s chair. “Jimin’s been overanalyzing the condensation on his glass for the past fifteen minutes, and Irya’s just been smiling at people like a lost pageant contestant.”

“I was being friendly,” Irya corrects, unfazed.

“You were being too friendly.”

“Networking,” Irya insists, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I love people.”

“You do,” Emma says, delighted. “It’s terrifying.”

Irya beams, pleased. Yeji just sighs like she’s accepted her fate.

Nina watches all of this unfold with quiet amusement, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You two are together?”

Yeji tilts her head. “That a problem?”

Nina meets her gaze evenly. “No. It’s nice.”

It’s a simple statement, but it rings genuine, like she’s not just saying it to be polite. Yeji studies her for a second longer before nodding, satisfied, and pulling Irya in to kiss her temple.

Emma turns to you, grinning. “Your friends are so much more fun than my law ones.”

You smirk. “That’s because they have souls.”

Chris, still lingering in the tax-law-heavy end of the table, lifts a hand in protest. “Hey.”

Yeji ignores him completely, waving to Nina instead. “So, you’re a tax philosopher?”

Nina looks faintly amused but nods. “That’s what they tell me.”

“Cool, cool,” Yeji muses, reaching for Irya’s wine and taking a sip before Irya can protest. “And do you also believe that money isn’t real?”

Nina tilts her head slightly, considering. “I think it’s real in the sense that it determines the way the world functions. But I also think it’s one of the biggest shared delusions humanity has ever committed to.”

Yeji brightens. “See? This is the tax conversation I want to be having.”

You roll your eyes, but Nina takes it in stride. She’s good at this, you notice—letting conversations unfold naturally, never forcing her presence but never fading into the background either.

Across from you, Jimin has settled into his usual quiet observation, sipping his drink slowly. He’s not uncomfortable, just taking it all in. He catches your eye at one point, a small look that says ‘you good?’

You nod, barely perceptible.

He doesn’t push. Just gives a small nod back and turns his attention back to the conversation. Just listening in.

Emma leans in slightly, nudging your arm. “I like them,” she murmurs.

You glance at her, raising a brow. “Yeah?”

She hums. “They make you lighter.”

It’s such an Emma thing to say—blunt in a way that doesn’t feel invasive, just observant. 

You don’t respond right away, but you don’t need to. 

She’s already grinning like she knows the answer.

The apartment is quiet when you finally get home, the only light coming from the TV screen where some game is paused. 

Jungkook is sprawled on the couch, controller resting loosely in his hands, looking like he's been there for hours. He glances up when the door closes behind you, expression neutral.

"It's late," he says, not quite a question.

You drop your keys in the bowl by the door. "Yeah."

"Had fun?" He unpauses the game, thumbs moving lazily over the controller buttons. His character on screen walks aimlessly into a wall.

"Yeah," you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh of relief. "Emma's friends are cool. We ended up at this bar in Brooklyn after dinner."

He makes a noncommittal sound, still not looking at you.

"Jason wasn't there, though, so don't worry," you add, unable to help yourself.

That gets his attention. His thumbs still, and he scoffs, a short, sharp sound in the quiet apartment. 

“You know I don't give a fuck about that guy, right?"

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow, heading to the kitchen for water. "Because you seemed to have very strong opinions about him on Tuesday."

The controller drops onto the couch as he turns to face you fully. 

“Look," he says, voice tight with frustration. "I don't give a fuck who you fuck or who you date. Seriously. Not my business."

"Yup. Three rules," you start, unscrewing the cap on your water bottle.

"One, no one knows," he recites, cutting you off.

"Two, if somebody asks, we're just roommates," you continue.

"And three," he interrupts again, more forcefully, "no feelings. I know the fucking rules, Phoenix. I helped make them."

You take a long drink of water, studying him over the bottle. His hair is messy in a stupid endearing way, and there are shadows under his eyes. 

"So what was Tuesday about, then?" you ask finally.

He exhales slowly, jaw working. "I told you. The guy gives me bad vibes."

"Bad vibes," you repeat flatly.

"Yeah. Bad fucking vibes." He rubs a hand over his face. "Look, I know how it sounded, okay? But it's not—" He stops, frustrated. "It's not about you. Or us. Or whatever the fuck we're doing."

You consider him for a moment, then set your water bottle down and cross to the couch, sitting on the opposite end. 

"Explain."

"What?"

"Explain these 'bad vibes.' Because from where I was sitting, it sounded irrational."

"It's not—" He stops again, shaking his head. "You know what? Forget it. Not my problem."

"Jungkook."

He looks at you, surprised by the use of his actual name.

"I'm trying to understand," you say, softer than you intended. "So explain it to me."

He studies you for a long moment, like he's trying to decide if you're serious. 

Finally, he sighs. "He's fake."

"Fake how?"

"The way he talks. The way he looks at you when you're not watching. The way he touched your arm in the car." His words come faster now. "The way he asked about your schedule, your classes. The way he positioned himself between us. It's all... calculated."

You frown. "That's a lot to read into a few interactions."

"I know what I saw," he insists. "Guys like that... they start small. Compliments. Attention. Making you feel special. Then it's suggestions about what you should wear. Who you should hang out with. What classes you should take."

His tone is raw, really raw, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard him talk like this. 

Like it’s personal.

“You're saying he's controlling."

"I'm saying he could be." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "Look, I've seen it before, okay? People who seem perfect on the surface but underneath they're just... manipulative. They make you think everything's your idea when really they're pulling all the strings."

You're quiet for a moment, processing. 

"This isn't just about Jason, is it?"

His eyes flick to yours, then away. 

"I told you. It's not about you or us."

"But it is about someone."

He doesn't answer, but his silence is confirmation enough.

"Mia?" you ask softly.

"I don't want to talk about her."

"Okay," you say, respecting the boundary even as curiosity burns through you. "But that's why you're worried about Jason? Because he reminds you of her?"

"Not of her specifically," he says after a pause. "Just... the type. The signs."

You pull your legs up onto the couch, turning to face him fully. "What signs?"

He looks at you for a long moment, like he's deciding how much to share. 

"The perfect act," he says finally. "The way everything seems rehearsed. The charm that never quite reaches their eyes." His voice drops lower. "The way they make you feel like you're the only person in the room, but it's not because they care about you. It's because they want something from you."

"And you think that's Jason?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there. But my gut says something's off with him."

You consider this. "Your gut's been wrong before."

A bitter smile twists his lips. "Yeah. More than once."

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. It’s like you’re both still processing the words exchanged.

"I'm still going on the date," you say finally.

He nods, looking away. "I know."

"But I'll... keep what you said in mind. Watch for the signs."

He glances back at you, surprise flickering across his face. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You shrug, trying to keep it casual. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't actually enjoy being manipulated."

"Could've fooled me," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it.

You kick his thigh lightly with your foot. "Asshole."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Brat."

Silence again. His forearms are resting on his knees, hands crossed together as his gaze remains unfocused.

"So," he says eventually, "how was the birthday girl?"

You're surprised by the question, by his apparent interest in your life outside this apartment. 

"Good," you say. "Different, but good. She's in Economics. Has a serious boyfriend. Wears a lot of beige."

"Sounds thrilling."

You laugh despite yourself. "It was actually nice. Weird, but nice. Like visiting a place you used to live but don't anymore."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "Did your new friends play nice with your old friend?"

"Yeji, Irya and Jimin?" You smile at the memory. "They were on their best behavior. Well, Yeji's version of best behavior, which means she only made three inappropriate jokes and only drank half the table's wine."

He snorts. "Sounds about right."

"Emma liked them, though. I think." You pause, considering. "It's strange, bringing different parts of your life together."

"I bet it is," he agrees quietly.

You look at him, really look at him, sitting there in the dim light of the TV. For once, there's no smirk on his face, no challenge in his eyes. Just Jungkook, tired and rumpled and unexpectedly honest.

"Why were you still up?" you ask suddenly.

The question catches him off guard. "What?"

"It's 3 AM. Why are you still awake?"

He shrugs, defensive again. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd play for a bit."

You glance at the TV screen where his character has been standing in the same spot for the past ten minutes. 

"Right."

"What?" he demands.

"Nothing," you say, but you can't help the small smile that forms. "Just... nothing."

He narrows his eyes at you, but doesn't press.

"I should get to bed," you say, standing up. "It's late."

He nods, picking up the controller again. "Yeah."

You're halfway to your room when his voice stops you.

"Phoenix?"

You turn back. "Yeah?"

He’s staring at you, but it’s not the usual smirk. No. 

His eyes flick downward. To the floor, like he’s seriously considering his next words—or rather, if he should vocalize them at all. 

But then he looks up at you again, seemingly decided.

"You..." he starts, licking his lips like he’s trying to pull himself together. But he’s failing. "You know you smell fucking delicious, right? Like, it’s so fucking unfair."

Your pulse stutters. "Excuse me?"

"The cologne," he says, standing up. "You’ve been driving me insane the whole night. The whole apartment smells like you.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and something hotter, heavier. "I didn’t wear it for you."

"No?” His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite—like he knows exactly how full of shit you are. "The cologne from that night. The dress from that night. And I’m supposed to believe that’s just a coincidence?"

"It is," you snap back, defensive even as your pulse betrays you by speeding up.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing—or maybe just like he can’t believe you.

“Fuck, Phoenix," he mutters, voice dropping into something rougher, more dangerous. "Do you have any idea how good you smell? How much I’ve been thinking about getting my mouth on you again?"

Your breath catches somewhere in your throat—an audible hitch that makes his eyes darken further.

"We’re fighting," you remind him weakly.

"Are we?" He steps closer, until there’s barely a whisper of space between you. "Because right now all I can think about is how wet you were for me the first time I smelled that shit on your skin."

You retreat physically; even though mentally you’re honestly already naked for him.

"Four days," he muses, tone dripping with frustration, almost needy. "Four days of smelling your shampoo in the bathroom, that stupid body lotion, and now—now you pull this shit. That’s fucking cruel, Nix.”

"You could’ve apologized," you point out dryly.

"For what?" He scoffs like the idea itself is offensive. "For telling the truth? For saying Jason gives me bad vibes?"

"There it is again," you say, crossing your arms over your chest like it’ll protect you from whatever energy he’s radiating right now. 

It doesn’t.

He exhales softly, eyes flicking to your lips before moving back up. 

“I’m being for real, Phoenix. Your vanilla shit drives me nuts,” he confesses bluntly.

Then llicks his lips, considering what he’s about to say 

But says it anyways. 

“I jerked off after you left.”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.

"Couldn’t help it," he continues. “The smell of your cologne... seeing you in that dress again... I couldn’t get the image out of my head."

"What image?"

"The first time," he says slowly, like he wants every word to sink into your skin and stay there forever. "In that room. The way you tasted... the sounds you made when I had my tongue inside you."

Your legs threaten mutiny.

"And now?" You force yourself to ask because silence feels dangerous—like it might give him permission to keep going without restraint.

"Now?" He repeats, almost hushed. "Now, I’m… really craving vanilla.”

You should walk away—should turn around and retreat into your room where things are safe and quiet and not vibrating with tension so thick it feels alive—but instead?

Instead, your feet betray you by staying planted firmly in place: "Eat some cookies.”

“I want to eat something else.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

He purses his lips. Tongue drops to lick the lower one. Gaze flickers to your mouth again before they come back to your pupils.

“You don’t?”

And the way he exhales it, like the mere idea of you saying no pains him—it melts through you. 

Especially when his hand finally finds its way to your waist (warm and solid and grounding despite everything else about this moment feeling anything but grounded).

All thoughts of resistance evaporate faster than they came.

"I do," you hear yourself reply. 

And when his lips brush against the sensitive skin just below your jawline?

You realize two things simultaneously:

One: You were never going to walk away from this moment no matter how much logic tried to intervene earlier.

Two: Logic doesn’t stand a chance against lust when Jungkook looks at you like this.

goal: 400 notes

next | index

⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

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

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[fic-dumpster]

immiscible

Pairing: Cat hybrid!Sanzu x Hamster hybrid!Reader

Summary: You were not meant to be. Everything pointed to a disastrous outcome, but Haruchiyo Sanzu refused to let something as dumb as biology dictate his life. He wanted you and that was final.

CW: Hybrid AU, dubcon, PiV, oral (female receiving), mean Sanzu, possessiveness, typical cat behavior. Idk… lmk if I missed anything. Not edited and no beta.

Word count: 2.2K+

A.N: funny how this was inspired by Hamtaro and the pink panther. A very… unexpected crossover.

“Haru, stop bothering her!” Mikey’s voice boomed through the room for the third time.

You were hiding, again, under Mikey’s covers, attempting to stay as far away as possible from Sanzu who hadn’t been as welcoming as you were promised. You were told a good time awaited, but your current situation was not your definition of a good time.

Emma, Mikey’s sister and your owner, had to leave for a trip with her boyfriend and they left you under her brother’s care. You were against the idea, adamant about it. You cried and begged to be left alone or any other person available would do. But alas, nobody seemed to be able to besides Mikey.

Knowing the pink cat hybrid living under Mikey’s care was an ass, you knew It was a terrible idea. You were a rodent for crying out loud. A hamster hybrid. It was like trying to mix water and oil… an impossible task, and they expected you to share a living space with them for who knows how long.

Yes, you have been in Mikey’s place for less than four days and your life has been in danger more times than you can count.

Sanzu, the feline menace of this house, seemed to find joy in your little squeaks and chubby cheeks puffing even more every time he pawed at you; sending you back and forth to his entertainment. He was just doing that a second ago until you managed to escape and made a run for Mikey’s bed.

“Haru, let her go.” Mikey warned him with a stern voice, “she doesn’t like your games.”

Little did he know those weren’t just games for Sanzu. While you thought he wanted nothing more than to make a snack out of you, he had a whole other plan in mind.

Your small and round face peeked from under the covers and you instantly regretted your decision. Right there, looking straight at you with a wicked grin, was Sanzu. His green emerald eyes shined with mischief as he saw the scared look on your face.

“Ple-please, Haru… I-I do-don’t wanna play…” you stammered. Your heart beating wildly as you scurried deeper into the bed and away from the border where a crazed hybrid stood.

Have you ever tried to make a cat let go of his prey? Hardest thing to accomplish. Mikey knew that, but he also believed in his pet. Overall, Sanzu was harmless, according to Mikey. So when the only human in the room heard his pet hybrid promise to be civil. Well, Mikey believed him.

“I won’t do that again, I promise.”

To his credit, Sanzu didn’t chase you around anymore. There was no reason to run after something that was under his paw.

The first week passed by in a flash and you learned a few things. One of them was how Sanzu loved to see your attempts of scrambling away from him, whining every time he pulled your short puffy tail or yanked your whiskers. You saw the gratification on his face.

He would not leave you alone. So much so that he even gathered your things from the guest room and moved them to his. Mikey allowed such idea; believing in Sanzu’s excuse about hybrid bonding time or something.

Before bed, the cat hybrid would yank you against his warm body, wrap himself around you and nibble on your round ears; every time before bed it was the same, almost like a night routine. You would tremble under his arms, scared of becoming dinner if you made a wrong move.

Things got heated in the third week. Almost a month in and you had your fair share of questions about Sanzu’s behavior. He began to pin you down more often; growling and rubbing himself all over you. Grooming your neck and cheeks, for then to stay in that position for a while. Inhaling your scent and humming and purring in contempt.

Mikey just thought you two were finally getting along well and ignored whenever Sanzu dragged you into his room.

“Yeah, Emma. She’s doing fine. Haru is good company.” Mikey would always speak with reassuring words to his sister. Not lying, just telling his truth. “No need to take her to Takashi’s.”

As the phone conversation went on, in a different room your silent whines told a different story. The spiked tongue of Sanzu’s kept licking your skin, leaving it tender afterward.

“Heard that? You’re not going anywhere,” Sanzu rasped against your twitching ears.

The cat hybrid was ecstatic when he first heard the news from Mikey. You, the fragile little rodent, were going to stay with him? His prayers had been answered.

Sanzu couldn’t help himself, you were just too pretty for your own good. All shy and sweet with everyone else but him. You were a trembling mess whenever he prowled around you, his tail swiftly moving around your hips and legs got you squirming in place. He loved the special treatment you gave him.

The pink menace had begun to behave even weirder lately. Headbutts here and there, making biscuits on your tummy and chest which left you all hot and bothered, but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. All smiles and hugs as your mind went from zero to a hundred in seconds. It all left you confused and dizzy at the end of the day.

For things to make sense something had to happen, right? Because such… affectionate behavior wasn’t normal. Well, a few days later when Mikey left to hang out with some friends; it did happen.

You heard a strange sound coming from Sanzu’s room. It was a very loud meowing, almost raw and it seemed painful; and as afraid of him as you were, you couldn’t just leave your only housemate alone if he was in pain.

With shaky steps, ears tuned in to the yowling, you made your way to his room. Stopping at the door, you saw your things still scattered around, but now a bunch of pillows and blankets also shared the space. As your eyes roamed through the room you finally spotted Sanzu. He was a sweating mess—pink hair sticking to his face, wild eyes unblinking and his face contorted in pain.

“Ha-haru? Are you ok—” But before you could say one more word, a strong scent invaded your nostrils.

It hit you with so much force that your eyes watered instantly. The smell was sweet; earthy and cinnamon-like but oh, so suffocating. You gagged and coughed at the burning sensation in your throat.

Suddenly, everything began to spin, but before your knees could hit the ground, you were swept off your feet. The sickly sweet smell surrounding you in waves—enveloping you whole. “S-stop! I ca-can’t brea-breath!”

“I knew you would come,” cooed Sanzu, completely ignoring your pleas.

He had you in his arms, carrying you towards the improvised nest made of blankets. Your body shivered, rejecting the aroma of a different hybrid. It was clear—compatibility? Null. Even your body’s biology refused to accept the idea of it.

Before you could gather your thoughts, you were being dropped on a soft surface and still, the potent scent kept mingling all your senses. Just as fast, he was on top of you; holding your hands above your head and leaning forward with his whole weight pressing down on you.

“You look so pretty… underneath me,” Sanzu sharply whispered against your temple. Nose caressing the border of your face as it traveled to your lips.

Nudging your legs apart with his knees, he nestled himself between them. Slowly but steadily grinding his hips against your clothed core. “You did this, you know? You made me go into heat, you little minx.”

“No! I didn’t know– didn’t mean to!” You whimpered—lips to lips, sharing the same air.

A whirlwind of thoughts passed through your mind. Guilt, fear, anger and… surprisingly lust. The more he rubbed himself against you, the more your body reacted. Your legs fastening around his waist, pulling Sanzu even closer which made the feline purr louder as your little squeaks mixed in between.

You felt the weight of his body—of his clothed cock constantly pressing on your entrance, humping, just rutting in place. Wetness had begun to creep in between your clothes

“We can’t do this, Ha-Haru…”

“You want me to stop?” Sanzu asked with clenched teeth but you shaked your head in denial, “Good, because I don’t think I would be able to…”

The feline eagerly pawed your clothes off, feeling a surge of giddiness born in his stomach. He was so close to you, he was finally touching every single part of you. Sanzu could practically taste the air charged with your arousal.

“You need me here,” he purred, lithe fingers dancing around your gushing entrance. “I’ll have a quick taste and you’re gonna be good and let me.”

Not soon had you felt his hands let go, ignoring his previous words, you tried to scramble away. On your hands and knees, you made a big mistake. Sanzu felt your cotton-like tail hit him in the face and it just made him latch onto you even harder. His hands grabbed your thighs, pulling you back and at the same time wrangling you back into your last position just to directly smash his face against your cunt.

A hollow scream erupted from your raw throat once you felt his tongue practically forcing its way in. His fingers digging into your skin, the force of his sucking lips and never had his tongue stopped moving inside you. You were ashamed to admit he felt too good, your bucking hips constantly hitting him but Sanzu didn't even notice. Too focused, too drunk on your hypnotic flavor.

A straight lick later and a moan of satisfaction from the pink feline had you in almost tears. “You were already wet enough, but I couldn't help myself. You’ve made me… a voracious beast.”

You felt his fingers open your lower lips, heat radiating from your center smearing his digits. You don't know when or how he discarded his own clothes but as your eyes refocused, you saw his skin almost glowing, radiating scorching warmth on top of you. Unhurriedly, Sanzu guided his cock inside, stretching your opening to mold him, to take him. You were so soft, so warm that it almost hurt with how sensitive his tip was.

“I promise to—fuck… aah— mount you properly next time,” he growled at the thought of having you—ass up squeaking for him again, “but I need to see your cute face right now.”

Sanzu hissed at the contact and gave a final push of his hips; entering you with force. In return, your face contorted at the intrusion, you were a squealing mess under him. The sudden action wasn’t as pleasant as the previous activity. Your insides burned as your walls tried to push the foreign object out. But Sanzu persisted, holding you in place as he slowly retracted and moved back in. Inch by inch of his cock with no hurry.

He repeated this action until he felt almost no restraint on your part. Your cute little cunt had finally gotten used to him. He went in and out smoothly and your sounds had changed to mewls and puffs of air—full of need. Your hands traveled from his chest to his shoulders, no longer trying to stop him. On the contrary, you were pulling him in, scraping his neck with a sudden need to have him closer.

The feline purred loudly as he absorbed the change in your demeanor. Your half-lidded eyes were calling to him. His words failed him, he couldn’t even tell you how good you felt. All that left his lips were groans and beastly sounds.

“Fa-faster, Haru!” You moaned out without shame. Gone was the timid little rodent.

His chest reverberated once again, an instant answer to your plea. His tail moving wildly behind him, his ear twitching at the sound of your voice. All his body automatically responded to your calling.

His hips hitting you with abandon. Your pussy lips are swollen from the constant friction.

“M-mine.” He heaved with furrowed brows; fingers gripping tightly at your soft and plush skin.

Sanzu wasn’t even sure he was speaking out loud, too lost in the overwhelming feeling of finally being buried deep in your heat. Nothing could take him away from you.

─────── · · ·

“Get your furry fiend away from her!” Emma was a red from rage, “Manjiro Sano! I am serious!

“He doesn't wanna let go!” Mikey looked over at his friend, Emma’s boyfriend, for help, “Ken-Chin, tell her!”

Meanwhile, Sanzu with flattened ears and a swatting tail had you under his body; hissing menacingly at the three humans trying to take away his mate.

Of course, you had tried to explain but your meek voice wasn't heard in the middle of all the shouting.

[hemmingsleclerc]

Interview┃Charles Leclerc

summary: Where Charles doesn't realize his little daughter is being interviewed

Reaction pt2

It was a hot weekend at the iconic Monaco Grand Prix and Charles had a special companion this time: his adorable daughter, Emma Jules, and the rest of his family.

Charles, focused on his pre-race routine, was preparing in the Ferrari garage. Emma, a cheerful six-year-old with an infectious smile, was exploring the garage with wide eyes. As her father put on his racing suit and helmet, she walked over and reached out with her little hand to touch the sleek red car.

Unbeknownst to Charles, an inconspicuous figure with camera equipment was making his way through the paddock. He was none other than the cameraman for Netflix's "Drive to Survive", capturing behind-the-scenes moments from the world of F1 for the iconic series. Emma, with her innocent curiosity, caught the cameraman's attention.

"Hey there, little leclerc! Are you excited for the race?" the cameraman asked with a friendly smile.

Emma's eyes lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Daddy is going to win because he's the best."

The cameraman, taking the opportunity for an adorable interview, handed Emma a small microphone and turned on the camera. "Tell us more about your dad. What is he like off the track?"

With the innocence of a child, Emma began to spill the beans. "My daddy is the best here. Sometimes he sings very loud in the car or in the shower. But you know what? He's not very good at it!" She giggled, her laughter echoing through the paddock.

"He likes to dance while he's cooking with mommy," Emma continued, twirling around to demonstrate. "And he snores really loud when he's asleep. It's funny!"

''He also cries a lot at Disney or animal movies, or is more interested in playing with my toys than I am. Sometimes we tell mommy that we are going to grand-mére's house but in reality he takes me to buy new dolls or ice cream. He also likes to help me make friendship bracelets for my friend and also lets me do his hair and makeup with my princess makeup set that santa gave me for Christmas, he always says that he looks very cute.''

As Emma shared these lovely details, the camaraman captured every moment while letting out a few laughs at the things the little girl was saying. Charles, completely absorbed in his pre-race preparations, was unaware of the impromptu interview taking place just a few feet away.

Emma's charming revelations about her father's quirks added a charming touch to his coverage.

Charles may not have known it that day, but he was sure that when the new season of the series came out, that moment would be the most popular.

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Yes, hello, I love your blog, you're my only window into what the fandom is doing and I could always completely skip the manga and just stick to reading here. So, about your poll of popular theories, I saw something about the demon world being underwater, would you mind elaborating, please? It's for research. For a fanfic 👀

[The poll in question]

I'm always going to advocate for reading the manga, not just because of what happened with S2, but also to see all the gorgeous detailing Demizu puts into her work that's lost in the transition to TV animation, along with her playing with perspectives/proportions in relationship to power dynamics.

(Chapter 1 | S1 Episode 1)

But thank you! <3

My understanding was the theory of the demon world being underwater was introduced by @couldnt-think-of-a-better-name, who was mainly active during the series' heyday (February 2019-July 2019, between the releases of chapters 123-142 during the King of Paradise and Seven Walls arcs and when S1 premiered in Japanese and English).

• Main post about the theory • Secondary post about Lambda-7214 being a coordinate • Neat edit of chapter 7's, chapter 16's, and chapter 2's cover art • Volume 13 Special Edition mini-artbook art hinting at the trajectory of the series

I think it's interesting in how the Seven Walls search party traverses what we're presented with as the entire demon world to find clues about Cuvitidala and the Seven Walls, yet the largest body of water we see anyone interact with is a pond. Nothing close to an ocean that would present them with difficulties such as building a boat or buying one from demons.

(Chapter 60 | Volume 8 Title Page | Chapter 99 | Chapter 100 | Chapter 102)

Shirai also confirmed the elevator at Goldy Pond takes one to "a certain forest in Australia" (out of 458 forest communities).

(Mystic Code Book Chapter 3 Q&A)

While the stairs under Grace Field headquarters seem to land one somewhere on the east coast of the former United States of America.

(Chapter 178 | Chapter 179)

There's the imagery of the Statue of Liberty, leading me to believe the North American headquarters for the Ratri clan are located in (former?) New York City, but I don't know if I would necessarily say they wash up on the city's shores since Mike takes a jet out to meet them and the children aren't freezing in the November weather there. There's also the impracticality of after coming back from the demon world to transport goods or just traverse between the worlds you conspicuously land out in the open on the beach, so I believe it was the demon god's meddling that sent them to this beach, and the proper exit in one specific, singular location like the Goldy Pond one is somewhere else in the area. Two specific locations located in opposite hemispheres in our world, yet in the demon world you could potentially travel between the two passageways on foot in approximately a week based on the time it took the kids to reach the shelter at B06-32 (one day of initially wandering through the forest, five days traveling with Sonju and Mujika, and one day walking through the wasteland) and how long it took Yuugo, Emma, and Ray to reach Goldy Pond (four days) if it was a straight shot.

(Chapter 49 | Chapter 60)

It all leaves me very curious about how large the demon world is compared to the human world and how the demon god decided to split the two worlds up.

It's also interesting how despite all the water imagery in the series, we don't see any rain in the manga outside of the chapter 28 cover art (mentioned in the fourth post of that list):

But the anime chose to have a very light rain overlay during the second episode while not animating the ground or characters getting wet:

It rains in the light novels.

(TPN Light Novel 1: A Letter from Norman [June 2018] - "The Day Emma Cried")

(TPN Light Novel 4: Films of Memories [December 2020] - "Operation Stormy Night," originally published in Minerva Confidential Report Report Volume 1 that was packaged with the first volume of the Japanese S1 blu-ray in March 2019)

And we see the children playing in the snow in the past.

(Chapter 10 Bonus Scene)

[c-monthecob]

Baji Headcanons🐺

⚝ Emma and Draken's kid is convinced he's a werewolf because of his teeth and how good he is with animals.

⚝ Cried like a baby when he had to put down a pet for the first time.

⚝ Everyone who went to his vet school graduation was genuinely confused about how he got this far.

⚝ Whenever he sees a spider he always places it back outside.

⚝ Watched Steve Irwin's Crocodile Hunter every night before bed.

⚝ Took a professor's advice and started creating self-sustaining terrariums to practice patience and tranquility. (It's not working)

⚝ Broke his bones all the time as a kid. The nurses at the hospital knew him by name at one point.

⚝ Family members give him haircare products for every Christmas and birthday. He gives them all away because he doesn't need them.

⚝ On bloody Halloween, his mom filled the pantry with yakisoba for him and waited all day for him to come home so they could eat some together.

⚝ At every meeting, he can feel someone burning holes into the back of his head, but he can never find out who it is. (It's Sanzu. He wants revenge.)

⚝ Eats like he's never been fed before. His mom would smack him when he ate like an animal in public and yell, "Don't have these people thinking I don't feed you!"

⚝ He was a leash kid. His mom could turn around for three seconds and the next thing she new the leash would be lying flat on the ground.

⚝ Had to wear a helmet until he was four. He was a complete danger to himself.

⚝ His mom thought he had ADHD for some time.

⚝ His first word was undoubtedly a curse word.

⚝ Fosters elderly and disabled cats.

⚝ Had custody arguments with Chifuyu over Peke J weekly.

⚝ Groomed Pah's dog Pochi for him while he was in prison.

⚝ Someone told him he had a smooth brain, and he thanked them, thinking it was an actual compliment.

⚝ Every time someone tells him he looks like his mom, it boosts his ego like no other.

⚝ His phone has cracks all over it and black spots that make it hard to see the screen. Don't waste your time trying to tell him he needs an update. "That's what the company wants you to do!"

⚝ Fully believes he's invincible. He tried copying a parkour move he saw in a movie once and broke his tailbone.

⚝ His mother had to get him unstuck from a frozen pole after he tried to lick it. (He thought that only happened in the movies)

⚝ Will do any dare you offer. No matter what it is.

⚝ Public embarrassment doesn't exist to him. He'll scream, "Why are you following me!?" out loud in a crowded store.

⚝ Whenever he acts out, his mom threatens to light his motorcycle on fire.

⚝ Chifuyu made him dress up as Sasuke and Naruto for Halloween

[borathae]

Birthday Boy | JHS x f.Reader

“It is Hoseok’s birthday tomorrow and you have the very brilliant idea to help him spend his birthday midnight by having an orgasm.”

Pairing: Vampire!Hoseok x Witch!Reader

Genre: best friends with benefits!AU, polyamory!AU, Smut, Domestic Fluff

Warnings: some very cute cuddles <3, which gets them horny of course, sub!Hobi, service Domme!Reader, sex magic, orgasm denial & control through magic, mutual stripping, nipple sucking & licking for both, body worship, licking & biting of his abs and thighs, oral sex (m.receiving), blowjob, rimjob, anal fingering (m.receiving), use of a buttplug, he gets so desperate, begging, she rides him cowgirl style, gentle choking (m.receiving), she also like steps on his throat once :), dirty talk, praise, he calls her baby, he screams & cries in pleasure, he fucks her so rough once she lifts the spell <3, creampies, squirting, multiple orgasms, cuddly aftercare, this is so horny

Wordcount: 7k

a/n: do not be fooled by the cute header, this story is horny. this is actually the horniest hobi story i ever wrote JFADJ but also! look at the cute header! ah! i love it and i love him :( also, if you're not into the whole poly stuff, this story is still enjoyable because it is only hinted very briefly and this is basically a Hobi Bobi story 💗 happy birthday Hobi i love you 💜 ps: i feel so sad that i couldn’t finish it in time but life was very overwhelming for me. but it's here now and i'm very happy <3

It is the night before his birthday party. Taehyung is the official party planner, with Seokjin and Emma as his seconds in command. Yoongi is in charge of the food, with Jungkook as his sous chef. Meredith and her coven travelled for the party and even some of Hoseok’s Paris friends have announced themselves. 

It will be a great event, hosted at the estate and with plans of lasting long into the next day. 

But this is all part of tomorrow. Tonight, Hoseok is at the town house, having no idea how big the party is actually going to be.

He knows that there will be something going on tomorrow because Yoongi invited him to a birthday dinner (which is just an excuse to get Hoseok to the estate for the party). You all hope that Hoseok will love the surprise.

Tonight however, he is alone and you don’t like that. You want him to spend his birthday night feeling loved and appreciated. Because that’s what he is. 

Loved.

So deeply loved. 

The others know of your plans and support you fully. 

Hoseok opens a few seconds after you rang the door bell. The masculine scent of his shower gel instantly meets your nose. Judging by his comfortable pyjamas, he is already getting ready for bed.

“___? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” he asks, entirely baffled by your unexpected visit.

“Everything is alright. Did I ring you out of bed?”

“No, not at all. I’m watching telly. Come in, it’s freezing out here”, he says, letting you inside.

“Thanks, yeah it’s pretty chilly. I hope it’s okay where I parked.”

You parked your car behind Hoseok’s green VW beetle in his driveway.

“Yeah, it’s good. I’m not going anywhere tonight. Let me get your coat.”

“Thanks.” 

He hangs it and offers you a pair of wool loafers to wear, which you very gladly accept because floors in old houses are always chilly. 

“Can I get you something? Water? Tea? Warm milk with honey?” he offers 

“Seriously, you don’t have to work for me.”

“Tea? Sleepy tea? Are you staying the night? I don’t know what kind of situation this is.”

“It’s a your birthday-day starts on midnight and I want to celebrate it with you situation.”

“Are you serious?” he sounds completely in disbelief.

You nod your head, “very serious. If you’re down.”

“Of course I’m down. Wow, I didn’t even. I just. I don’t know what to say. This is, like, really nice of you.”

You smile at him, which Hoseok giddily retorts. 

“So uhm, sleepy tea?” he asks.

“Sounds lovely. Wanna make a sleepover out of it?”

“You just wanna hog my warm water for a shower, don’t you?” 

“Hey, untrue. I also wanna hog your PJs and your skincare.”

He laughs and points upstairs.

“Feel at home. You know where everything is.”

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

Hoseok is in the living room, playing on his phone when you come back. He sits up, eyes lighting up at the view of you in his pyjamas.

“Hey”, he whispers and clears his throat, “hey, you’re back. How was it?” 

“Very nice. I feel very snuggly.”

“Yeah? That’s good. I put wood in the chimney”, he say and rolls off the couch to hurry to his fireplace. He pokes the flames a few times then slips on a pair of heat resistant gloves to get the kettle from the kettle hook.

He pours the boiling water into two mugs with teabags, storing the kettle back on the flames.

“Thanks, this will warm me in no time.”

“I’ve got more. I put the electric heating on too, so give it some time. I always forget when I’m alone because I don’t get cold, you know”, he explains as he hurries through the room to get blankets and pillows.

“I get it. If I didn’t freeze, I’d forget about it too.”

“Yeah totally. Here, blankets. Socks? Do you want socks? I’ve got socks.”

You can’t protest and then he is already out of the room. Hoseok is a very good host. Perhaps a little overbearing, but you like it. You are a very overbearing host yourself and being completely pampered at Hoseok’s always feels especially cozy.

“I’ve got options. Cotton, wool, cashmere, none of that artificial shit though ‘cause it’s awful. Just pick”, he returns with a few socks in his hands.

“Wool would be lovely, thank you.”

“Wool it is. They got lady bugs on them.”

“So cute. Oh? And really soft for wool.”

“Right? I made them myself.”

“You did? That’s so funky.”

“Thanks.”

“Now get on here and relax. What are you watching?”

“I just started Howl’s Moving Castle. Don’t judge me but this movie still slaps.”

“I’m not judging you for having great taste. It’s an awesome movie. Wanna cuddle and watch it?”

“Totally, what the hell”, he says.

And so it happens that you and he share the blankets while the house warms up. He is against the backrest, lying sideways and with his left arm under your head. He uses pillows for his head, keeping his right arm over your waist.

“Is this good for you?”

“Yes, it’s totally good. You?”

“It’s very good. If you’re suddenly feeling something poking you, that’s just my gun that I keep in my pants.”

You laugh, “okay horndog, I’ll remember it.”

He chuckles and pulls you closer, giving the shell of your ear a gentle bite. Which is totally surprising to get from him but it’s also nice.

You and Hoseok, well, you and Hoseok aren’t officially lovers. You are best friends who just so happen to have slept together. A few times. Two times to be more exact. The first time happened after you had to take shelter from the rain at his place. It was a good night. Very fun. The second time was at his place too. It is still unbelievable because you and he did it together with Yoongi.

If you are being honest, you wouldn’t be opposed if tonight went down the sexy route as well.

You and he are talking after the movie. The clock shows ten and you each had two cups of tea.

You are mindlessly playing with his hand, inspecting every single inch of it. He has the most beautiful hands and nails. They are so delicate and just slightly veiny. His nails are very well groomed and his nail beds are moisturised. His palms are so soft because he takes his hand care very seriously.

You massage along his tendons gently, following the paths of your fingers with your eyes.

“Hm, that’s nice”, he purrs quietly, smiling to himself. His eyes barely want to stay open because of how cozy you make him feel.

“You’ve got such beautiful hands.”

“Thanks.” His breath hitches as you guide his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. He snickers, snuggling closer, “what was that for?”

“I like your hands”, you state matter of factly, “hey, Hobi?”

“Yes, ___?”

“What would you say to taking this upstairs?”

“For bed cuddles or for more?”

“If you’re down, more. If not, then bed cuddles.”

“Yeah. Yeah sure”, he instinctively pulls you closer, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, “I’d be very down actually. As you can probably feel.”

You snicker, “mhm for a while.”

He laughs, “sorry, I got excited.”

“It’s fine. Can I tell you what I’m imagining?”

“Totally. Tell me.”

“So I was thinking, maybe I could be a little more dominant tonight. And I have something I want to suggest.”

“Tell me. The dom part already sounds nice to me. You can take the lead, I’m down.”

“So okay. Maybe someone already told you that I can magically control orgasms.”

“Kook might have dropped something of that sort. Why? Wanna do it on me?”

“Yeah basically. My goal is to keep you magically edged until it’s midnight so you can enter into your birthday-day having an orgasm.”

His dick twitches very aggressively.

“Yo. That was strong as fuck”, you gasp.

“You felt that? You felt what this just did to me?”

“I did.” You look at him. His eyes are gleaming in excitement. “So you’re down?”

“I’m so down. I feel like you gotta tie me up though. I feel I’ll be too wiggly.”

You snicker, “don’t worry, I’ll make sure that you’re behaving.”

“As if.” He is teasing.

“Don’t give me a challenge, I’ll prove you wrong.”

He laughs breathily, eyes flitting to your lips.

“So like”, he begins, tracing your waist, “how kinky are we talking? Are you also gonna grow a dick and fuck me with it?”

“You know about that too?”

“Yeah, Kook told me, who got it from Tae. Which by the way, you really gotta do it with Kook soon. He was genuinely so jealous as he talked about it.”

You laugh, “wow okay, good to know.”

“Hah, yeah”, Hoseok lets out, eyes practically yearning for you.

“You really wanna know what I’ll do to you?”

“Yeah, tell me. Wanna watch your lips move as you do.”

Hoseok’s answer was yes to every single thing you suggested. He practically started panting the longer you talked.

Now you find yourself under him, nestled in his comfortable bed and with his knee against your pussy. He puts on some music – slow RnB – and dimmed his lights. You and he share moans and sighs, kissing passionately. He is so noisy. It turns you on so much.

“I’m so obsessed with you”, he breaks the kiss just to praise you and adore your neck.

“Mhm Hobi…what’s the time?”

He takes your phone to check.

“Ten fourty. Geez, we’ve been making out for fourty minutes? No wonder my cock hurts.”

You laugh and use his moment of distraction to flip your positions. You use a little bit of magic for it, resulting in Hoseok to gawk at you in complete shock.

“How did you just do that? I’m supposed to be stronger.”

“Magic. Yoongi showed me how to lift people with it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way. You’ve always been hot but, fuck, you’re so hot ever since you’ve become a witch.”

You chuckle, running your fingers through his hair and pecking his jawline. He has the perfect jawline.

“Thank you. What a sweetie you are.”

“Mhhhhm you’re a tease. Just let me be closer”, he whines, shuddering.

“How much closer?”

“Skin against skin closer.”

You sit up and roll out of bed. Hoseok sits up, draping his legs over the edge. His eyes are focused on you, pupils dilating at the view of you sensually undressing.

It doesn’t take long because you are only wearing pyjamas and nothing underneath.

You throw your shirt to the side, shifting your eyes to him when Hoseok reacts audibly.

“You’re fucking beautiful”, he says, gazing at your chest.

“Thanks.” He makes your heart flutter. “How unsexy would I be if I kept the socks on?”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling.

“Still sexy. They’re cute on you.”

“Then they stay on”, you say, making him laugh one of his very rare deep laughs. It’s so sexy. “Your turn.”

Hoseok stands up while you sit down to watch. It doesn’t take him long either because he also only wears PJs and nothing else. He abandons them on the ground, joining you back on bed. While you are kneeling, he is sitting by the edge.

You can’t stop looking at each other. You only have his dimmed LEDs on. They’re red and really bring out how fucking gorgeous he is. No wonder people love to watch him fuck. He is made to be adored and gazed upon.

You cup his face and kiss him. Hoseok moans softly, climbing on bed to chase the kiss. He is on all fours, tingling like crazy when you feel him up. It is insane how far away from reality he currently feels. In the best way possible. It is as if you and he are trapped in the most wonderful bubble. It’s been a very long time since sex made him feel this good. And it’s only been foreplay up until now.

“Fuck. You’re, like, amazing”, he sighs and closes the distance to pulls you on his lap. He wraps his left arm around your waist, pressing your stomach against his’. His right hand runs up to your breasts, massaging one of them, while his mouth worships the other.

“Oh wow”, you let out, not having expected the attention. It makes you shiver and arch your back.

Hoseok gets to his knees, carrying you with ease. Honestly, the way you writhe in his arms gets him desperate. One night he will dedicate everything to fucking you in this position. He is making a mental note of it. It has to happen. Him on his knees, while he makes your body dance on his cock and your back arch in fucking ecstasy.

But tonight is not the night. You haven’t given him permission yet to slip it in and he is so curious to feel the magic working.

With his eager tongue licking your nipple, he lies you down in the sheets. He keeps his left arm around your waist, but uses his right hand to explore your inner thighs.

“Hoseok…” you sigh, tingling like crazy.

“It’s insane how pretty you are. Shit, it’s insane”, he lulls, changing sides. He lingers on your neck as he does, which only makes you shiver more. By the time he takes in your other nipple to suck on it, you actually have to moan.

Hoseok purrs, circling your sensitive bud with his tongue. Your heart is racing like crazy.

“Hoseok, ah”, your voice quivers a little as you sigh his name. You run your hands up the nape of his neck until you can bury them deep in his incredibly soft hair. They’re a little longer in the back and feel so good between your fingers.

You aren’t tugging, but Hoseok still lifts his head. He comes eye to eye with you, cups your face and pulls you into a needy kiss. It happens that the position changes again. You and he on your knees, then you on his lap again. Closer than before. Skin against skin. As if your bodies are dancing together.

Naturally, you have to grind on him, finally twisting his hair to deepen the connection.

Hoseok likes it, feeding you his deep purr just as he feeds you his tongue. You are so close like this that your slickened nipples rub against his chest and his cock gets stimulated between your stomachs. It fucking turns him on to the point his skin feels sensitive. Everything about you turns him on. So much that he actually feels desperate.

He breaks the kiss, hand restless on your back and ass and cock leaking on your tummy. Just as your pussy leaks on his thighs. Seriously, this moment is spiritual.

“Just sit on my cock, mhm?” he offers.

“Don’t tempt me”, you feel breathless and starved for him. Sitting on him would give you so much relief.

“It’s almost midnight anyway. Just sit on me already. Please, baby?”

You check the phone clock, “Hobi, it’s only two past eleven.”

“Fuck, you weren’t supposed to check the time.” He kneads your butt. “Please baby, just sit on me.”

He is sexy when he is desperate. You crave to ravish him, but control yourself for the sake of your plan.

“Not yet.”

You push him down into the pillow, knocking a moan and a chuckle out of him. He writhes to get comfortable, caressing your thighs.

“That was so hot.”

“You’re hot”, you throw back and connect your lips with his neck.

“Mhhhhm, this is nice”, he sighs, exposing his neck sensually.

You are lying next to him, propping yourself up on your elbow and grinding your body against his’. You use your free hand to explore his body, dancing it all over his perfect curves. All while Hoseok lies beneath you, shivering and tingling. Your touch is electric and magical, and you aren’t even using your powers yet. It’s just you. Your presence, your warmth, your scent and the feelings you awake in his chest. It’s all you who feels fucking magical to him.

You continue your path to his chest once his neck is sensitive. Hoseok chases your kiss with a small arch of his back. If he still had a pulse, it would be going crazy by now. You have him feeling so giddy and turned on.

“Your body is perfect, Hobi”, you whisper, swirling your tongue over his pecs before you reach his nipple.

You want to repay the favour and give his nipples the attention they deserve. He groans softly, rubbing his feet over the sheets because his legs just can’t stay still.

“Do you like this?”

“Yeah…it’s good. You’re incredible”, Hoseok praises, caressing the nape of your neck. He isn’t lying. This feels fucking amazing. His nipples are the most sensitive. He needs to be turned on in order to love getting them played with. He is so turned on that each lick and touch shoots electric pleasure through his veins.

You purr happily, changing sides to make it even. You play with his swollen nipple as you suck the other, giving him some extra love by running your nails over his pecs whenever you can.

“You have me shivering, fuck”, he confesses in a chuckle, shuddering.

“Mhhhm that’s sexy”, you purr and continue your explorations.

Hoseok often hides behind baggy clothes, which rarely let people know just how perfect his body actually is. Lean and strong. It is definitely the body of someone who uses it to dance and who really treasures his appearance. His waist fits perfectly between your fingers and his stomach is toned. His skin is soft and hairless and, fuck, it smells so good. It makes you want to eat him.

“Ah”, he gasps, abs twitching. He chuckles and pets your hair, “fuck, you little biter.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. You smell so good.”

“I liked it.”

You do it again, taking his soft skin between your teeth to tug gently. Hoseok moans softly, rolling his hips up. A third time’s a charm. Just a little harder.

“Fuck, this is insane”, he gets out, caressing your cheek. “This feels so good.”

“It does. Your body’s insane”, you rasp and bite him above his hip bone.

He writhes and giggles in embarrassment. Compliments fluster him a lot.

“I could go mad”, you add and continue your path. You make him believe that you will take him inside only to swerve in the last moment and kiss his thighs instead.

He opens them, cursing under his breath. He’s already so hard. Your teases ache. He needs to be touched or he will burst.

“Take a taste, baby.”

“Mhm I am”, you coo, licking his thighs.

“Fuck, you’re driving me…ahm…just take it inside please.”

“You’re so needy.”

He whines and covers his own eyes with his hands, flexing his arms naturally.

“Fuck, you’re awful.”

“Mhhm, you like it”, you tease and surprise him by wrapping your lips around his cock.

His hips buck up, he sits up and groans your name.

One hand on his chest and he is down again, now cursing.

You purr, sucking on his leaky tip. So sweet. He tastes like heaven. And he keeps throbbing so perfectly.

“Seriously, baby. Fuck”, Hoseok tries to sit up again.

Push.

“Shit, you’re bossy tonight.”

“Mh-hm”, you purr, nodding your head.

“Just let me look.”

Push.

“Ah. hah. ___ holy fuck.”

You chuckle and slip him deeper. Hoseok whines, writhing in the sheets.

“This is crazy. Baby…let me look…”

He tries one last time only to get pushed down again and earn your foot on his throat. You use his body to balance so you aren’t actually applying pressure on his delicate throat. Hoseok groans, gripping your ankle. He gulps so much, gasping whenever he doesn’t.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual fuck”, he switches into Korean because of how hard you get him. “What the fuck. This is crazy. Ah sweetheart. Baby…”

You understand enough Korean these days that you know what he is currently chanting as you suck the soul out of his pretty cock. It motivates you to truly ruin him. You concentrate all your loving on his tip, sucking and licking it sloppily. They’re all most sensitive there. Men, you mean. They’re all just little sensitive babies. You’ve got enough dick in your mouth to have learned this fact. They all like to act tough with their cute deep throating attempts, but what really gets them needy is sloppy attention to their tips. They’re all so easy.

Hoseok isn’t any different, he is whining and mewling, panting heavily because you steal his air just by treating his flushed cockhead like a lollipop.

It’s what he deserves. He is such a perfect best friend and a crucial part of this little found family. He deserves to have his mind blown (pun intended).

“You’re actually making me cum”, he oh so very soon confesses, fingers trembling around your ankle, “this is so hot, I’m close.”

You could use your magic already, but don’t want to. Edge him normally once then get him desperate. That’s the plan.

“Slow. Wait. Fuck. Slow”, he tries to warn you, taking deep breaths in between to stop the inevitable. One more lick and he’ll burst in your warm mouth. “Baby slow.”

One last suck. The pleasure swirls up his cock. Hoseok groans, arching his back. It’s going to happen.

You slip off.

“Urgh” he growls, dropping and writhing in agony, “ohoho this was fucking cruel.”

You snicker, and sit up. You pull your leg back so you can kneel next to him. You take his hands to put them above his head. You let your tits tangle in his vision, enjoying the hungry gawking he is doing.

“You didn’t think that I could actually handle you, did you?” You grin. “Or that I’ll let you cum that easily?”

“Shit”, he chuckles, staring at you completely star struck, “I’m so into you right now. Fuck”, he squeezes your hands…and arches his back as you steal a kiss. It lasts way too short for him, leaving him to crave the addicting taste of you.

“The feeling’s mutual”, you whisper sweetly and connect your lips with his neck so you can kiss your way down to his cock.

“Fuck, ___ aaah…”

You stay by his side, lying down on your stomach. You drape your arm over his lap, using it as your support so you can take him back inside easily. Your other hand you put around his throat, squeezing down just enough that you can feel his needy moan as you swirl your tongue around his leaky cock.

“What’s happening to me? I feel…fuck, I feel so good”, he croaks out, head pounding and chest tingling. He feels as if he is floating. The connection is so deep. The pleasure is so intense.

Hoseok swears that he won’t be the same after tonight. And that he won’t ever get you out of his head again. You have him dancing on clouds.

“Can I have more? Please”, he soon pleads with you and you answer him right away.

You change positions so you are still by his side but on your knees. You abandon his neck to massage his base, using your other hand to play with his balls. Like this, you take in more of him, keeping your lips relaxed so they move around him as you fuck your mouth slowly. You let the drool dribble down his throbbing shaft, playing with it as you jerk whatever you can’t fit. The rhythm is sensual and really deepens the connection.

“Like this. Just like this. What the fuck, ___. Genuinely, what the fuck”, he chants, legs feeling like jello and head turning.

Hoseok got a lot of head in his long life. He got amazing head too. And yet this right now feels like the best head he ever got because it’s done by you. And he is high on you. Every single fucking molecule of you.

“___ baby…”

Hoseok sits up, running his hand along your waist and kissing your shoulder. He moans softly, resting his lips against your shoulder after the kiss. He pulls you closer by your waist, rolling his hips up to meet your warm mouth.

“You feel so good…”

You suck him harder because the gesture really turns you on.

Hoseok’s curses, following it up with tender kisses along your shoulder.

“___ baby, you feel so good. I’m dizzy…”

He uses his tongue to lick your shoulder and the small part of your spine he can reach. All while his left hand plays with your tits and his right hand disappears between your legs to play with your soaked pussy.

“No baby.” You slip off his cock and straighten up. “No touch, just let me take care of you”, you order in a whisper, claiming his lips in a kiss. Your hands are around his cock. Hoseok instantly kisses you back, using his tongue for it to taste himself. He cradles your face with his left hand while his right hand dances along your pussy. Like a feather-light tickle. It feels so good.

“You don’t want me making you feel good too?” he begs, letting the words tickle your lips.

“Soon, baby”, you sigh.

Hoseok answers you in a shaky moan, letting you push him back into the pillow and climb his lap. Sadly he has to stop fondling for it, missing it the second it leaves him. You sit down on his thigh right below his cock. It drives him insane that you do.

What drives him even more insane however is that you break the kiss and straighten up. Your hands are still dancing over his cock, moving slow enough that it is teasing him more than it satisfies him. Fucking hell, Hoseok is genuinely obsessed with you.

“We’ve got thirty minutes left”, you say.

“Shit, that’s too long.”

“No no it’s perfect. Means you’ll be desperate”, you say and bend down to kiss a path from his neck down to his inner thighs, hands now tickling his sides gently.

“I’m already desperate”, he whines and laughs at the same time, “fuck baby, again?”

“Of course. Tonight’s about you.”

“I’m not gonna survive tonight”, Hoseok sighs, opening his legs willingly. He raises them a second later when you come dangerously close to his ass.

“Mhhm so eager”, you purr, swirling your tongue on his thigh.

“Hm yeah”, he gets out, rolling his hips in desperation.

“I like it”, you say, connecting your tongue with his rim. So soft.

Hoseok lets out the first loud moan of the evening, arching his back. His hand instantly rests on the back of your neck. Not to push, but to be close to you. And also to caress you as best as possible.

“___ holy fuck.”

You agree in a moan, flicking your tongue as quickly as possible while your fingers tilt his hips to make it easier to reach him. He’s waxed and so soft. You can’t get enough.

Hoseok gasps and tenses his stomach, vision blurry as he stares at the canopy ceiling with slightly crossed eyes. You will never ever leave his head again. It’s impossible. You are in there. Forever. And it makes his entire body feel as if he is high on the best drug ever.

“So sweet. Mhm fuck”, you lull as you explore his hole deeper. You jerk him off at the same time, grabbing his dainty waist with your other hand. It tenses and twitches under your fingertips. Hoseok is moaning so much, clenching on your tongue as you open him eagerly.

“You gotta stop being so good. Ah. A-ah. Ahm. Mhm. Ah.”

He is so going to regret saying this. You will show him how much better you can be.

You break away with a purr and pick up the lube you laid out to slather your fingers with it. You lower your mouth to his cock while you let your fingers slip into his hole. Two of them.

“Fuck, ah. I shouldn’t have said that”, he keens, curling his toes. His mouth opens and stays open. His eyes are widened in shock as the sensation sinks in. Just as you sink in. Literally. He actually has your fingers in his ass. Holy fuck.

“Is this good?”

“It’s fucking good. What the fuck are you doing to me? I can’t stop – ah – moaning.”

“Good. Keep making your pretty noises for me.”

You pump your fingers slowly, curling them each time you pass his prostate. He is supposed to get worked up. He is so tight and soft. It’s so addicting.

“Holy fuck ah. Holy fuck. Ah. A-ah. Hah.”

Hoseok is so, so noisy. And it’s heaven. You spit on your fingers so you can slip them deeper and wiggle. And as Hoseok mewls and clenches around because you hit his prostate precisely, you take his cock inside your mouth to suck it vigorously.

“You’re gonna make me cum”, he confesses, twisting his own hair. “I, I can’t do this for long. ___ just- Ah. A-a-ah.”

How perfect it is to get a man so fucking desperate. Especially if that man is your amazing best friend. Although what you are currently doing to him blurs the line between friendship and passion. It’s addicting. To be stuck in this fuzzy moment and ride the waves together. Also to feel his insides clench around you. He is so warm and tight. And so soft. Oh so soft.

You curl your fingers with more strength, causing him to yelp and leak precum down your throat.

He wants to tell you that he is going to climax, but can’t form a coherent sentence. Doesn’t matter to you. You understand.

You open your eyes and finally do what you are supposed to do in such a situation. You think of the spell, enchanting him with it through your fingers against his prostate.

“Now!” He has no idea what is happening, but finds out a second later when he gets there without getting there. “What is happening? Why can’t I cum? Urgh. Ah! What the fuck? ___ what are you- ah.”

You slip off his cock but keep your fingers inside, torturing his poor edged prostate as you stare deeply into his droopy eyes and jerk him off quickly.

“What’s the matter, Hoseok baby? Can’t cum?”

“Oh my god, what the fuck?” He slaps the mattress and twists the sheets. “Did you enchant me?” he growls the question because you have him tensing up.

“Mhm I did. With those two fingers, right there”, you say and curl them so fucking good that Hoseok’s eyes roll back and his hands shoot up just to twist the edge of the pillow. His cock throbs and leaks precum on his abs. Said abs ripple as he tries to get himself there.

“Please, this is torture. I wanna cum.”

“You’ve got ten minutes to get through. Can you do this?”

“You’re still doing this? Urgh, fuck stop curling your fing-ah a-ah. Oh god this is so awful”, he moans and wiggles hips trying oh so hard to get there as he fucks his eager ass on your fingers.

“Awful? Your leaking cock says otherwise”, you coo, squeezing droplets of his pleasure out of his cock by pressing down on his prostate.

Hoseok growls, throws his hand over his eyes and squeaks out a helpless sob.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop this”, you offer him.

“Don’t stop. More. Fuck, more.”

He begs as sweetly as he shakes. You curl your fingers deeper and twist your hand around his swollen cock. Hoseok mewls, rolling his head from side to side because he just can’t stay still.

“You’re so nice to watch, Hobi. Is this what your viewers get to see mhm?”

“Seriously don’t talk like this. It’s making it worse.”

You chuckle.

“You’re so cute.”

You slip out despite his complaints and reach for your phone.

“What are you doing? Come back. Don’t look at your bloody phone now.”

“I’m setting a timer.”

“Forget about timers, just sit on me.”

“You’re cute when you’re needy”, you say and climb between his legs. You pick up the buttplug he chose, getting it ready for him.

He stares hungrily.

“You know what comes after that?” you taunt.

“Hurry up and let’s get to it.”

He makes you laugh, “you’re so needy.”

The plug slips inside easily, making him curse because it feels so good to be filled.

“All in. Took it so easily.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“No, no. Beg. Go on.”

“Please. Fuck me”, he whines.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You climb his lap, running your hands up his torso until you can intertwine fingers with him. “Ready?”

“Just be with me already. I just wanna- oh”, he sits up and grasps your waist, moaning into your mouth.

Yes, you just sat down on him. His reaction will forever be burned into your mind.

“___”, he breathes, voice barely wanting to work.

“Hoseok”, you get out breathily, rubbing your nose against his’.

“Baby”, he sighs, cradling your head as if all he ever wanted to do was hold you. “Are you comfortable?” he asks in a shaky whisper.

“So comfortable. You?” You begin dancing your hips on his cock, using the sensual rhythm of the music to guide you.

Hoseok mewls, tilting his head until he can kiss you. With tongue. So needily, it feels as if he was starving. You pick up speed, pressing yourself close so your clit is rubbing against his stomach. His skin is so smooth and soft. The sensation is so, so nice against your clit.

It doesn’t take Hoseok long to break the kiss. He gawks at you, eyes glowing ruby and pupils blown out. Seriously if they could be heart shaped, they would be.

“Is this healthy? Am I supposed to feel like this?”

“You are. Just look at me, Hoseok baby, just a few more minutes”, you coo and let your eyes glow purple.

“___”, he mewls, pulling a face of agony. He tugs you closer, resting his forehead against yours. Your visions are blurry but you still keep looking at each other.

“That’s it, baby. Look at me. You’re so good, feeling like heaven.”

“I just wanna cum”, he whines, following it up with a barely there “please.”

Please.

What a pretty little word.

So short and yet so powerful.

You push him down and keep him pinned with your right hand on his throat and your left hand around his wrist.

Hoseok is disoriented for a second and completely loses his grip on reality when a second later you pick up a punishing pace, bouncing on him as if he had a debt to pay.

Hoseok doesn’t scream during sex, neither does he whimper. No matter how good it feels, those two sounds won’t leave him.

Until right now as you make him break the second rule.

He whimpers. He whimpers oh so loudly because he couldn’t handle it any other way.

And he begs. Oh he begs so much, only making you bounce harder and fuck him faster.

Hoseok’s toes curl because of you. His vision goes blurry and a little darker. All he can think about are orgasms. How good it would feel, how edging never ached as much, how you literally have him feeling small and needy.

“Please. Please. Please.”

“Just keeping begging. You’ve still got some time left.”

“Please. Please ___ please.”

Hoseok sobs, face contorting in agony and hands grasping your wrist.

“Please”, he pleads, “please slow down or something. Please.”

“You’re just so perfect, baby. You’ve got the best cock.”

“Please, my head hurts. Please.”

“You know which word to use to stop this.”

He shakes his head because he doesn’t want to Stop it, he just wants to stop aching in denial.

“Just let me cum. Please.”

“Soon. So soon.”

Hoseok whimpers and sobs, arching his back and curling his tongue back in his open mouth.

So this is how it feels. Hoseok never felt so helpless before. One must know that this is genuinely intense. He is constantly – constantly – one second away from climaxing. And this might sound like a dream at first, but it is agony. To desperately want to get there, to actually taste the relief and yet never actually get to savour it. Hoseok finally knows true desperation and it literally makes him cry. He cries real tears, voice quivering as he begs.

“Please, I’m sorry. Please.”

He has no idea that he is twenty seconds away from paradise. You tense around him, fucking him as if he needs punishing.

“Please. I’ll do anything.” Even Korean won’t get him there. He is at your mercy.

“You’re so cute, Hobi.”

“Please. PLEASE.”

The alarm goes off. He is finally one year older.

You lean down and kiss your birthday boy’s forehead, lifting the spell with it.

“Happy birthday”, you bring him over the edge like this.

And Hoseok screams. Just by being you, you make him break his first rule.

Hoseok screams, grasping your ass to keep you down as he drills his cock into you. It makes you squeal with him, eyes rolled back and body building up to a high. He can’t stop himself. He feels like a fucking animal and he needs to fuck like one before you take it away again. He can’t lose it. He needs to pound you stupid so you can’t steal his orgasms again.

He hits all the best spots and his cum is never ending. This is your personal heaven.

“I can’t stop. I can’t. Ah ___”, he sobs desperately, filling you with his high over and over again. “I can’t stop cumming, what the fuck baby. Ah!”

“Hobi, I’m cumming too.”

He moans your name as if you were his goddess, following you because, god, you have him worked up. He fucks harder for it, spreading your ass because he grips you with such neediness. It’s perfect because it gives your pussy enough space to squirt all over his cock and thighs.

“Kiss me. Fucking hell, kiss me as you squirt.”

You sloppily fulfill his wish, convulsing so much harder because of his needy tongue kisses.

You and he ride on your ecstatic highs like this. Tongue kissing, moaning and sobbing and getting messy.

You have no idea who comes down first, but you know that it takes a while.

Hoseok isn’t a Ripper, but he is still frozen after the high. You wrestle yourself up as best as your weakened body allows it, studying him. His eyes are closed, his brows furrowed and messy hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. His cheeks and lashes are soaked in his tears. His lips are puffy and red because of the kisses. He is so handsome.

You brush his hair back. Hoseok opens his eyes, spilling tears which couldn’t escape yet. You wipe them, following it up with a kiss to his forehead.

“Happy birthday.”

“I don’t know what to say”, he croaks.

“Say nothing”, you whisper and kiss his cheeks. They’re so soft.

“It was fucking amazing. I can’t believe this happened to me. I screamed.”

“You did.”

“I never scream.”

“So I guess you liked it?”

“Liked? I loved it, what the fuck”, he sits up and cups your face, staring at you as if you were his everything, “I don’t know what to do with the memory of you this night created. You just changed me. I-I’m, like, enchanted by you.”

You snicker, resting your forehead against his’.

“Same.” You melt. “I feel done. You made me squirt really hard.”

“I know. Fuck, come here you”, he lifts you so he can change positions. Sadly his softening cock slips out like this, but his thigh against your pussy stops you from leaking. 

He has you on your side, kissing you slowly and touching you gently.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you”, he murmurs between kisses, which really makes this so much more special.

Soon the kiss has to break for the sake of cleaning up. You and he even change the sheets together and get some water to drink.

Now you are facing each other, sharing silence and nothing but the shine of his bedside lamp. You are dressed again, bodies covered under his fluffy duvet. He traces your features gently. His lips are curled into a faint smile.

“You seem happy”, you whisper, barely wanting to keep your eyes open. He makes you feel so relaxed and sleepy.

“I am. I’m so happy.”

“Happiness looks so pretty on you.”

He smiles, eyes softening.

“You are pretty”, he whispers and kisses your forehead.

You close your eyes and can’t open them again. Even when he pulls back and continues to trace your face.

“I genuinely think that this was the best birthday ever.”

“It hasn���t even been an hour yet. Just you wait until you taste Yoongi’s birthday dinner. There’s even cake.”

He chuckles, “fuck, I can’t believe you made me go into my birthday by having an orgasm.”

“Mh-hm, the kind which made you scream.”

He nudges you, “shut up.”

You smile.

Hoseok draws close, holding you in his arms and closing his eyes.

“You’re crazy and I love it.”

You snicker, melting into him, “thank you.”

“No. Thank you. So much.”

“Don’t. You deserved it. You deserve the world.”

“Shit, ___. You’re the one who deserves it”, he whispers and squeezes you gently.

“Just take it, Hobi.”

He chuckles, snuggling.

“Fine, whatever you say.”

“Mhm, good.”

You and he fall asleep like this. And it is needless to say that Hoseok is thoroughly and very happily surprised by the party. He deserves it. Because he deserves everything.

[kiyawritesforf1]

SHADES OF BLUE : A Race Against Ruin

Pairing : Jenson Button x Wife!Reader

Summary :

TW : Mention Of Miscarriage

“Shades of Blue: A Race Against Ruin”

A Fragile Victory

For five years, you and Jenson Button had built a life together—laughter echoing through your home, late-night talks about the future, and a shared dream of a family. The first three years were blissful, unmarred by the weight of unfulfilled hopes. But the last two? They were a quiet battle against an invisible enemy: infertility. Month after month, negative tests piled up like discarded dreams. You’d sit on the bathroom floor, staring at the single line, while Jenson would kneel beside you, his hand on your shoulder, whispering, “It’ll happen when it’s meant to.”

The gynecologist’s words were a double-edged sword: “There’s nothing wrong with either of you. It’ll happen when it does.” Comforting, yet maddeningly vague. You clung to that hope through every injection, every tracked cycle, every tearful night.

Then, after two years of trying—five years into your marriage—it happened. A faint second line. You didn’t believe it at first, taking three more tests just to be sure. When you showed Jenson, his eyes widened, and he scooped you up, spinning you around the kitchen until you were both dizzy with joy. “We did it,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “We’re having a baby.”

The news spread like wildfire. Friends, family, and even Jenson’s racing circle erupted in celebration. Daniel Ricciardo sent a ridiculous onesie with “Future F1 Champ” emblazoned across it, along with a note: “Better teach him to overtake early, mate!” You laughed until your sides hurt, imagining a tiny helmet on your future child.

The baby shower was a golden day. Lewis Hamilton showed up with a sleek, miniature Mercedes toy car—“For practice,” he winked—while Fernando Alonso brought a tiny racing suit, joking, “He’ll be faster than Jenson in no time.” Your best friend, Emma, organized games, including a blindfolded diaper-changing race that left Jenson covered in baby powder and Max Verstappen howling with laughter. “You’re hopeless, Button!” Max teased, snapping a photo for posterity.

When the gender reveal came—a burst of blue confetti—you cried, and Jenson pulled you close, whispering, “Our little boy.” The room cheered, and for the first time in years, the weight lifted. You felt whole.

The Shadow Creeps In

But as the pregnancy progressed, a quiet unease settled in your chest. At seven months, you started having nightmares—vague, haunting images of empty cribs and silent rooms. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Jenson was deep into the racing season, his schedule relentless. You’d always supported his career, cheering from the stands or the TV, but now, with the baby due in two months, you needed him closer.

One evening, as he packed for the next race, you sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on your swollen belly. “Jenson, I don’t feel right about this. Can you skip the next few races? Just until he’s here?”

He paused, a shirt half-folded in his hands, and turned to you. “Love, I’ll be back before you know it. The season’s heating up—I can’t miss these. And once he’s born, I’ll take all the time off you want. I’ll be home for two months straight, I promise.”

You frowned, the unease tightening its grip. “It’s not about after. It’s about now. I just… I have a bad feeling.”

He sat beside you, taking your hands. “You’re just anxious. It’s normal. Everything’s been fine at the checkups, hasn’t it?” His voice was gentle, but firm—the tone he used when he’d already made up his mind.

You wanted to argue, to make him see the fear gnawing at you, but you nodded instead. “Okay. Just… be careful.”

He kissed your forehead. “Always am.”

The Fall

Two days later, you were alone in the house, folding tiny blue onesies, when it happened. A sharp, searing pain ripped through your abdomen, doubling you over. You gasped, clutching the edge of the table, and then you saw it—blood, bright and terrifying, pooling beneath you. Panic seized you as you fumbled for your phone, dialing Emma.

“Em, I—I need help,” you stammered, voice shaking. “Something’s wrong.”

She was there in minutes, her face pale as she helped you into the car. The drive to the hospital was a blur of pain and fear, her hand gripping yours. “You’re going to be okay,” she kept saying, though her voice trembled.

At the hospital, the doctors moved quickly, but their faces told you everything before the words came. “I’m so sorry,” the doctor said, her eyes soft with pity. “We couldn’t save him.”

The world shattered. Your little boy—gone before he’d even arrived. You lay in the sterile bed, staring at the ceiling, numb. Emma stayed by your side, crying quietly, while you couldn’t muster a single tear. Not yet.

Jenson arrived hours later, straight from the airport, his face ashen. He’d been mid-race when Emma’s call came through, and he’d abandoned everything to get to you. He sank into the chair beside your bed, reaching for your hand, but you pulled away.

“I told you,” you whispered, voice hollow. “I told you I had a bad feeling.”

He flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t know. I thought—”

“You didn’t listen,” you cut in, the words sharp despite your exhaustion. “You chose racing over us.”

He didn’t argue. He just sat there, head bowed, as the silence grew heavy between you.

The Drift

The weeks that followed were a slow unraveling. Jenson tried—God, he tried. He canceled his next races, stayed home, brought you tea you didn’t drink, and spoke words you didn’t hear. But every time you looked at him, you saw the empty nursery down the hall, the future you’d lost. The grief was a wall, and neither of you knew how to climb it.

Friends came by, offering comfort that felt like noise. Daniel stopped in one afternoon, his usual grin replaced by a somber quiet. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, sitting across from you on the couch. “But I’m here, yeah?”

You nodded, managing a small, “Thanks, Dan.” He stayed for an hour, telling dumb stories about karting days until you cracked a faint smile—the first in weeks. But when he left, the silence returned, heavier than before.

Lewis called, his voice steady over the line. “You don’t have to go through this alone. Either of you. Let us help.” You thanked him, but you didn’t know how to let anyone in—not even Jenson.

One night, you found Jenson in the nursery, staring at the crib. “We can try again,” he said softly, not looking at you. “When you’re ready.”

The words snapped something inside you. “Ready?” you echoed, voice rising. “I wasn’t ready to lose him, Jenson. I wasn’t ready for any of this.”

He turned, eyes red. “I lost him too. You think I don’t feel it?”

“Then why didn’t you stay?” you shouted, tears finally breaking free. “I needed you, and you weren’t here!”

“I didn’t know!” he yelled back, then stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know,” he repeated, quieter. “I’m sorry.”

The distance grew, a chasm neither of you could bridge. You stopped sleeping in the same bed. Conversations dwindled to logistics—bills, groceries, nothing more.

The Turning Point

Three months after the loss, you sat him down in the living room. “I want a divorce,” you said, the words tasting bitter.

Jenson stared at you, stunned, then shook his head. “No.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m not giving up on us,” he said, voice firm. “I messed up. I should’ve stayed. I’ll carry that forever. But I love you, and I know you still love me, even if you’re too hurt to feel it right now.”

You wanted to argue, to push him away, but his eyes held you—raw, determined. “We’ve been through hell,” he continued. “But we’ve made it through everything else together. Let’s try. Really try.”

The next day, he dragged you to therapy—literally, because you almost didn’t get out of the car. The first session was brutal. You cried, he yelled, and the therapist barely got a word in. But you went back. Week after week, you chipped away at the wall—sometimes with anger, sometimes with silence, sometimes with shaky, tentative hope.

One afternoon, Daniel and Max dropped by unannounced, armed with takeout and a terrible racing movie. “Therapy’s great,” Daniel said, grinning, “but nothing heals like bad pizza and worse plots.” Max nodded sagely, adding, “Plus, Jenson’s commentary will make you laugh or leave him. Win-win.”

You did laugh—Jenson’s exasperated groans at the film’s inaccuracies turning into a full-blown rant that had you clutching your sides. It wasn’t a fix, but it was a start.

A Fragile Hope

Months later, the air felt lighter. You still grieved—some days, the nursery door stayed closed, a silent acknowledgment of the loss. But you were talking again, really talking. One night, on the couch, Jenson told a story about a rookie mistake he’d made in his early F1 days, and you laughed—a real, unguarded laugh. He smiled, tentative, hopeful, and reached for your hand. This time, you didn’t pull away.

“We’re not okay yet,” you said softly, fingers brushing his.

“No,” he agreed. “But we will be.”

You nodded, leaning into him. The road ahead was uncertain—scarred by loss, paved with effort—but as you sat together, the echoes of blue confetti felt less like a ghost and more like a promise. A fragile, stubborn hope that, together, you could rebuild.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag III

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Baby!Reader

Summary: When Emma and Frida found you

Frida is leaving for England.

Arsenal have been interested in her since the season began so it was only natural that she went off there to develop her career further.

But, still, Emma doesn't want to see Frida leave.

Frida occupies a space in Emma's heart that she can't put into words. Frida is everything to her, the air, the ground, the sky and the stars.

But Emma would never discourage Frida from finding her place in a league abroad.

Frida deserves everything in life, even if it's half a world away from where Emma is looking after their home in Sweden.

It will be different in the beginning, Emma knows this, but together there isn't much they can't overcome.

But, still, she'll miss the way Frida's body feels against hers. Even now, as they sneak around the back of the training centre to kiss.

It's not the most professional they've ever been but she just can't help herself when it comes to Frida.

"E-Emma," Frida says in a hushed tone, pushing Emma's roaming lips from her neck," Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Emma pulls away, glancing around for whatever errant sound Frida has heard.

"I..."

There's nothing but the breeze in the wind, the rustle of leafless branches in the height of winter.

It's absolutely freezing. It's predicted that this is to be the coldest day of the year.

"Nothing," Frida says," I must have imagined it."

Emma's lips go back to her neck, leaving dainty kisses all over her skin. Each one a labour of love, red hot in a way that feels beautiful as the snow falls around them.

Emma stops though, pulling away again.

"No," She says," Wait. I think I can hear it too."

It's faint, barely audible whimpers and whines that are getting more and more quiet as they go on.

But Emma and Frida are alone in an icy cold wasteland.

There's not even birds in the trees. Yet, now that Emma's straining her ears, she can hear the noises with crystal clear clarity.

She shivers as another freezing breeze cuts through her like a knife.

"I...I think it's coming from over there," Frida says, looking over at the clump of dense bushes over by the bins.

"Stay here," Emma says, wary of if it's some wild animal," I'll go and luck."

"Emma-"

"Stay here, Frida. I'll check it out."

She approaches the bushes carefully, slowly in case the animal jumps at her.

But there's no animal.

Just you.

"Emma?" Frida calls, watching as Emma lowers herself to her knees," What is it?"

Emma turns, a singular blanket in her hold and, in that blanket, is you.

"I...I think we need to call an ambulance," She says shakily," I-I think she's been abandoned."

You're tiny, smaller than any baby that Frida's ever seen before. You don't look good either. You're obviously freezing, little lips turning a concerning shade of purple and the cries from your mouth are getting quieter and quieter the longer you're outside.

Teammates clamber over themselves to help when Emma and Frida run in with you.

Somewhere along the way, Frida loses her top when it's clear that you're either nearly hypothermic or already developing it. Skin-to-skin seems to be what's best for you as you lay weakly on Frida's chest with layers of blankets over you both.

Now that she can see you properly, it's with a sinking feeling that she realises how underweight you actually are. You're nothing but skin and bones as Frida holds you close while they wait for the ambulance.

"They're calling her the Linköping baby," Emma says softly," The staff and the girls, that is. Word has spread pretty quickly."

"That's unfair," Frida replies, her own voice barely above a whisper as she feels your lungs inflate shakily against her," They can't call her that. She needs a name."

"They don't think she's going to survive," Emma says," Even before the ambulance gets here. She's in bad shape. They don't think she's going to make it."

"And you?" Frida finally tears her eyes away from you to look at her girlfriend. "What do you think?"

"I think..."

Your head barely pokes out from under all of the blankets, your eyes half open. You're not moving much. It seems to almost be too much effort to even breath, like everything in you is fighting to do something as basic and instinctual as that.

Emma didn't know what to expect when she looked in that bush. You were laying there, weak and unmoving in just a singular blanket and a thin onesie. One could almost mistake you for being asleep if it weren't from the stilted way your chest rose and fell and the way faint noises would escape your mouth every so often.

"I think...I think she's a fighter."

"I think so too."

Emma can tell what Frida's thinking before Frida herself even knows what she's thinking. She can tell by the way Frida's holding, you the way she's looking at you, the way she presses a soft kiss to the wispy hair at the top of your head.

Emma can tell because she's thinking the exact same thing.

"She looks like you," Emma says, starting off gently," Don't you think?"

Frida giggles a little bit. "I was thinking she had your nose. What part of her looks like me exactly?"

"Her hair, maybe," Emma says," And I'm sure once she opens this eyes of hers, they'll be like yours."

"You don't know that."

"I think I do."

"She might never open them," Frida says suddenly," If everyone is thinking she won't come out of this. They might never open."

"She will. She's a fighter."

Frida's throat bobs. "But if she doesn't...What would they even put on her grave? The Linköping baby?"

"You want to name her?"

"Everyone deserves a name. No matter how little they are."

"Then name her."

"I-"

"Ambulance is here," One of their teammates pokes their heads through the door," Medics are coming in now. They said to stay put."

"Y/N," Frida says suddenly.

"Huh?" Emma asks.

"She looks like a y/n."

You're tiny and malnourished and halfway to death's door. The possibility of you surviving the night is astronomically low.

But you have a name now and, in Emma's mind, you have a bedroom at home. A bedroom with a soft, warm crib and a dog companion who would just adore you. A bedroom in a house full of toys and soft clothes and two mothers who would adore you too.

A first name and a last name from the mothers who found you freezing cold in the dead of winter, buried in a bush as snow fell over you.

"Yeah," Emma says as the paramedics rush in," She does."

[hrrtshape]

GIRL, NEW YEARS??????? Omg if you're staying for a minute, SPILL THE DR TEA

i shifted for a quarter of a year.....does the cia want to know my location??

it’s soooooo over for you all. i have seen the light (coryo). i have tasted the forbidden fruit (no..not coryo). i have held hands with fate and made out with destiny in a dark corner of a new york rooftop bar (coryo!!!!).

hi. so. i shifted. with this method.

and listen, the universe is a freak. it’ll knock the wind out of you, throw you down the stairs, steal your wallet, and then, while you’re still gasping for air, go, ‘oh, my bad. here’s a gift card. also, you can shift now.’ so. hi. i’m back. i lived in my better cr for three months. an entire fiscal quarter. and now i’m here again, blinking in the fluorescent light of this reality, trying to form sentences like a war vet just back from the frontlines.

what do i even say? where do i begin? i guess the first day. let’s set the scene: september 20th. autumn in new york. cinematic. LET'S GOOOO.

i shifted back. cried. obviously. cried some more. then locked in (queen never crumbles) and promptly lost my entire mind on the balcony. squealing, jumping, doing the full carrie bradshaw excited little twirl in paris before she got fucked over the russian short guy. if my neighbours were watching, they were getting a show.

i got dressed for school. threw on something casually devastating. drank matcha on the way as i picked up lily-rose. business as usual, except i was vibrating at a higher frequency than ever before. every nerve ending in my body was singing. i was so happy.

then. okay. i know i said i got with coryo. and i did. (everyone say: ‘she won.’) but. not yet. patience. restraint. delayed gratification. all that. i saw him that first day, and did i think about jumping him? yes. did i? no. but he winked at me.like the absolute menace he is. imagine me, gripping my books like a regency heroine whose gloved hand was just brushed by a suitor. i nearly blacked out. then it was onto the usual: maths, english, lunch, philosophy, p.e. (where i spent the full hour contemplating coryo in gym clothes. blessings upon this timeline), history.

post-school, me, lily-rose, and malina (@chaaistained you made a cameo, my ride-or-die) went shopping on fifth ave because of course we did. the girls were girl-ing. capitalism was capitalism-ing. i know you’re nodding. i know you get it. we all get it. then home. girl dinner. filmed some deeply unserious tiktoks. stalked coryo’s instagram (two days apart and i was already checking for potential threats. he had none. heh). chatted with my car, caesar. absolute king. i was, in a word, thriving.

and now i know what you’re thinking. ‘emma. you were there for three months. why didn’t you stay longer?’ and lovies, i hear you. i do. but last time shifting ate me alive and spat me out, so we’re doing things differently now. a little here, a little there. back and forth, like a woman with multiple lovers in different countries. balance. we're ed recovering this stuff.

oh ! also. minor detail but i started an anonymous page in the shifting community over there. what’s it about?????? well. let’s just say i’ve been documenting.

more soon. xoxo. gotta organise these rogue thoughts first

[theesterianempire]

I'll be here - Spencer Reid x Y/N

Synopsis: Y/N has suffered from anxiety since she was young but since joining the BAU her anxiety has been kept in check, until one particularly bad case.  Luckily, Spencer is there to comfort her.

Trigger Warnings: Anxiety, anxiety attack, medication

Word count: 1579

Y/N was fourteen when it first happened.  She woke up confused about where she was and when she walked downstairs it didn’t feel like she was in control.  It felt like someone was controlling her, or like she wasn’t herself at all.  She went to school that day still feeling the same way and it was around morning break she started hearing it.  It was like a voice in the back of her head calling her name, telling him to wake up.

She made it through the rest of the day with the same feeling and voice in her head.  She tried to ignore the feelings and went by on autopilot and when she made it home she just sat upstairs doing her homework.  It wasn’t until dinner that night that when her parents asked her about it.

Y/N, her sister and father were sat at the dinner table when her dad turned to her sister.  “Hey Emma, would you mind letting Y/N and I talk for a minute?”

Y/N was confused but allowed Emma to leave.

“Y/N, are you feeling okay?” Your dad asked concerned dripping in his tone,

“I… uh… yeah…” Y/N replied unsurely,

“It’s okay, you can tell me anything?”  He asked knowing that Y/N wasn’t quite being honest.

“I just, I...  I think I’m coming down with something…”  Y/N replied.

Your dad didn’t think it was quite the truth but he knew he couldn’t force you into talking.  He also noticed that you looked off, slightly paler than usual so maybe it was partially true.

“Okay, why don’t you have a lie in tomorrow and I’ll tell the school you’re sick.”  He suggested.

“Are you sure?”  Y/N replied, “I don’t think I’m bad enough to miss school.” “I know Y/N but I can that you’re not okay.  Even if you’re not sick I want to keep an eye on it.”  He explained, worried about you.

The next day you were fine.  You still had time off but you were fine.  You spent the next few weeks happy, nothing was wrong.  It wasn’t until you were 17 that something happened again.  

You woke up one morning feeling on edge.  Like your whole body was about to launch into a panic attack.  You walked downstairs with hair slightly more dishevelled than usual and looking a little pale.

“You okay?”  Your dad asked concerned,

“Y… y… yeah…” Stuttered Y/N,

“Take a seat.” He commanded guiding you to the sofa.

You sat down leaning forward with your elbows on your knees.  You began chewing on the sleeve of your hoodie.  It wasn’t the first time you’d had had a panic attack but this one felt different, it was more intense.

You felt your breathing picking up slightly and the next thing you knew your dad thrust a paper bag in front of you.  You shakily took it, holding it to your mouth.

“Breathe.”  Your dad said as he put one hand over yours on the bag to help steady it.  He placed his other hand on your back rubbing soothing circles gently.  “It’s okay…”

When you calmed down a bit he spoke up again, “You’re doing so well…”  After another few minutes he declared, “You’re not going to school today.  I’ll phone the school once you’re more stable.”

Your dad sat and continued to soothe you.  He rubbed your back in circular motions and soon he felt you start to shake with sobs as you cried quietly.

“It’s okay…”  

Once your tears had died down you went and changed into some sweats and was sat on the sofa, where you stayed in a haze for the rest of the day.

——————————

You’d pretty much grown up having days like this but since you’d joined the BAU you’d yet to have one quite like it.  However, it was all too good to be true when you were sitting at a desk in a random precinct in a small town.  

A guy was kidnapping seemingly random children and dumping their bodies less than twelve hours later.  Half of the team were out surveying crime scenes while you were looking over evidence and paperwork to see if you could spot anything.  Another child had yet to be taken but if the unsubs timeline was anything to go by, another child would be reported missing in the next three hours.

As you flipped through photos your mind was in a daze; your eye sight slipping in and out of focus.  You couldn’t feel your body and your mind was all… fuzzy? There was a deep sense of dread building up inside of you and you didn’t quite know how to deal with what you were feeling.  You moved to rub your eyes but your hands felt numb.

You barely felt it when someone put a hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles.  You wanted to turn and see who the person was but you were too dizzy to move.

“Just breathe…” A voice off to the side of you spoke gently.

You felt the person move slightly beside you, the hand on your back rubbing a little harder.

“It’s okay…”  The voice repeated firmly.

You felt the dizziness overcome you quickly.  You slumped to the side barely conscious but trying so hard to hold on; to stay awake.  You didn’t realise that you’d fallen into the person next to you until you felt an arm hold you close.

“It’s okay, just let go… it’ll be over soon…” The voice said gently.

You felt the darkness over take you.

When you woke up you were lying on a small sofa with what felt like a soft pillow behind you.  You looked around, your mind still fuzzy.

You slowly sat up only to be pushed back down by strong hands.

“Hey… hey… it’s okay…”  Said the owner of the two hands,

You looked confused as Spencer came into view.

“You fainted…” He stated simply, “You were stuck in a pretty bad anxiety attack.  You were fading in and out of consciousness until I told you to relax.”  He explained, “You may be feeling a little unsteady for a while.  I uh… I found these in your bag. You should take them,” Spencer said, handing you two small white pills, your anxiety medication.

“And from experience and research I got you Gatorade to help with the dizziness and the energy loss.”  He finished before holding up a bottle.

“I… I’m sorry.” You stuttered as you sat up to take the pills.  As you did you realised that what your head was resting on wasn’t a pillow, but rather Spencer’s cardigan, neatly folded.

“Hey no…” He said sitting down on the side of the couch by your legs.  “It’s okay.  You don’t need to apologise to me.  You’re going through something and I just want to help you”.

“Thank you.”  You muttered quietly,  

“What’s wrong?”  Spencer asked gently

“I just… it’s embarrassing.  I mean, I didn’t want anyone to know and I…”

Before you could say anything else Spencer cut in, “It’s not embarrassing.  It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.  I’m glad I was here otherwise you’d have been going through that alone.  There’s nothing embarrassing about an anxiety attack, I know how scary they can be and it’s okay.”

You sat for a moment, waiting for your medication to kick in.

“How are you feeling now?”  Spencer asked after a few minutes,

“I…”  You started but the words died on your lips.

“Please, be honest with me,” Spencer urged,

“Bad…”  You muttered very quietly.

“What sort of bad?”  Spencer asked gently moving closer to you so he could make eye contact whilst still being close enough to comfort you if he needed to.

“My heart feels like its fluttering and my chest hurts.  I can’t quite get my head straight and… and I feel like I’m on the edge, like I could launch into another attack at any second.”

As you went on Spencer found the speed at which he spoke was increasing rapidly.  He knew he’d have to intervene soon if you continued like this.

“Hey… it’s okay…”  Spencer said placing a hand on your back to rub soothing circles as he had done earlier.  “I’m not judging you I just want to help you.”

You and Spencer sat like that in a comfortable silence for a while before you yawned.

“Are you tired?”  Spencer asked knowing the answer.

You nodded shyly.

“Why don’t you go to sleep for a while, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Spencer suggested,

“But the case?” You question,

“Y/N, you can hardly work like this. Hotch will understand” He explained,

“You’re going to tell him?” You ask, fear in your voice,

“I have to, Y/N.  If you need support we’re all here for you but we can’t do that if we don’t know.” Spencer explained.

You nodded slowly, yawning again.

“Right, you get some sleep, okay?” Spencer said, moving so you could lie down again.

You smiled slightly at Spencer as he moved to sit on the floor by the sofa, placing the case file in front of him.

Your eyes fluttered furiously as you tried to stay awake.  Spencer turned to you and slowly moved his hand to stroke your hair gently.  You leaned into his touch, visibly relaxing.

“I’ll be right here…”  Spencer soothed as your eyes slipped closed and the sleep overcame you.