#Why does my brain do this HOW DOES MY BRAIN DO THIS

[starkeysbabygirl]

⋆˚࿔ make you feel 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝜗𝜚 bsfbro!rafe x virgin!reader

𝜗𝜚 you have filthy thoughts about your best friends brotherX what happens when you can’t help yourself one night and get caught?

𝜗𝜚 18+ MDNI! unprotected piv sex, virgin!reader, virginity loss, blood mentioned, possessive!rafe, praise, dirty talk, daddy kink, hint at female masturbation

𝜗𝜚 idk how i feel about this one but i finished it and might as well share it, if there are any grammar errors or anything else i’m sorry i tried my best didn’t exactly edit🫣😂

sarah was your best friend ever since you could remember. moving away a couple years ago was probably one of the worst things that could have happened but the two of you promised to always see each other no matter what, every summer, so here you were staying with the cameron’s for the next few months. the cameron’s always welcomed you with open arms. the only one who seemed to have a problem was sarah’s older brother, rafe fucking cameron.

rafe cameron made your high school years a living hell. he scared off any boy who even thought about you in any way which is why you were still a virgin still, even at the age of twenty three, you were never able to get a boyfriend. you blew it off as rafe doing what your brother cade would have done if he were still around. rafe and cade were best friends but cade left a few years ago for college, a few states away. little did you know, it had nothing to do with cade and all to do with rafe and his bottled up feelings he never got over.

although rafe had always been beyond infuriating you couldn’t deny he was very nice on the eyes. he was one of the best looking guys on this island. this time around, you couldn’t stop thinking about him and it just kept getting worse and worse the more rafe came into contact with you.

you couldn’t help yourself as thoughts of rafe began to cloud your mind with all the ways you would want him to take you and have his way with you. your hands were down your sleep shorts before you could stop yourself. you’ve done this countless times before but never with filthy thoughts of rafe.

you were already wet when you start circling your clit, a low moan escaping your lips. you were lost in the moment when all of a sudden the door slowly creaks open and you quickly slip your hand out of your shorts trying to wipe any evidence off of your hands. you look towards the door surprised to see your best friends brother.

“rafe!? what the hell?”

“whoa y/n relax! stop looking so guilty. you fucking hiding some guy in here or somethin’?” he laughs but suddenly looks concerned as if you did have a man hiding somewhere in this room.

“no, i don’t know what you’re talking about rafe. of course not. get out.”

“what were you doing then y/n? hmmm?” rafe gets closer to the bed and sniffs the air making you nervous just watching him. you start to wonder how the hell he would know what you were up to just by smelling the air, it wasn’t possible.

“nothing, and it’d be none of your business if i was seeing anyone anyways.”

rafe grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his nose and inhales. a smirk forms on his face. “tsk tsk, naughty girl. nothing, huh?” he chuckles and shakes his head.

“what are you doing?! rafe what the fuck who does that?!” you whisper yell as you yank your hand away from him. “go back to your room, what are you even doing coming in here without knocking? sarah could have seen you or wheezie!”

“if you needed help going to sleep you could have just told me princess.” his hand grazes your cheek and you immediately blush, all megative thoughts out the window. rafe crawls on top of you making you lose all brain function. he slides his hands down the covers and toys with the bottom of your shorts. the tension in the air thick as it could ever be.

“r-rafe…fuck it, oh my god. touch me.” you beg, so desperate for his touch and more. it takes rafe no time pulling your shorts and panties down your legs and throws them on the floor. he makes his way down, giving a light tap to your legs.

“spread those legs, let me see.” rafe demands and you obey, spreading your legs putting your pussy on display. “fuuuuck y/n, this pussy is perfect, so fucking pretty and made for me.” rafe groans.

the dirty words coming from rafe’s mouth make your pussy throb with need. you knew you might regret it later but you didn’t care because in this moment you knew you were about to lose your virginity to rafe cameron.

“fuck me rafe, fuck me please? please i want you.” you spread your legs even more inviting rafe to have his way with you.

“you have no idea what this means y/n. once i fuck you, you’re mine. you understand?” he says with a stern voice. his breath hot in your ear. you nod. rafe pulls off his shirt in one swift move then starts to unbuckle to his belt and slides it off.

“words baby.”

“i understand rafe. i just…i need you, so horny i need to cum right now.” you whimper. rafe slides down to the foot of the bed and gets up. he pulls you down with him, turning you around so that you are bent over, chest on the bed and feet on the ground. he wraps his belt around your wrist tying your hands together behind your back.

“you gonna be a good girl for daddy? i’ll make your first time worth it princess don’t you worry. you might cry but i’ll lick your tears away for you.” rafe pulls his pants and boxers off, his hard cock springing out and leaking precum onto the ground. you try to look behind you seeing his hard length throbbing with the need to release. you were completely in shock at his size but also intrigued.

“yes daddy, m’going to be your good girl, and only yours.” you moan. rafe bends down a little to line up his cock to your pussy and rubs his tip up and down your soaking wet slit and eases his way in carefully. “ooooh f-fuuuuuck! ahhhh rafe! oh my god.” you cry out, his big cock slowly stretching you out causing you pain at first then pleasure.

“that’s my girl. you’re doing so well f’me my pretty girl. fuck this pussy feels s’good, squeezing my cock so fucking tight.” rafe grunts as he starts to pick up his pace. he grabs your waist and rams in and out of your cunt.

“ahh! shiiiit, feels s’good daddy, you’re going to make me cum, just like that! please, harder!” you scream. rafe shoves your face into the bed with one hand and slaps your ass with the other. his thrusts start to get fast and sloppy.

“you gonna cum with me princess? m’not going to last any longer, your pussy is too fucking tight, going to blow my load inside of you.” rafe’s low groans fill the room along with your muffled screams. just as rafe could feel his balls start to tighten he lifts your head from the bed and pulls it back at a weird angle so you were looking into his eyes.

“m’gonna cum rafe, i can’t hold it anymore, i’m cumming!” you scream.

“i’m right there with your princess! oh shit, fuck i’m fucking cumming god damn!” rafe grunts and pushes you into the bed as he falls onto you as his cock pulses, shooting rope after rope of cum deep inside your pussy and filling you up to the brim. he slowly pulls out and the mix of blood, your juices and his cum make a mess on the floor. you lift your head and he swiftly unties your wrists.

“wow that was…um, well..just how i imagined it would be with you, rafe cameron.” you chuckle and rafe has a cocky smirk on his face.

“yeah? well, don’t forget what i said earlier baby, you’re mine now and this was just the beginning.” rafe reminds you.

he grabs a towel from the bathroom and cleans you then himself up before cleaning the evidence on the floor. after everything gets cleaned up rafe puts his clothes back on then watches as you dress.

“i’d be yours anyday. who would have thought?” you murmur and yawn starting to feel the exhaustion set in.

“you were always going to be mine y/n. you just didn’t know it, but i did. i always knew.” rafe steps towards you and grips you by the chin, lifting your head up so you were staring into his eyes. he leans down and kisses you. you slightly pull back.

“good night rafe.” then you kiss him back and walk towards the door about to open it for him figuring he would want to head back to his own room.

“whoa. hold it. i’m not going anywhere princess, i’m staying right here with you now lets get into bed.” he grabs your hand and walks you back to your bed.

tagging a few moots: @cameronsprincess @rafesthroatbaby @rafesheaven @cameronwillow

[briefpiratebear]

for me keeping myself high meant in the moment meant more then any amount of sympathy or disrespect anybody could do to me. i didnt want that who would i failed like i fail at everything this time i didnt know many things i thought i did like a mental disorder i could not keep my thoughts and my brain right i was mentally incapable although i could work and i did always did yet with anxiety and no meds i couldnt be normal i lost it again i dont take anxiety meds im a buddha but since my brake down it hurt me physically like i did my entire years growing up this time i only lose it momentarily i need to find some other distractions then this shit feeling im doing alot better like i always thought i would on adderall lol it is a very very sad story of how someone dehuminized and deliberatly terrrorize over drugs they needed to be taking there entire life not only that but so much not knowing there own children labling me as autistic way earlier on before her degrees because of my alcholism changed the way of my thinking seperated us she never new me untill she had to know me thats how sad our relationship has been for along time not now for awhile all in all its dehuminizing her mother does it alot worse all in all its nothing good to lie that is why truth wins everytime i stand on truth and manners i have to we all do anyway i never had a problem i figured my shit out but who was there helping me i dont take for granted but i have to learn to enjoy the ride better myself and family together many people do not know how to communicate like i do not even my mom i see perspectives people dont think about i can wrap my head around alot but damn that shit broke me i spent all my money on shit to feel good i was sad a pig i turned into another animal alcholic ran myself to the ground getting phcho episode i dont even reminber my ex i must have drank popped pills the whole time untill well early november i got hospitalized and i wasnt well untill around chrismas time i was on heavy drugs because physically i would shake people think its ever since the meningitis the spinal tap fucked me up but i dont i think its a anxiety thing cause from nerv damage longer i go on the more it subsided it was bad all in all the monopaly went well another life lesson i would never take those away from anybody idc who you are whether you grew up in catholic schools or the slums you deserve to be heard other people need to hear it...

[steveseddie]

looking for something dumb to do

written for @steddiebingo 12 days of christmas mini event | prompt: proposal | rating: t | wc: 2,1k | tags: modern setting, past billy/steve, first meetings, flirting, fake proposal

read on ao3

Eddie sits at the restaurant, scrolling mindlessly on his phone, waiting for Wayne.

He laughs at yet another one of those hilarious videos of parents doing the Grinch prank on their kids. Seriously, there are so many and he finds them infinitely amusing. He just sent the latest one to Gareth, knowing he’ll get a kick out of it too, and is waiting for his reply when someone slides into the seat in front of him. 

He knows it’s not his uncle before he even looks up because he just texted Eddie to say he was running late– and ain’t that rich coming from the same man who’s always complaining about Eddie never being on time? 

Anyway. 

Eddie locks his phone just as Gareth’s reply comes in but he does get a glimpse of a string of laughing emojis before he looks up. “Sorry, man, that seat is–” 

But the rest of the words die in his throat when his brain momentarily stops working. It does that sometimes, especially around hot guys. Like the one sitting in front of Eddie, staring at him with a tiny frown between his eyebrows, probably wondering why Eddie stopped talking like he got sniped. 

“Taken. That seat is taken,” he finishes. Unlike me, Eddie thinks as he gives the guy an obvious once-over. 

“Shit, sorry, of course, but can you– can you hear me out for a second?” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, his interest piqued. The guy is hunched over himself like he’s trying to hide and his voice has a frantic tilt.

“Uh sure, man, what’s up?” 

The guy probably expected Eddie to tell him to fuck off because he lets out a relieved little sigh when he agrees to listen to him. Then he leans over the table, lowering his voice. 

“Do you see that guy with the mustache waiting at the entrance? He’s my ex-boyfriend and a dick and he just showed up with the girl that he cheated on me with,” he explains hurriedly. 

Eddie locates the guy waiting to be seated and the girl holding his hand. He’s hot and she’s hot but the guy sitting in front of him has them both beat.

“So I haven’t seen him since I caught them together and ended things with him and– you know when you break up with someone and constantly think about how things will go when you run into them again? How they’ll see you and realize they lost the breakup and made a mistake by letting you go?” Eddie gives a short nod and the guy keeps going. “Right so that was my plan, only there’s a problem because the guy I was meeting for dinner tonight stood me up and now I’m here alone and pathetic and fucking Billy is here with his fiancée! Yes, they’re going to get married! Even if he always insisted he would never do that and–” 

He keeps rambling but Eddie is stuck on the fact that not only did this guy get cheated on but also someone stood him up. What the fuck? 

If he ever went on a date with someone as hot as him, Eddie would lock him down faster than anyone can say–

“–help?” 

Eddie blinks. Shit. The guy just asked him something and he has no idea what it was. 

“Uh, s–sure, how can I help?” 

Despite his flawless attempt to make it seem like he was paying attention, the guy can tell Eddie zoned out at some point. It drags an amused chuckle out of him. “I thought I could sit here with you until they leave or until they are seated and I can sneak out without them seeing me,” he says, running a hand through his hair and giving Eddie a sheepish look. 

Eddie’s phone lights up with a text then. The guy’s eyes dart down, and even if he can’t read what it says, he makes his own assumptions. 

“Unless– unless your date is almost here and you need me to fuck off before they arrive?” He says, his expression turning panicked again. He moves his chair back as if to get up and leave, almost taking out the poor waiter.

Eddie reaches across the table and grabs hold of his sweater, stopping him. “Actually my date is just my uncle and he said he’s running late,” he says with his fingers wrapped around the guy’s wrist. 

His eyes flicker down, widening a little but he doesn’t pull his hand back. “So?” 

“So you can stay.”

The guy visibly relaxes. “Fuck, thanks so much–”

“Eddie,” he offers when the guy trails off. 

“Thanks, Eddie,” the guy says with a lopsided grin that makes Eddie’s chest flutter. 

Eddie nods and leans back until his chair is balancing on two legs. He has no choice but to let go of the guy’s sweater. “So what are we doing here? Are we friends? Are we on a first date? Have we been dating for a while? What’s the game plan, big boy?”

The guy sputters, adorably flustered. “We don’t– we don’t have to do anything like that, man.” 

“Why? I’m not pretty enough to make your ex jealous?” Eddie teases, pouting a little. 

“No!” The guy hurries to say then realizes what that sounds like and blushes furiously. “I mean– no, that’s not it. You’re definitely pretty. Handsome. Hot. Uh–”

Eddie can’t help the way his grin gets bigger with every compliment until he can feel his dimples digging into his cheeks. By then the guy’s face is as red as the tablecloth. “Oh keep ‘em coming, sweetheart. Flattery definitely works on me.”

He chuckles nervously. “It’s just– I can’t ask you to do that, man.”

“Do what? Pretend that a guy like me can get a date with someone as hot as you?” He leans forward again, resting his chin on his palms and smirking. “Oh, baby, it would be my pleasure.” 

“Jesus,” the guy mutters. Eddie’s blatant flirting doesn’t give him a chance to get his blush under control. “I guess we could pretend we’re on a date if you’re up for it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie notices Billy and his fiancée following a waiter to their table. They’re going to walk right past them and there’s no way he won’t see Steve. As they get closer, Eddie catches a glimpse of the engagement ring on the girl’s finger–

“I’ll do you one better,” he says as he gets an idea. “Do you trust me?” 

The guy lets out an amused laugh. “I just met you,” he says, and when Eddie shrugs like he’s saying– so? he adds, “Okay, sure, why not?” 

Eddie shoots him a grin. “What’s your name?” 

“Steve.” 

“Your full name.”

“Harrington,” Steve says, his face pulling into a frown. “Why do you need my last–”

“Steve Harrington!” Eddie says loudly, watching as Steve’s eyes widen almost comically. The people around them whip their heads in their direction, including Billy and his girl. Perfect.

“I was planning to do this after dinner but I just can’t hold myself back anymore,” Eddie continues just as loudly. He furtively removes one of his many rings before pushing his chair back and standing up. 

He shoots Steve a quick wink and drops down on one knee. 

“Oh my God,” Steve whispers disbelievingly as he understands what’s happening. His shock only makes Eddie’s plan more believable. 

“Steve, Stevie, sweetheart, I still remember the moment when we met like it was five minutes ago,” he starts, watching Steve’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly. “I remember thinking you were so fucking out of my league you shouldn’t even be talking to me, but fate willed it so, and now I’m lucky enough to call you mine. So now I ask you to let me call you mine forever. Steve, the love of my life, my Prince Charming, the best lay I’ve ever had, will you please marry me?” He finishes by holding up his ring, looking expectantly at Steve, wondering if he’ll play along. 

He does.

Wiping a fake tear, he leans forward on his chair, cupping Eddie’s cheeks between his hands. “Eddie, our time together might seem short but I’ve always known I was right to pick you,” Steve says and Eddie has to hold back a snigger when he follows his lead– sticking to the truth as much as they can. “Now I’m picking you again. Forever. Yes, I will marry you.”

The people around them start clapping when Eddie takes Steve’s hand and slides his ring on his finger. He presses a kiss to the back of his hand, earning some cooing from the two women sitting on the table next to theirs. Billy doesn’t clap and his nose wrinkles when Steve pulls Eddie to his feet and into a hug,  glaring at the back of his head.

Eddie can’t help but smirk against Steve’s shoulder. 

“You’re insane,” he mutters into Eddie’s hair. It should be weird hugging a stranger but Eddie actually enjoys it. It feels familiar somehow. “Thank you.”

Eddie pulls back and grins, his hands still on Steve’s hips. “Aren’t you glad you picked me, huh, sweetheart?” 

Steve lets out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Eddie?” A familiar gruff voice says and Eddie whips his head around to see his uncle approaching, his eyes darting from Eddie to Steve to Eddie’s hands on Steve’s waist and Steve’s arms looped around Eddie’s neck. 

“Wayne!” He says, his grin not faltering for a second. This isn’t the weirdest thing Wayne has walked in on when it comes to Eddie. “You’re just in time to meet your new son-in-law!”

Wayne’s eyebrows shoot up and next to him, Steve makes a strangled sound. 

Eddie signals a waiter and it turns out to be the same one who was guiding Billy and his girl to their table before. Billy is nowhere to be found, he probably scurried off to their table while Steve and Eddie were distracted with each other, hoping Steve wouldn’t see him. Serves you right, asshole, he thinks triumphantly. 

“What can I do for the happy couple? Congratulations, by the way,” the waiter says and Eddie beams, pulling Steve closer with the arm wrapped around his waist. 

“Thank you, kind sir. Can you get us another chair for my uncle?”

The waiter nods and goes to retrieve one. 

“Eddie, you don’t have to– I can just go–” Steve says, a faint pink blush covering his cheeks.

“I can’t let you leave, Steve. We’re engaged now, it’d look weird,” Eddie says, and it’s true but he also doesn’t want to say goodbye to Steve yet.

And maybe Steve doesn’t want to say goodbye either because he folds easily. “Yeah, okay.”

They explain to Wayne what he walked into and his uncle gets a kick out of it. He and Steve get along surprisingly well, and by the end of the night, it almost feels like Steve was part of their dinner plans from the beginning. 

Wayne leaves shortly after dessert but Steve and Eddie stick around for one more drink, neither of them wanting the night to end. 

It has to, eventually, but Eddie is pretty sure that this won’t be the last he sees of Steve, not after they spent the whole night getting to know each other and flirting up a storm.

On their way out they run into Billy and his girlfriend, and Steve almost seems surprised when they do. Like he forgot Billy was there, despite him being the reason why he talked to Eddie in the first place.  Their conversation is short but Eddie makes sure to hold Steve’s hand the whole time and call Billy ‘Bobby’ a total of three times just to annoy him.

After they leave, Eddie walks Steve to his car. 

“Thanks again,” he says, leaning against the door. “For helping me out. And for dinner.”

“It was my pleasure,” Eddie smiles. “We should do it again sometime.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Stage a proposal?”

Eddie chuckles. “Well, I was thinking about dinner but I’m always happy to get down on my knees for a hot guy,” he says with a wink. 

A slightly strangled laugh tumbles out of Steve’s lip but his eyes sparkle with interest. “Maybe let’s start with dinner. Just the two of us.”

They exchange numbers, promising to call each other. When Eddie turns around to start walking toward his van, Steve calls his name.

“Don’t forget your ring,” he says, sliding it off. 

But Eddie reaches out to stop him. “Keep it,” he says, “you can give it to me next time.” 

With a grin, Steve slides it back on. 

He ends up keeping the ring, but that’s okay because Eddie gets to keep Steve. 

[endursent]

Hi Ma’am! I’ve recently come across your “my partner turned into a cat” series and it’s wonderful. I was wondering if I could request something similar where reader turns into their partner’s favourite animal? Preferably with Kaveh, Neuvi, and Dottore (if you write for him). If not, that’s all good. Have a nice day!

【 content; established relationship , humour , gn!reader , temporarily turned animal (reader) 】

【 characters; il dottore, kaveh , neuvillette 】

【 note; i haven't actually written for dottore before strangely enough considering how much i love him, so it might take a while for me to get his personality and mannerisms down... thank you for the ask! 】

【 word count; 1.454 | masterlist 】

Il Dottore;

Never had you considered what his “favourite animal” is, mostly because you’re convinced Dottore doesn’t have a “favourite” anything—his interests are too unpredictable and subject to change at any moment. 

  Though you should have seen it coming that one day, his experimentation would strike you—thankfully you’re not dead, you’re luckier than some assistants that have been zapped a time or two and carried out in body bags. However…

  Why are you a fat little platypus, and why does he seem so excited about it?

  You look absolutely ridiculous, you imagine—and feel, having four legs and a beak is peak body horror that is unfortunately eating at your brain right now. And yet, Dottore picks you up like one would a cat and dangles you in front of him with both an excited and thoughtful expression. “How unexpected—and interesting. I made little change to the formula…” he plops you down on the table next to the damned formula he had been adjusting… never will you inhale “experiment fumes” again. Not that you’re supposed to be doing so in any case.

  “A fascinating specimen indeed,” he pokes around your fur and you shake yourself, but he is relentless with his prodding! “One of the few mammals capable of electroreception! I wonder if you've maintained those sensory capabilities... This requires immediate testing."

  He doesn’t leave you alone for a single second that you’re like this, always either checking something—one time you were freaking out about the fact that you had no idea how to eat or drink like this… and Dottore took out a notebook and tried to get you to bite his fingers to “test the venom”... you bite a bit harder than he likely bargained for. 

  Dottore does try to “help” in his own way, while he brainstorms how to turn you back, he creates a “suitable habitat” with burrowing zones and a “pool”. He means well, but he’s also using it to observe you like a specimen so you kick up dirt and splash water on the floor and tables in spite.

  Out of anyone, Dottore is the fastest to get you back to normal… or he could, if he wanted to. But he kind of likes seeing you waddle around trying to walk with webbed feet and seeing you knock your tail into things and make weird noises. He has plenty of experience pressing your buttons and what makes you tick as a human, why not enjoy a new side of you?

Kaveh;

He’s more traumatised than you are when one moment you’re standing next to him—and the next there’s a random ass deer there. He looks around and searches for you frantically, thinking you might have fallen into a creek or rolled downhill… very unaware of that same deer following him around and trying to get his attention. 

  He does love deer, he thinks you’re unimaginably cute but also kind of silly in the way horses are silly but not huge and terrifying. 

  Kaveh almost needs you to headbutt him for him to realise that you are, in fact, in front of him and not soaking around in a nearby river hanging out with the frogs. Thankfully, he’s smart enough to put two and two together after he snaps out of it—but now he’s just confused.

  How? You had just been right there! There wasn’t even a rustle of leaves or anything!

  In any case, he needs to get you back to the city… you walk like a human in a deer suit, unused to the long four legs and strange join positions—and as soon as you enter his and Alhaitham’s home (after getting your antlers caught in the door like an idiot if you have those) you suddenly stop. 

  “What is it?” Kaveh peeps from behind you, confused as to why your ass is just standing in the doorway.

  The house has hardwood floors.

  He doesn’t realise this, of course, and gives your behind a firm push—only for you to slip and slide and nearly tumble inside like a freshly born animal. Kaveh rushes in behind you, apologising for nearly knocking you over and trying to make sure you don’t fall against anything and break things… Alhaitham would never let him live it down if he saw this.

  It’s not exactly easy to… navigate this, you’re not a small animal nor are you yourself particularly knowledgeable about your new proportions. 

  He can barely stop himself from continuously stroking your fur and feeding you crunchy things to be able to watch you munch on them. It does kind of kill the fascination he had with deer, as he’s never really interacted with them so closely until you happened to become one.

  You follow him around like a lost puppy, even as he had a very important client meeting—you didn’t let him get away… and thus, Kaveh had to improvise a bit. 

  The client, an older woman, squints at you standing slightly behind Kaveh and trying to munch on the blueprints in his hands (you haven’t had food for two hours, which is disastrous with this huge stomach you have now). 

  Kaveh clears his throat, pushing your snout away. “Yes, we can change the—no, you see, this is… yes, it’s okay, this is just… a friend.”

  He has no idea how to explain this so he just chooses not to. “Anyway… about that garden idea, if we put a patio by this side—”

Neuvillette;

You can’t believe he’s keeping you in a bowl. 

  Somehow, and for some reason, when you had accompanied Neuvillette for an evening walk along the seaside just outside of Fontaine’s walls—you had stubbed your toe on a shell that stuck out of the ground, and with a sudden zap… you had turned into a blob.

  Neuvillette looks up from his desk as he hears your soft body pound against the bowl next to him—and toss up some water that almost splashes onto the documents splayed out before him—and frowns slightly. “I know it’s not very spacious… I apologise, my love. But I don’t have anything larger at this moment, hopefully the pet store will find a more adequately sized fish tank soon.”

  He doesn’t understand how you had suddenly turned into a jellyfish, you had been behind him for a brief moment before he heard your curse (likely because you stubbed your toe) and then a poof… when Neuvillette had turned around, you were like a deflated balloon on dry land. 

  Thankfully he had created a pocket of water for you from the saltwater nearby to float in as he brought you back to the city, but the situation puzzled him greatly—how could you become such a creature? He wasn’t entirely sure you were fully conscious in that body, but judging by your frustrated movements in the small bowl, he suspected you at least had partial awareness. 

  Neuvillette doesn’t want to leave you alone while you’re like this, he’s both worried you might suddenly transform back, without any clothes—which would be terribly awkward to try and depart his office in that state—or possible hurt yourself if you broke the bowl with the transformation and cut yourself.

  Thus, thankfully after you’re given a larger tank in his office (and at home, he’s not leaving you at his office overnight alone!) there is a smaller one placed in the Opera Epiclese, next to his chair. 

  During a court proceeding, Neuvillette had to present the evidence in a firmer manner than usual, as the representative to the one being judged was being rather contrarian—which was far from productive and consumed far more time than it needed to. 

  Every time he successfully made an argument that couldn’t be refuted or argued with, you released a faint bioluminescent glow—as if applauding his expert navigations of the evidence and arguments. No one seems to notice (it’s difficult enough to see Neuvillette so high up above the stage) but he still feels a bit sheepish when you do it—you’re likely not doing it on purpose, he doubts you would know how.

  Neuvillette is very careful with the temperature and the salinity levels of the water you inhabit for the time being, he creates a careful schedule to check it every few hours as well as adjusting it depending on day and night. He’s very determined to ensure you’re as comfortable as you can be, whether you realise you’re a weird blob with tentacles or not. 

  And he hopes he can figure out how to change you back soon… as cute as it is to watch you twirl around and show off when he stands before your tank, he would rather you show off your moves as yourself—where he can properly talk to and touch you. 

[xiaowhore]

equivalent exchange.

DRAFT. this fic is incomplete, as i've stated in this post. this has been sitting in the dungeon for a while, and i have no plans to finish them, but i posted these drafts to not let them go to waste. it is up to you if you still want to read them regardless of their incompletion :) i will be writing my original ideas for the fic at the end so you guys will have an idea of what the fic was supposed to be like.

premise. when ayato stumbles upon a drafted resignation letter on your desk, he doubles his efforts to show you the perquisites of staying by his side.

he doesn't want to lose a competent subordinate. that's all there is to it.

note. what's wrong with secretary kim au but it's definitely not the same because i stopped watching at episode 5 and have no idea what happened. anyways i think we were all expecting a ceo!ayato x secretary!reader fic at some point so here it is. (couldn't keep this gender neutral for plot reasons, so feminine pronouns were used.)

Kamisato Ayato considers himself a good boss.

Or as far as things go, he's a decent one. He treats his employees well, takes them to expensive restaurants for company dinners, and discourages overtime so they can head off early for the night. He doesn't care much for formalities, and he gets along with his colleagues fairly well. He's never heard anyone talk behind his back or complain about his attitude at work, and there aren't any rumors spreading about him (if he turns a blind eye to the conspiratorial gossip guessing his relationship status).

But he does have minor faults. Like showing a more mischievous side when work hours are over. Getting Thoma dead drunk during dinners because his half-conscious inebriated talking is a form of amusement, or riling up Itto in drinking games just because it's funny. Then he leaves Sara to clean up the mess for him, since Yae seems to enjoy the comedy sketch as thoroughly as he does and probably won't lift a finger to help even if he asked her to.

As his assistant, you're prone to falling victim to his shenanigans, silly stunts that coax out aggravated eye rolls and sighs of exasperation. Years of experience eventually shaped you up to be entirely immune to April Fools' pranks.

He's in the middle of planning another one when he spots a letter of resignation on your desk.

At first, he thinks it's your rebellious phase arriving a decade late. He always found it odd how you never retaliated against his tricks, and this may just be the long-awaited April Fools' prank of vengeance. If it is, it's particularly mean of you—Ayato does have feelings, you know? Even he would feel hurt if you told him you wanted to leave! You shouldn't take this kind of thing lightly!

Then he remembers you aren't the type to make jokes, April Fools' or otherwise, and it's that moment when he feels (proper) fear.

“[Name] wants to resign?!”

Ayato makes a zipping motion and Thoma's shrieks immediately die down, but the disbelief on his face has yet to wane. His brows scrunch together, brain hard at work in processing this piece of information, though it seems to short-circuit in utter confusion from the sudden blow.

Scandalized, Thoma lowers his head and levels his voice to a hushed whisper, “Are you sure you saw it correctly?”

“I have able eyes. Unfortunately, my optometrist confirmed my perfect vision and assured I saw it just fine.” Woe is he.

“Get them checked again.”

“No matter how much I check, it won't change the results, Thoma.”

“We don't know that for sure, sir!”

“Trust me,” Ayato deadpans, looking off into the distance, “I checked with him thrice.”

Defeated, Thoma leans back to his chair, crossing his arms while deep in thought. “You saw the letter, but she didn't turn it in, did she?”

“She didn't. No e-mail, either.” Ayato taps the table in a mindless rhythm, expression stern but the shape of his lips almost resembling a pout. “Do you have any idea why she'd want to resign?”

Thoma rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Is that a genuine question, sir?”

Ayato's head snaps back to look at his companion. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“...Everyone in the office knows you... tease her for your own amusement.”

“It's my way of showing affection.” The corners of his lips curl up, stretching to a twisted smile as he rests his cheek on his palm. “Isn't she just so adorable when she gets angry?”

“You really do have a rotten personality.”

Ayato waves his hand in a noncommittal response. “We're straying off topic. What should we do next?”

Thoma hums, closed fist beneath his chin. “Since she hasn't turned in the letter yet, that means she must be hesitating. For what reason, we don't know, but it's keeping her here. So before she makes up her mind, we should dissuade her from quitting no matter what.”

Ayato laces his fingers together, brow in an inquisitive arch. “And we do that by?”

Green eyes sparkle with tenacity, clashing with blue irises twinkling in intrigue. “We bribe her, sir. It's time to show off your good points.”

--

“If a woman quits her job, what do you think her reasons could be?”

Ayaka blinks owlishly at her brother, taken aback by the abrupt question. It's a sudden thing to ask, especially odd given how their conversation hasn't led to that topic at all. “Did someone resign? I haven't heard anything of the sort, though.”

Ayato shakes his head, stirring the boba tea in his hands. “It's a hypothetical.”

Which means it's real.

Ah, whatever. At least he didn't go for the “my friend...” excuse.

Ayaka warily cuts a portion of her cake, scrutinizing each microexpression flashing on Ayato's face. It's one of their weekly lunch meetings, squeezed between hectic schedules, and they more or less have a silent agreement to avoid discussions involving work if they could help it. But this time, he brought it up himself.

How peculiar.

“Perhaps she wants to change workplaces? If she's exemplary, she might have been offered a better position or higher pay.”

Ayato nearly scoffs at the suggestion. The company, old-fashioned as it is, can only be inherited by a direct line of descendants. Outsiders can only go so far, and being the secretary for the chief executive officer isn't bad at all. Last time he checked, he's been paying you generously as well—how many figures was it? Six?

“Oh!” Ayaka exclaims, holding up a finger as she seems to have figured out something. “Or maybe she wants to settle down and get married? If her work is keeping her occupied, she'll most likely take time off to find a husband.”

Ayato proceeds to choke on a tapioca pearl.

“Or she got married and wants to be a housewife-”

“That's quite enough, Ayaka.”

Ayato would rather believe the Earth is flat.

--

If Ayato were any less desperate, perhaps he would have rationalized that putting together “give her what she wants to make her stay” and “she wants to get married” is a bad, bad idea.

Unfortunately for him, he is grasping at straws, so it leaves him no choice. Yes. Definitely. There is no other option than this, obviously.

(He does not delve deeper into the reason why he doesn't want you to leave, nor does he dwell any longer on why he was so quick to think he was fine with getting married if it was to you.)

“Don’t you want to get married soon, Ms. [Surname]?”

To clarify, Ayato does not spy on other people's conversations for a hobby, but he's always had impeccable timing. It comes with the job.

He stands by the door, reaching for the doorknob to the break room, but the mention of your name forces him to a halt.

“Why are you asking me that...?” You awkwardly dodge the question, sipping on your coffee. “I suppose I am at that age, though.”

“So you do want to!” The squeal rings with a note of glee, a stark contrast to Ayato's gradually dimming mood. “Wouldn't it be nice to marry a good man? I'm sure even you have thought of it at some point! Are you seeing anyone, then? Anyone you can imagine yourself marrying?”

“No, not yet.”

Before Ayato can even heave a relieved sigh, you follow with, “But my mother is making me go on dates to see people. Said if I didn't bring home a man soon, she'd come all this way to drag me back by my ear and introduce me to her friend's son.”

“Ah, I get that...” Your friend replies emphatically, nodding. “But those kind of meetings hardly go well. And you can't exactly tell your mother's friend you don't find her son attractive, right?”

“Why not just marry Mr. Kamisato, then?” Another one pipes up, to which Ayato gives a mental salute of appreciation. “You spend most of your time together. If you're not married to your job, then you're practically married to him.”

A cackle sends his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Not a chance.”

Can you at least expound why?!

“Huh? Why not? I mean, Mr. Kamisato is on another realm of existence and I can never hope to be on the same level as him, but you look good together!”

Your face pinches to a tight frown. “Look good together? In what way?”

“When you stand side by side, it just looks... right. And like I've mentioned earlier, you spend all your time with him. Why not seal the deal?”

“Mr. Kamisato is reliable, and if you marry him, you're set for life. He's handsome too, and we've all seen his muscles at our company sports day a few months ago!”

“I've never been so thankful for team-building events. Hallelujah.”

Ayato's face burns in embarrassment hearing the dreamy sighs. Even if they think there isn't anyone else listening on them (which is false), shouldn't they exert some restraint at work?

“Please don't lust over my boss,” you assert sternly, voice ice cold. “And we have a strictly professional relationship. So don't get any weird ideas from here on out, alright?”

“Fine. Tell me that again when I'm invited at your wedding, I dare you.”

“I said-”

They wave off your vehement protests at the statement. “Then if you're not into Mr. Kamisato, what do you plan to do?”

Ayato perks up, straining his ears in rapt attention.

“...I'm going on a date this weekend,” you sigh, rubbing circles on your temples. “I'll let you know how it goes.”

Oh no.

--

“-Dinner was nice. We didn't expect the rain shower, but he ran to the convenience store across the street to buy an umbrella because he didn't want me to get wet on the way to the car. He said it would be a waste if my hair got ruined since I-”

Slurp.

“...Styled it for the occasion. Then he drove me home. I found out we liked the same band from the music he played, and we agreed to-”

Sluuurp.

“-Go to their upcoming concert together. Then we somehow also like the same novel that's getting a movie adaption soon, so we also promised to see it-”

Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuurp.

“Could you please refrain from making noise when eating, sir?”

Ayato decidedly does not comply and only slurps his boba tea harder, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl yet again.

As always, you learn to ignore him.

“Concert... and a movie. I'm not sure about the concert, but the film you're talking about is the one coming out in the next two months, right?” Thoma confirms, sweating when Ayato's expression turns visibly grim. “You plan to see him for that long...?”

“Even if dating doesn't work out, we can always become friends, can't we?” You shrug, taking a bite out of your sandwich. “He seems like a nice guy. We get along really well, considering we've only met once. I ended up agreeing to a second date-”

The passive-aggressive slurping persists for the following afternoon.

--

“I've been meaning to ask for a while,” Thoma treads carefully, noticing Ayato's rapid-fire typing—no, striking—on the keyboard, “Ms. [Surname] is good at her job, but you seem really... eager to make her stay, sir.”

Ayato's fingers halt in their movement, and he takes a second to flash his business smile. “Of course. She's a valuable asset, and I'd be foolish to let her go.”

“Yes, I'm well aware, but...” Thoma scratches his cheek, looking off to the side. “You didn't go to such lengths when your former assistants resigned from their post. Or, uh... you fired most of them.”

“Yes,” Ayato simply agrees, still smiling, “she's competent. You don't find anyone like her easily, so it's only natural I'd want her to stay.”

“What do you mean by 'anyone like her,' sir?”

Thoma is awfully talkative today. Ayato might need to feed him something spicy to shut him up.

“Ms. [Surname] is special.” The words smoothly leave his lips. “Does anyone else have the meetings and company events scheduled for the next month memorized? She's the only one I can count on for work matters.”

Thoma's shoulders slump. “Okay, let me get straight to the point. Do you-”

“Mr. Kamisato?”

Thoma nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, accompanied by the clack of your heels.

“What is it?” The cold smile on his face finally melts to something more genuine, softer around the edges and looking especially radiant. It's welcoming, like your arrival counts as a joyous occasion, and he is exponentially more attentive compared to the way he lent Thoma half his ear (the other preoccupied with a phone call, which he swiftly ends the moment you walk in).

“I came to deliver some files from Ms. Miko... did I interrupt something?” You gesture to Thoma standing idly by the side, dumbfounded from Ayato's inconceivable behavior.

“Not at all. Is there anything else?” Ayato accepts the documents, noticing your hesitance to leave.

“Ah, yes, I will be asking for time off tomorrow.”

That's... rare?

But it's not a hard request. Ayato's own schedule is blank for the most part, since the latest project wrapped up not too long ago, and the workload is lighter than usual. Missing one work day won't do any harm.

“It's fine, but could I ask why?”

You fidget, tentative as you reply, “I was invited... for a trip on a cruise. He insisted I come since his friend bailed on him and the tickets would go to waste.”

The warmth in his eyes freezes over.

“The tickets would go to waste...” Ayato repeats under his breath, mockingly cruel. The tone flies past your head but it hits Thoma full-force, making him sweat profusely.

Distasteful. An utter disgrace of a man. The magnitude of his ignorance is so awe-inspiring, I have to applaud. I must give credit where it is due, and the foolishness of this clown is truly impressive. “The tickets will go to waste,” he says? His money must worth more to him than his dignity. Inviting Ms. [Surname] to a date on a workday with no regard for her schedule is one thing, but making her out to be an afterthought as a substitute for his original travel partner is another. How shameful. This is no way to treat a lady. If Ayaka were to be with a man of his caliber, I would never allow it.

But what he says outloud is of course, “I see. I hope you have fun, then.”

--

Corporate events are, for the most part, adequately entertaining.

Preparing for it is not.

But the worst part isn't even brainstorming themes, or finding an appropriate venue, or planning the logistics, or writing the guest list.

It's choosing what to wear.

Actually, the cause for Ayato's headache isn't even what attire he'll go with. It's yours.

“That looks wonderful,” Yae praises, looking at the picture on your phone. It displays a silver necklace, a tear drop topaz encased in a diamond twist. It pairs well with the dress you bought with Ayaka last week, an elegant fit that accentuated your curves.

However.

“He chose that for you, didn't he?”

The stoic line of Ayato's mouth twitches and his eyes can't help but sweep over your screen, scrutinizing each grainy pixel.

Though he has plenty of insults prepared at his arsenal, he can't find anything to nitpick about. Damn it. It's a good choice.

“You'll look stunning,” Kokomi assures good-naturedly, smiling in delight. Ayato does not doubt that will be the case, but he's sure he would be in a foul mood the entire night if he were to see you adorning it.

He has already retrieved his coffee from the break room so he excuses himself to his office, long strides that lead him out of earshot.

As a result, he doesn't hear the following conversation.

“Why this, though?” Kokomi asks, looking closely at the accessory. “It's a simple design. Doesn't look like something a man would pick from the rest.”

You shake your head. “I just told him I wanted something blue, and I couldn't choose myself because there were too many that caught my eye...”

“Blue?” She echoes, a simple curiosity. “Why blue?”

“...It's a pretty color.”

--

It is an actual coincidence that Ayato runs into you in the middle of shopping.

You're hunched over a display stand showcasing a variety of earrings, deep in thought as you observe each one. You're doing that thing where you scrunch your nose in concentration, a habit Ayato doesn't think you even realize you have.

“Fancy meeting you here, Ms. [Surname].”

(He wonders what face you would've made if he said “You go here often?” instead. Probably some degree of disgust.)

You blink, correcting your posture and nodding in greeting. You don't look particularly thrilled to see him, but at least you're unbothered by the prospect of seeing your boss on a free day. “You're here to shop too, Mr. Kamisato?”

Ayato smiles amicably. “I am. Were you planning to buy earrings?”

“Yes, but...” Your gaze returns to the display, your own smile faltering. “It is a bit difficult to choose.”

He walks over, scanning the variety up and down. “Is it really? You only need to choose a pair that matches your necklace, right?” He focuses on shades of silver, bypassing the vibrant colors of reds and pinks. Not even fifteen seconds later, he picks out a card and holds it out next to your ear. “This one looks nice on you.”

“Huh? Really?” Perhaps surprised by his swiftness, it takes you a moment to react accordingly. You take the card from his hands and flip it over, eyes widening by a fraction. “Oh. It is rather pretty.” Then they widen further as big as saucers. “I can't say the same for the price tag, though.”

“Hm? What price tag?”

He plucks the earrings from your hands, walks to the counter, and pays for it without a second thought.

“M-Mr. Kamisato?”

“Pull up your hair.”

“Eh? Oh, okay.”

You're so caught off guard that you unwittingly do as he says, tucking your hair back obediently and still processing the last two minutes.

His fingers tug at your ear, warmth bleeding to your skin, and by the time you return to reality, he's already putting the earrings on you.

STORY FLOW.

ok i lied i actually can't remember shit about this fic so i will be making up stuff as i go lol

what i do remember clearly is that the resignation notice that ayato found on your desk is years old. you meant to submit it way, way back when ayato was tougher on you, and you weren't as well-adjusted as you are now to the job yet. as stated in the fic, being ayato's secretary is no easy task—he'd fired countless people he thought was incompetent.

you fought a number of times, and you didn't know if you could keep up working for a man you thought was simply incompatible with you (in terms of being colleagues/partners).

but over time, you learned to work together. ayato acknowledged your efforts and hard work, and you knew ayato had been trying to give you less jobs to reduce your workload, but you were going to prove that hou could handle it.

what truly made you appreciate ayato more was when you got stranded at the train station. you dealt with a far company they collaborated with, but work ended later than expected, and you'd missed the last train home. taxis were an option, but youd have to go through several of them to get back. right when you were thinking of checking into a hotel, ayato informed you he was already on his way and drove a couple of hours to get where you were to bring you home.

time continued to pass, and that brings us back to the present. you were on the process of cleaning up your desk and left the old resignation notice out in the open by accident, which led to ayato seeing it.

it is very apparent to the others that you two like each other, but the involved parties themselves are unaware of it. you currently aren't eager to get married, but you were trying to meet people so your parents would stop bugging you about still being single.

anyway, ayato bought those earrings for you. timeskip to the corporate event. you unconsciously picked a blue motif for your outfit because it reminds you of ayato.

when you get there, surprise, surprise. the man you were meeting, kazuha is a bigwig, heir to some other corporation. he actually owned that cruise he invited you to and pretended he didn't because you might be intimidated. ayato didn't think the kazuha he knew and the kazuha you knew were the same person, and now the advantage he had over him was ruled out (i.e being rich). (actually while i was rereading i was surprised i didn't mention that it was kazuha...? istg i was imagining him the whole time i wrote about him)

anyhow, as it became later in the night, ayato wanted to get you home before kazuha could offer to drive you back or worse, spend the night with him. ayato acted drunk so you'd tend to him and accompany him home while his driver was in charge of taking you to his apartment. as you were nagging at him, he compared your interactions with him to yours and kazuha's. you were certainly nicer to that man. smiled at him a lot more, too. did you really like him that much?

if you did, could he let you go?

he was ashamed that he couldn't answer it right away. as if he had any right to whatever you do.

you carried him to bed when you got to his apartment, but when you were preparing to leave, he hugged you from behind. do you like that man? why do you want to leave me? why can't it be me? ayato was just pretending to be drunk, but he felt dizzy now, soaked in your scent. he said things that he wasn't supposed to. things that he couldn't take back. things that would change your relationship forever.

slowly, you took away the hands wrapped around your waist. ayato figured that was a message of rejection.

but then you pushed him back down on the bed and you straddled his lap. his mind was silent for but a few seconds before he started screaming mentally.

i've always wanted you, but i knew it was impossible. you have a fiancee. i'm an ordinary worker. your family won't accept me. ayato's mind was in a daze because your face was so close to his, and all he could see was the red, glossy shade on your lips, but he managed to hear those few sentences.

it doesn't matter. nothing else matters. i can't marry if it's not you. if you accept me, i swear i'll make you happy.

from here on, it could be a happy, fluffy ending where turns out, you were tipsy so you were more honest with him and you fell asleep in the middle of kissing so he took it upon himself to change your dress into something more comfortable and end the night with a forehead kiss...

...or you could continue what you were doing and the first thing ayato takes off is the damned necklace so he could replace it with a smattering of hickeys. your choice ^^

[back2bluesidex]

To Be Popular - JJK [Chapter 1]

Pairing: Social Media Influencer! Jungkook X Marketing Manager! Reader ft. Yoongi

Summary:

You love everything about social media - apart from the ever-growing number of social media influencers. You don't understand how these people gain followers and admirers just by installing a camera and doing very basic things in front of it. And you despise how some of them can do anything to gain fame, to be popular - even if it includes uploading their bedroom scene in pornsites aka people like Jeon Jungkook. But when your company launches a new product and your department head tasks you with signing Jeon Jungkook up as an endorsement partner - you have no choice but to chase him like the corporate slave that you are. However, things turn worse when you embroil in a dating rumor with him and have to keep the game going for the sake of everything. is it really for the worse or things will turn in a way you never expected it to?  

Theme: Strangers to lovers au, fake dating au, kind of enemies to lover au, angst, smut, fluff.

Full Series Word Count: 26k

Chapter word count: 5.8k+

Warnings: tiny flirting, argument, that's all.

Masterlist | Patreon (For access to the complete series)

Taglist requests are open.

Minors, I am not responsible for what you consume online. So, act more rationally and stay away.

Chapter index: -

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |

Or read the full series right away on Patreon!!

Thanks to the every possible gods out there, you are capable of keeping your poker face even when your insides are burning with rage. 

Like right now. 

First of all you landed in a proposition with one of the people you don’t even like, that too, with the most insufferable one in question. 

Secondly, your superiors are treating him as if he has won a gold medal or something. 

Min Yoongi - the man who is known for his nonchalance and quiet wisdom, can’t seemingly stop giving his gummy smile to this guy, Jeon Jungkook. 

Mrs. Lee, who is probably double the age of the guy, is ogling him as if it's a zombie apocalypse and she hasn’t seen another male for thirty years or so. 

When they both turn to you, you realize they are probably waiting for you to react the same way as them. 

Too bad, you are not even the least bit amused. 

After greeting both of the superiors, Jeon Jungkook looks at you - with those big ass googly eyes. A kind smile plays on his lips. 

He extends his hand with a soft “nice to meet you.” 

Well. definitely not the same. You scream internally but you compose yourself and return his smile, somewhat half-assed, as you wrap your small hand around his big veiny ones (the same hand that does those dirty deeds with others of his stature).

“Nice to meet you too.” you murmur only because Yoongi is giving you those eyes you absolutely love and hate at the same time. 

Yoongi gestures to Jungkook to take the seat, “So, Mr. Jeon. I assume you have gone through our proposal already?”

“Umm.. yeah. My manager did go through your proposal and briefed me.” Jeon Jungkook says with a voice that doesn’t match that gruff, breathy one from the video. 

Why the fuck do I keep thinking of the video? You inhale a long breath. 

“Okay so.. Is there any question in your mind? Or do you want me to go through it all once again?” Yoongi adds good naturedly.  

“Umm no actually. I came here to decline your offer.” Jungkook drops the bomb. If you are low-key happy then you don’t let it show on your face. 

“W-what? Why? Is there any part of the offer that is not up to your liking? We can revise it anytime you want.” Mrs. Lee butts in. 

“Uh. no not that. I personally don’t like to use the devices that your company manufactures. All of your laptops are so bulky, the chassis is always too old-fashioned. It’s not something Jeon Jungkook would use, you know what I mean?” Jungkook reasons smugly, as he leans on the backrest of his chair and crosses his legs. 

You hear blood rushing to your brain and before any of your superiors can say anything you start speaking, “oh really? Must be tough to carry our laptops to a pornset or something, huh?” 

You see Jungkook’s eyes going comically wide as he tries to register what you have just said. 

“What? What are you talking about?” he semi-screams. His attention is now trained only and only on you. 

“You know very well what I am talking about, Mr. Jeon.” you lean on the table just as smugly. Under the table Yoongi kicks on your shin but you dodge his attack at the right time. 

Jungkook laughs. A big, thunderous laugh, “I don’t see it being any of your business to question what I do in my free time, is it?” 

You smirk. If he thought you are going to back off that easily, he was wrong, “it definitely is not. But the fact that we chose to offer you this endorsement deal despite your current public reputation, tells a lot about our dedication towards charity.” 

“Oh.. so this is a charity huh?” Jungkook narrows his eyes at you, “sorry to tell you but Jeon Jungkook doesn’t need any charity.” 

With that Jungkook stands up and gales at you for one last time before he storms out of the room. 

Yoongi slams his head directly on the table making you wince at the loud thud. 

“Y/N! What do you think you did?” Mrs. Lee screams in horror. 

“What?” you shrug in nonchalance, “he was going to say no anyway.” 

“Y/N” Yoongi finally says, probably after struggling not to punch himself in the face for inviting you to the meeting, “we could have negotiated if you chose to stay silent.” 

“But I only said what’s true. This collaboration could have saved his face. He was the one who chose to be an ass- I mean, inconsiderate.” you argue. 

“Oh really? Then why don’t you show him what’s right?” Yoongi says in a sugary voice, one that’s not really good news. 

“What do you mean?” you question, suspicion landing on your brain.

“You need to bring him back if you love the year-end appraisal or you can kiss your promotion goodbye.” he says in a collected voice. 

“What? Yoongi! You can’t do this!” you stand from your seat, and Yoongi only smirks at you. 

“Oh I definitely can. I can also submit a formal complaint against you calming that you have messed up an important deal. Do you want that?” 

You stay silent, questioning your life choices, your career choices. Cursing at the every god above for making you a human when you could have been a worm. 

No job, no money issues, no Min Yoongi, no Jeon Jungkook - only soil and dirt. 

You sit on the chair again, cover your face with both of your hands and curse “fuck everyone”. 

Your eyes zero on your phone this time. The insta handle is burning too bright for the darkness of your room. Honestly, tapping the name is currently hurting your pride. 

But what can you even do - you are a corporate slave after all. And the crush you have on your direct superior, prevents you from being rebellious. 

But more than just that - you know you were wrong. 

Your hate towards the social media influencers clan is pretty much ridiculous and apparently has no reason. 

Is it due to your underlying insecurity? Is it because you believe you are inferior to them? While they make hundreds of dollars per hour, you make a dime? 

You probably hate Jeon Jungkook because he is the same age of yours and yet has everything you don’t? - like an amazing sex life. 

As you tap on the story, it takes you into a video with all colors of gleaming lights. Clearly a club. Loud music blares through your phone speaker, almost paralyzing your ears. 

You can’t see Jeon Jungkook on the screen, obviously because he is the one recording the video. But you can hear him whooing in the background. There are some girls around him for obvious reasons. 

Suddenly you feel jealous of him again. 

He is of your age and he is enjoying a night out at a posh club while you are on your bed, with your ugly pajamas on and you can’t go out because you have work tomorrow. 

As soon as the word “work” registers in your mind, you remember you have been tasked with bringing Jungkook back. 

You look at the screen again. He has added the location, which means you can find the club, find him and apologize (oh god no!) and beg him for another meeting. 

Yes. That's a nice plan. You can then mourn for your dead self-respect with a bucket full of ice-cream. 

You have picked the shortest possible dress you own. 

It’s a shimmery black bodycon that reaches your mid-thigh. The noodle strap of the bodycon dress gives a tempting view of your collar-bone and cleavage. 

You have let your hair lose - you look the best like this. A touch of makeup and you are all ready. 

You know you are attractive but will that be enough for the bouncers to let you inside that posh club? You pray it’s enough. 

When the taxi drops you in front of the well-known club in Gangnam, you spot the line. And thankfully, the queue is not at all terrible. 

Since the clock hasn’t hit 10:00 pm yet, the entry is free. 

When you reach in front of the bouncers, they give you a once-over, then look at each other. Your hands feel clammy because they have rejected almost everyone before you. If you are not wrong then only two of the visitors were let in. 

But then one of them brought the stamp out and held it in front of your face. You gave him your wrist with a squeal of joy. 

You let yourself go blind and deaf with the glaring lights and loud music. Wherever you look, you see people attached to people. Some are dancing, some are drinking, some are making out, some are just standing and talking with drinks in their hands. 

You don’t think you have seen this amount of strangers all year. 

You will admit - you feel alive. 

But no! No Y/N! You are here with a motive, you can’t let yourself be distracted! 

In the story, Jungkook seemed to be close to the bar island. Even though that was more than an hour ago, you still start looking for the bar island. 

“Why are there so many bars?” you mumble to yourself as you scan the entire floor. There are at least four bars here, there must be more on the upper floor. 

You start feeling helpless at once. All these strangers around you, wrapped in wealth, some giving you long looks - trigger your social anxiety. 

Bad decision. It’s a bad decision. You should probably just run away. 

But when you are about to take an u-turn, you see him. 

You see Jeon Jungkook on the dance floor, grinding on a red-headed pretty looking girl. 

He looks - like a fucking wet dream. 

A black baggy jeans, a black t-shirt, some bulky golden chains, his dark hair gleams under the lights. His lip ring shines directly on your eyes and you snap back. 

Great. Now that you have found him.. You can proceed with your plan - which is to beg him. 

Without a second thought, you start stepping on the dance floor. 

There are not a lot of people, so you easily get past everyone and stand there behind him. 

Your eyes drop on his ass, then his hands, his veins and you question your life choices. 

Somebody just crashes on you making you lurch forward. 

Your body slams against Jungkook’s back. You are about to apologize when he reaches behind with his hand and grabs your side. He grinds his ass on you without even looking at your face. 

You feel nauseous. This is the second time you are meeting him and the proximity is very scandalous. 

Placing your hand on top of his, you break free from his hold. 

“Jeon Jungkook, can I please talk to you for a moment?” you scream in his ears. 

He doesn’t stop moving, but you know he has heard you. 

Jungkook slowly moves on his feet while vibing and then turns to face you. 

His mischievous eyes bore into yours as he takes you in slowly. He shamelessly eyes your cleavage then looks back up your face. 

“What?” he screams over the music. 

“Not here. Can we go somewhere quiet?” 

He smirks at you, “oh? Already? Wait- have I seen you before?” 

Your blood turns cold, “no. I mean yeah. Actually-”

“You- that obnoxious employee from Techtonic? Right?” his eyes go wide. 

“Obnoxious? I am obnoxious? Then what are y-” you inhale, “Yes. I am Y/N. You are right. I am from Techtonic. Can I please have a word with you?” 

“No? Why would I spare my precious time on you? So that you can insult me again?” he frowns at your figure before starting to walk away.  

You grab onto his hand, “Please. I am here to apologize. I promise.” 

He looks back, takes a look at the place you are touching him and then looks at you, “if I give you a chance… What will you give me in return?” Jungkook challenges. 

What in the world did you get yourself into? 

You don’t have a single drop of alcohol in your veins. 

I repeat - you don’t have a single drop of alcohol in your veins then what is making you feel so lightheaded? 

If it’s the spicy citrusy smell that Jeon Jungkook’s emitting then you won’t admit it even if you end up dying. 

“Tell me, Y/N. What will I get if I give you another chance?” he challenges again. This time his tongue pokes out of that perfectly small round mouth and plays with the glinting lip ring. 

You don’t understand the science of hearing him clearly despite the sound of loud music and the loud beating of your heart. 

“I- anything. Anything you ask for.” you choke out, uncertainty lacing your voice. 

“Anything I ask for?” Jungkook comes impossibly close to your body. 

You can see long fingers with even longer nails circling around his torso. The red-headed girl is clinged around him. 

“If- If I can afford that.” you choke out again.

“Oh.. you definitely can.” he smirks like a devil. All the smug pride drains from your body at the thought of what he might be asking from you. 

“Come with me.” Jungkook whispers briefly as he takes your hand and guides you through the crowd towards the upper floor. 

The piece of skin, where his fingers are holding your wrist - burns. 

You are ashamed, nervous, afraid - all in all you want to die. 

Just a week ago you were scoffing at your laptop watching this guy make fame out of a porn video and now he is leading you god knows where to do god knows what. 

Before you could take in your surroundings, Jungkook slams you on the nearest wall. He wastes no time in locking you between his arms. 

“You really came here only to convince me? You had no other intention, huh?” He asks with the lowest possible voice. A shiver runs down through the path of your spine. 

“No. What intention would I even have? I fucked things up at the meeting so my superiors are making me clean the mess.” Your voice comes out firmer than what you thought you could manage. 

“Oh? Really? But I think there is something else to it.” Jungkook comes closer to your body. His chest touches yours. You take a sharp inhale but keep the eye-contact intact. 

Jungkook’s eyes dip down to your chest again as he continues, “you want what you watched in that video, don’t you?” he wets his lips once those vile words come out of his mouth. 

Your jaw hits the floor almost, “what the fuck? What makes you think I want you?” 

Jungkook invades whatever was left off of your personal space and whispers right into your ear, “If you accept it nicely, tell me the truth whether you got turned on or not, I will give your company a chance.”  

You gulp at his offer. 

If you say you were completely unaffected after watching him fucking his partner so well, then it will be a lie for sure. 

So… if you swallow your pride and tell him that he indeed had some kind of effect on you - he will be up for another meeting? 

“And what if I tell you the truth?” you question, looking deep into his chocolate eyes. All you see there is mirth. 

“I will schedule another meeting with your company. But I will be declining you all again.” Jungkook adds nonchalantly. 

You scoff at that, pushing him away and making some space between your bodies, “so you are just going to use my confession and insult me in my workplace?” 

“Oooohhhh… You are not dumb, I see?” he muses, stumbling back from your body. 

“Wh-what? Dumb? You thought I am dumb? Mind you, Jeon Jungkook, I get paid for doing actual work and not because I keep hollering at a dumb computer screen in front of camera.” anger flares through every vein in your body. 

“And yet you came here to beg me?” he shrugs smugly. 

“You know what? Fuck you and your stupid followers who feed your stupid ego!” screaming at his face, you take steps away, stomping on the floor even if your heels are killing you already. 

This was a bad idea. Indeed a bad idea. 

You don’t get paid for dealing with these scumbags. So it’s not your responsibility. It’s better to have your appraisal compromised than falling in the trap of Jeon Jungkook. 

You imagine Jungkook’s face in the place of the ice cream tub as you stab your fork in it with as much fierceness as you could find in yourself. 

Yes, you are eating ice-cream with a fork, so that you can imagine Jungkook’s face and stab in it. 

“Fucking nutjob! What do you even think of yourself!” stab stab stab “Karma will hit you back very soon! You fucking asshole!” stab stab stab. 

As if granting your prayers, the cosmos sends a notification to your device. You take the phone to see Yoongi's instagram handle that has sent you a text. 

You start blushing instantly.  

“Is this the universe’s way of making up for today’s trashy encounter?” you murmur to yourself as you open his text. 

It’s a link so maybe it’s one of those cat videos he sends you the links of. 

As you tap on the link, it takes to a post that has been made just an hour ago. The post - a video, containing proofs of Kim Doona (the influencer Jungkook fucked) being a high school bully. The video has texts sent by Doona to the victim, threatening her not to reveal anything. 

Looks like Karma mistook the address. It should have been Jeon Jungkook! 

You go to the comments. 

All of their followers are going crazy, it’s just the same shit in different sentences. So you scroll past it all. 

But there are two comments that catch your eye, actually one comment and its reply. 

Commenter: Can’t believe Jeon Jungkook chose her out of everyone? A class bully? Really Jeon? You could do better. 

Reply 1: What are you even saying? Jungkook probably didn’t even know and mind you, none of them confirmed if they were together or not.  Reply 2: but girl, they f*cked on camera!  Reply 3: How does that confirm their relationship?  Reply 4: Jeon Jungkook has a girlfriend, I caught them at the club just a few hours ago. The proof is in my story. 

Eh? Kim Doona isn’t his girlfriend? That was a rumor? He has another girlfriend who was with him at the club? 

But you were at the club too, you should have seen them. Is it that red-head girl? 

All of these questions swirl inside your head as you tap on the person’s story. 

The video is taken amid a mass of bodies, trying to be discreet, but you can recognize Jeon Jungkook, leading a woman through the crowd. 

Your heart stops beating for a moment when you realize it’s you. Your face is not visible properly, curtained by your hair, and you are thankful for that. 

The video continues as Jungkook takes you towards the quiet corner. The person, who’s recording, moves too for getting a clearer view. 

Now he is hiding behind the end of the wall that Jungkook had pressed you on. The video shows how he had towered you in, whispered in your ear and smirked at you. But then it gets cut right before you push him away! 

“Fuck! I am not his girlfriend! Are you people blind? How do we look like a couple?!” you scream at your phone. 

You decide you have had enough humiliation today. Hence, putting your phone in charge and traveling towards dreamland is a better idea. 

This fiasco may die down by the morning. People will definitely defy the girlfriend theory because you two don’t look like a couple. And your face wasn’t even properly visible in the video. So yeah let sleep solve your problems. 

Except - nothing solves. 

When you wake up and take your phone out of charge, you grasp so hard that your phone slips from your hold and lands on the bed with a thud. 

You have a thousand new follow requests on your instagram account. There are a ton of texts from various people in Ktalk and most of them have sent you insta links. 

You open your younger sister’s text. She has sent everything in caps: 

Y/N!!!!!!!! WHAT IS THIS??? [Link] YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU ARE DATING JEON JUNGKOOK????????

You type your reply: 

Calm down. I am not dating that douchebag. 

And then you tap on the link. 

The post that the link takes you to, can rival your natal chart. It’s a detailed discussion of who you are, what’s your job, how do you look, where you have probably met Jungkook and your insta handel. 

They have also attached a photo of Jungkook talking to you standing in the middle of the dance floor. 

“Fuck fuck fuck!!!!” you curse and curse and curse. 

Why are these people dragging you into this mess now? Why do they have to link you up with him? What the hell is even happening? 

How are you even going to get to work today?

You shoot a quick text to Yoongi saying that you need a off-day today for obvious reasons. He sends one of those rofl emojis along with a thumbs up and you try not to feel down. 

Yoongi doesn’t really understand what you feel for him? Does he? 

You mean you are embroiled in a dating rumor with someone else and he seems to be just fine? 

It’s just another confirmation that he doesn’t reciprocate your stupid crush on him. 

Just when you are about to keep your phone aside and sleep some more, you get a call from an unknown number. 

You don’t think much before receiving it. 

“Hello, who’s this?” your voice is still groggy and your stomach rumbles as you speak on the phone. 

A sweet cherry voice rings in your ear, “Hello, is this Y/N?” 

“Yes. and you?” 

“I am Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook’s manager.” 

The remnant of sleep flies away from your eyes as the man introduces himself. Why is Jeon Jungkook’s manager calling you this early in the morning!? 

“How can I help you?” you voice, not trying to mask your confusion. 

“Y/N, I assume you are aware of the situation, right? I mean the rumors?” 

“I am aware and currently waiting for Mr. Jeon to decline the speculations.” you state as firmly as possible. 

“About that… Why don’t we discuss before revealing anything?” 

You frown at that.

“Discuss? What is there to discuss? You know well that I got to know Mr. Jeon via a professional connection, there is nothing else added to it, except for the fact that I visited the club to convince him for another meeting. And all of these things happened.” 

“Exactly. I know it all and I also know that it’s not nice to be dragged into this mess but we, me and Jungkook, have a proposition to make. We can use this situation for both of our benefits for strictly business purposes.” 

You sigh, “I don’t understand what you are trying to say Mr. Kim.” 

“Yes. That is only natural. So, why don’t we meet face to face and get down on the details of the proposition? You can bring a friend or family if you are not comfortable meeting us alone. How does lunch sound?” 

You think for a moment. You could probably take Jimin with you? Even though it’s monday, he will squeeze some time out of his schedule if you promise him free lunch. 

“Okay. I will send you a confirmation text in this number.” you reply before cutting the call and directing your fingers towards Jimin’s text. 

He has sent you a similar array of texts, so hopefully he won’t have too many questions to ask. He will understand once you give him a brief. 

“I will tell you everything, can you meet me for lunch? I need to meet Jeon Jungkook and his manager for obvious reasons. Free lunch will be offered.” 

His reply comes within a few moments, 

“I’m in. I will pick you up just text me the time.” 

You now type a text to Kim Seokjin confirming him the meeting as he texts you the time. 

Just when you are about to go to Jimin’s inbox again, another unknown number sends you a text. 

Annoyance flares through your veins as you open it. It says: 

“See you soon, pornaddict. 

– Jeon Jungkook.” 

You groan at the choice of nick name, “Fuck you, Jeon!” 

You don’t understand many things. 

But currently, you don’t understand why this fine-as-fuck man is Jeon Jungkook’s manager slash assistant. 

He goes by the name Kim Seokjin. 

When he smiles at you, you melt. And to compose your flustered state you look at Jeon Jungkook - the (current) bane of your existence. 

He gives you a lopsided smile that obviously is fake, leaning down against the sofa seat absorbing as much sunlight as possible. 

You don’t give him any reaction.. Beside you, Jimin introduces himself to both of the men. 

“Miss Y/N. Thank you so much for coming.” Seokjin says in a pleasant tone. His voice sounds like honey dripping from a silver spoon. 

You nod, “Yeah. Alright, Mr. Kim, can I ask about the proposition you were talking about?”  

“Call me seokjin. And sure, let’s get into the important details.” he pauses to give you a sweet smile then opens his ipad and scrolls through something. Jungkook, too, scrolls through his phone so unamusedly as if he has been dragged here without his consent. 

“So, as you already know, the situation is out of hand now. We tried to take down the initial posts but the photos and videos spread like fire.” he speaks calmly. You nod along with him, Jimin too gives the older man his utmost attention. 

“On the other hand, our Jungkookie has been interacting with people, who are currently embroiled in controversy.” noted: Seokjin called Jungkook as Jungkookie and he is talking about Doona. 

You see Jungkook rolling his eyes. 

“If it wasn’t not for you, then he would be dragged down in the mess too.” Seokjin continues, “I know it’s not nice to be the center of unwanted attention and it is already causing you damage but… we need your help. Jungkook needs your help.” 

Jungkook makes a very unapproving sound from his seat. 

“What help? How can I even help you guys?” you are now extremely confused. Why would Jeon Jungkook, out of all people, need your help? 

“Date him.” Seokjin proposes. 

“What?” you and Jimin scream in unison. 

“Not for real. Calm down. I meant to say, if you pretend to be his girlfriend before the world, on social media, it will help Jungkookie in defying possible criticism and hatred.” Seokjin explains calmly. 

However, you are anything but calm. 

Whatever criticism Jeon Jungkook faces, it is simply his own problem. You have nothing to do with it. What is your benefit by being involved with him? 

As if reading your mind Seokjin now states, “in return, Jungkookie will sign an exclusive deal with your company for not only one but any kind of future collaboration your company wants with him, that too, at a discounted price.” he winks at you. 

Your jaw hits the floor. 

“Hyung! What the fuck! Where is this discount coming from?” Jungkook finally opens his mouth for the first time. 

“Cool. I’m in.” you reply in a heartbeat. Jimin clutches your wrist under the table. 

“Y/N! Aren’t you even going to think?” he whisper-yells in your ear. 

“There is nothing to think about. This is a very good deal, Jiminie. I will be hard-pressed to let such an opportunity go.” you whisper back. 

“But-” 

“I knew you would be an intelligent one” Seokjin cuts off your friend with a cherry tone, “I look forward to working with you” he extends his hand, you take in him with a shake. The shit-eating grin is lighting up your face. 

Jungkook sits there throwing daggers at you with his eyes. 

“It’s all because of you! You fucked things up!” Jungkook’s loud voice invades the serenity you were enjoying while waiting for Jimin to show up with his car. 

You turn your head in astonishment and give him wide eyes, “My ears must have gone cold. You are saying thanks and I am hearing something completely different.” 

“No! You are hearing it right, I said you fucked things up. Only if you didn’t show up at the club-”

“Then people would be dragging you down in twitter and instagram for fucking a school bully on camera.” you finish the sentence for him. 

Jungkook clicks his tongue and the smirks, “you know what? I can see how bad you are down for me. Is this all a part of your plan?” 

You smirk back, folding your hand in front of your chest, “FYI, your manager reached out to me to help you out. I am doing you a favor and you are returning it. Got it?” 

“Again.. Again that nasty attitude of yours.” Jungkook steps towards you, “you know what… I kinda like it.” 

He breathes directly on your face. 

The puff of his breath lands on the apple of your cheeks making a blush creep up without your notice.

“Make sure you save my number, girlfriend. See you tomorrow.” he leans down and whispers the last words in your ears and then disappears inside the parking lot. 

You stand there, catching your breath and questioning your decision for the first time since the proposition landed on your lap. 

But wait? What does he mean by ‘see you tomorrow’? 

Somebody must have pressed a replay button on the cassette of your life. 

If not then it’s certainly a deja vu, because the scene that’s unfolding is exactly the same as what happened last week. 

You are sitting inside the conference room, with Yoongi and Mrs. Lee and there is Jeon Jungkook sitting right across from you. 

The only thing that seems changed today is his attitude - which is a little more tamed. 

And oh… your clothes too. 

“This is so nice of you to come forward and ask for a meeting after whatever happened last time.” Mrs. Lee speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone. You wanna roll your eyes but decide against it. 

“Ah. no no. Miss Y/N is really competent at what she does. The credit goes to her. Even though things went south for the first time, we figured out that we actually are very compatible and working together will be beneficial for both of us. Right?” Jungkook directs his question towards you. 

“Uh- yeah. Hahahaha. Yeah.” you honestly don’t know what to reply. He is obviously faking it and you need to fake it too but Yoongi is sitting right beside you and he is staring at you and you are on the verge of losing your sanity. 

“I’m sorry if I am overstepping any boundaries but I can’t help being curious if the rumors are true?” Yoongi barges in. He looks at you and then Jungkook, expecting an answer or a reaction. 

Before you can say something - something you don’t even know what, Jungkook decides to answer. 

“Only time will tell.” he smiles at Yoongi. 

The amount of weird glances you are receiving from your colleagues is astronomical. 

For most of them it’s just eyeing you up and down and for some of the brave ones, it’s throwing impromptu comments like “oh, Y/N is a celeb now.” 

You want to punch them on their faces. 

Nevertheless, you don’t want a new trouble right when you manage to fight one crisis in exchange for your name and relationship status. 

You scroll through company social media accounts and start planning for all the new content that’s going to drop as soon as Jungkook’s done with the photoshoot. 

Your phone chimes with a notification. When take it in your hand to see it’s a text from the devil himself: 

“In front of the parking lot. Come in five minutes.” 

Your eyes close in frustration. You haven’t even stepped into the deal properly and he has started ordering you already. 

But what can you even do, you dug your own grave after all. 

It takes you seven minutes to reach the parking lot - obviously because you work on the sixteenth floor and the elevators don’t run on your will. 

When you find Jungkook waiting for you at the mentioned location with his bike, you find him kind of intriguing. 

It’s been long, embarrassingly long, since you have had a guy waiting for you. Even though you know it’s fake. You can turn blind eye for a moment and let yourself believe otherwise. 

“You are late.” he says with a pout. 

You lose your sanity only a little. 

“Sorry. The elevator didn’t listen to me when I asked it to run fast.” you reply. 

“Haha. very funny.” he replies animatedly then reaches for his backpack and plucks out a document folder. 

“What is this?” you question naturally. 

“The dating contract for our fake relationship.” he shrugs, extending the folder towards you, “Hyung asked you to go through it meticulously. You can add or reduce any term you don’t see fit. We will finalize it and announce our fake relationship officially once you are done. You have time till Friday.” he recites flatly, “also, you can’t tell anyone just yet. Got it?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever-”

“Y/N?” someone calls you and it’s not Jungkook. 

You whip your head to see Yoongi is standing a few feets away inside the parking space with keys in his hand. 

Your stomach feels funny at his unreadable expression. 

And then you feel a pair or lips pressing down on your cheeks. 

Jungkook kisses you before parting and saying, “Hasta la vista, baby”  

You freeze at your stop. You can see Yoongi’s eyes narrowing on you. Jungkook hops on his bike and leaves within a moment. 

You stand there, staring apologetically at the man you like and he sports an expression you can’t comprehend. 

“So.. the rumors were true, huh?” Yoongi finally voices after what feels like an eternity. 

“No- I-” also, you can’t tell anyone just yet. Got it? Jungkook’s words reel inside your head, “yes” you lie, crossing your fingers behind you. 

“Congratulations” Yoongi greets before flashing his gummy smile at you and then leaving you there to look for his car. 

“You really don’t care, do you?” you ask him. Even though you know he can’t hear you. There is a mixture of different emotions inside your gut and you are way too tired to name any of those.

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @armystay89 @ryryvna @purple-realms

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Hiii - for the fic prompts:

girlcedes - 7. Trapped in a room/closet/elevator

Lewis is glaring at Nico like she orchestrated this.

"I have places to be too." Nico says out loud, in her general direction. They're standing as far you can socially distance on an elevator. An elevator that the intercom buzzed in and reported would take fifteen minutes to send in the guys to fix. That was twenty minutes ago. Such glitz and glamour to live in Monaco.

"Not you. Claustrophobia." Lewis grits her teeth. She's sitting in a corner, squatting in her Dior running shoes. Probably showing off her knees can still take it.

Nico's leaning by the glass mirror because she's wearing a white pantsuit.

Oh right. Claustrophobia. Nico always forgets because it's always funny, the cars they drive in is more cramped than the spacious elevator. But it's about control, she gets that. Lewis in a Formula 1 car is just an extension of her body. But Lewis would always keep the door of the drivers room open, back in Mercedes.

"How are you scared of this and not jumping off a plane? It should be child's cake to you. Hm, that's not right. Child's play?" Nico frowns trying to locate the metaphor in the medley of languages in her brain. She speaks mostly to keep Lewis distracted. Nico herself is not, her positive outlook mantras covered this. Negative thoughts cannot happen if you don't let it. That's why she never checked her portfolio after the AI company she invested in rugpulled millions. It simply does not exist if she doesn't give it the power to.

"Skydiving is incredibly safe," Lewis bites the bait, "It's safer than scuba diving. And you're in control the whole time."

"All it takes is one parachute not opening." Nico shrugs. Even the thought makes her shudder. Absolutely not.

"Good thing they strap you with two then." Lewis drawls. She doesn't say it, too graceful these days, but the idiot is implied.

Nico rolls her eyes but is beaten in the marketplace of ideas.

She turns to the mirror, her shoulder length blonde hair bouncing. There's a pimple cropping up under her chin, she can feel it. She presses down on it, warning it to stay there.

"Don't do that - you look fine." Lewis is frowning, looking up at Nico from where she's crouched.

Nico used to obsessively poke and prod at her face staring at the mirror as a teenager. She's a little embarrassed Lewis remembers from their days of sharing rooms during karting.

"It's the only mirror time I get. Vivi and I are very mindful of not passing any body insecurities to the girls. Entering the pre-teens is a very impressionable time." Nico explains. She doesn't need her daughters rubbing off on her complexes.

Lewis gets up, lithe like a cat, in her oversized crewneck. She looks pointedly at the lack of ring on Nico's hand. "How's the divorce going?"

Nico purses her lips. "Conscious uncoupling. Very well, thank you. How's Ferrari?" She switches the subject. "Learn any Italian yet?"

"I've downloaded Duolingo." Lewis smiles, sheepishly, the gap in her teeth is still charming even after all these years.

"I remember teaching you some." In bed, tangled up in each other, another lifetime ago.

"I'm sure none of that was usable, man."

"Hm. You should try ti va di fare dolce su e giù?" Nico smirks.

"What does it mean?" Lewis asks.

Nico just smiles in that way when she knows something Lewis doesn't. "I'm sure Leclerc will be down. Happy to... accommodate." The double entendre in her voice gives it away.

Lewis takes a step closer, her hand on the railing where Nico is standing. And suddenly, the elevator feels like a much smaller space, with nowhere to hide. She shakes her head, the rings on her tattooed hands glittering. Nico feels strangely naked without hers. "He's not my type."

Nico leans forward. "And who is?"

The elevator doors ding open. They are on Lewis' floor.

[tristansfreezingtheirbrain]

Actually let me talk about this for a second because I have been doing a self prompted character study on Sherlock based on the fact I DO NOT FOR A SECOND BELIEVE HE IS A SOCIOPATH.

And I think the writers of the show know this. It wasn’t an accident on their part, I think it’s very intentional.

Sociopaths are described as having little to no care about other people or their lives, sometimes even not caring about their own, but I don’t think it’s true in Sherlock’s case.

Yes he is antisocial and doesn’t appear to care who lives or dies, but we all know he does care.

What he does, is intentionally dissociates to save peoples lives.

He is right, feelings do get in the way of investigations, the reason he’s so good at what he does, is he’s able to separate himself from what’s going on, which leads me to my point…

I am by no means an expert but I pride myself on my intense love of phycology, and it’s that love that started me on this tangent that currently has its own 3 page essay in a notebook on my shelf.

I think Sherlock Holmes has a kind of dissociative disorder. My evidence:

- mind palace. A thing some people do but, I should point out, is not often seen in neurotypical people, and is also not often seen in sociopaths. The ‘mind palace’ as the show calls it, is often a place someone goes to in their own head to escape situations in which they are stressed or feel in danger. This is not technically how Sherlock uses it, but I’ll explain the connection in a minute.

- when put in situations where he needs to be at the hight of his productiveness, he disconnects all feelings he may have about a case in order to be more efficient.

Both of these things lead me to believe that stress triggers a disassociative state in Holmes.

He also ( SPOILERS!!! MASSASIIIVVE SPOILERS IF YOU HAVENT SEEN THE LAST EPISODE )

Engaged in Confabulation, which is when someone’s brain changes memories in order to protect itself from further stress, which would have been caused by traumatic events.

This is another thing that you see often in people with a dissociative disorder.

I think he has a subset of depersonalization/derealization disorder, which is the closest real diagnosis to what he seems to have.

I’ve also entertained the notion of him being on the autism spectrum, but I’m always careful with that because I have autism and I have a tendency to project so that could just be me relating to him in some ways. And, it’s very well known that autism and dissociative disorders kind of go hand in hand, so sometimes it can be hard to tell if someone has autism, or just a symptom of it, which is what dissociative disorder falls under in that context.

But if I was to say he is on the spectrum, this is why.

-often considered sociopathic ( is not, as I just explained )

- often considered narcissistic ( is not, and if you think he is you seriously overestimate how much he cares about himself and what happens to him. He does care about other people, it’s just hard to focus on things he can’t see immediately in front of him. )

- lack of understanding of feelings

-under/over stimulation

-very in depth knowledge on some things, complete oblivion in others ( unless he deems them important ) ( aka, hyper fixation )

-unable to focus on things he doesn’t care about

-disconnects in stressful situations

-often makes decisions people deem childish ( ex: not helping Mycroft solve a case because of a sibling fued )

AGAIN I AM BY NOOOOO MEANS AN EXPERT- AND I AM NOT CLAIMING TO BE- I JUST FIND THINGS LIKE THESE REALLY INTERESTING!!!

Anyways.

Thanks for coming to my red talk 🙌

He doesn’t feel things that way… I don’t think.

[shy-canadian-snowflake]

Oh god even more Mentally Unwell Wade? Always. This is how I deal with my own mental health.

Wade chatters to himself, normally about random topics or his opinions on the weirdest of things- why Jellyfish would make good therapist, would madusa have to feed her hair, if emojis are todays hieroglyphics- lots of random topics. He does so half because ADHD brain, half because he doesn't like the sounds of his own thoughts. He speaks at a normal volume or louder when doing this.

He mumbles under his breath if he thinks he might be hallucinating. Soft quick words that normal people would ask him to speak up, not Logan tho. Logan can hear.

He learns quick- rambling is normal, mumbling is concerning. Thats is until it's not.

There are some hallucinations that are kind of normal for Wade. Like Boris, the large hairball cat thing. Wade named it so it was less stressing. Logan can hear him mumbling in the other room:

"God damn it Boris, don't pop up like that. I know you can't help it but come on."

"Boris, I'm starting to think you like me too much"

"Oh shit Boris, my man. As a interdimensional hairball cat thing, what is your opinion on Nutella?"

At first Logan would hover near by concerned, which would just cause Wade to shut down more. But eventually he started asking about Boris.

"If Boris is around so much, he should pitch in some fucking rent"

The day Logan did that changed everything. Wade didn't feel like he was being judged for what his brain was doing, that this wasn't something to fear. His brain was just mean sometimes and showed him Boris. Logan was fine with Boris, could deal with Boris. So Wade could too.

[empyrealoasis]

Shifting 101: A Complete Beginner’s Guide🐚🫧

This guide will break down everything you need to know about shifting: what it is, how it works, the methods, the science behind it, and practical tips for success.

What Is Shifting?

Shifting is the process of moving your consciousness to a different reality, whether it’s fictional, parallel, or entirely of your creation. It’s not your imagination—it’s about fully experiencing another reality.

Here's a summary of what it might feel like:

Physical Sensations

Vibrations or Tingling: Many report feeling their body vibrating or tingling, especially during the transition phase.

Weightlessness: A sensation of floating or being disconnected from the physical body.

Pressure Changes: Some describe feeling a "sinking" sensation, or a light pressure on their chest or body.

Warmth or Coolness: A shift in body temperature, often feeling either unusually warm or cool.

Mental and Emotional States

Calmness or Euphoria: A deep sense of peace, happiness, or excitement as they approach the desired reality.

Heightened Awareness: A sharper or more vivid sense of surroundings, even if they are imagined.

Detachment from the Current Reality: A feeling of being "pulled away" from where they currently are, mentally and emotionally.

Clarity: A sudden understanding or awareness of the desired reality, as if it's "right there."

During the Shift

Hypnagogic Imagery: Seeing flashes of light, shapes, or scenes from the desired reality as if in a vivid dream.

Auditory Changes: Hearing voices, sounds, or music associated with the desired reality.

Rapid Heartbeat: Some report their heart racing, which may be a mix of excitement and physiological response.

After the Shift

Being grounded in the Desired Reality: Feeling completely present and immersed in the new environment, often indistinguishable from waking life.

Memories: Retaining memories of the current reality but experiencing them as distant or unimportant compared to the new reality.

Familiarity: Even if the shifted reality is new, it may feel intuitively familiar, like returning to a place you've always known.

Why Do People Shift?

To live out their dream life or be in a fictional world.

Escape stress or explore alternate possibilities.

To experience new perspectives and adventures.

For self growth (mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually)

How Does Shifting Work?

Shifting focuses on aligning your consciousness with another reality. It may sound mystical, but scientific concepts can explain how it might work:

1. The Role of the Subconscious

Your subconscious mind doesn’t differentiate between imagination and reality—it processes everything you believe as truth. By visualizing and affirming your DR, you’re "rewriting" your mind to accept it as your "true" reality.

2. Brainwaves and Conscious States

Shifting works best when your brain is in certain states:

Alpha: Relaxed but awake, like when you daydream.

Theta: The in-between state of sleep and wakefulness—perfect for accessing your subconscious.

Delta: Deep sleep. Some people shift directly through their dreams.

3. The Quantum Perspective

The Many-Worlds Theory in quantum physics suggests infinite versions of reality exist. Shifting aligns your awareness with a different version of yourself, allowing you to live in that reality.

How to Shift: The Basics

1. Preparation

Create Your DR Script:

Where you’ll be.

Who you’ll meet.

Rules (e.g., “Time stops in my OR while I’m in my DR”).

Safe words (to return to your OR).

Set the Scene: Find a quiet, comfortable place where you won’t be disturbed.

2. Choose a Method

There are many methods to help guide your mind into the void or DR. Here are some popular ones:

The Raven Method: Lie in a starfish position, count to 100, and affirm things like, "I am in my DR." Visualize your DR as vividly as possible.

The Pillow Method: Write your script and place it under your pillow. Visualize your DR as you fall asleep.

The Void Method: Enter a deeply relaxed state, focus on the darkness behind your eyelids, and affirm that you’re in the void (a blank state of pure awareness where you can shift instantly).

3. Let Go and Trust the Process

The most important part of shifting is letting go of resistance. Don’t force the experience—relax and allow it to happen naturally.

Signs You’re Close to Shifting

You might experience these signs as you approach your DR:

Tingling sensations or vibrations.

Feeling weightless or heavy.

Hearing sounds from your DR.

Seeing flashes of light or imagery.

Common Challenges and Solutions

1. I Can’t Relax

Try meditating before starting or doing a body scan (mentally relaxing each part of your body).

2. I Overthink Too Much

Focus on affirmations or play calming music to distract your logical mind.

3. Nothing Happens

This is untrue as this is an assumption. However, it may take a few tries before you get the hang of it

The Science Behind Shifting

While shifting isn’t officially recognized by science, many related phenomena align with psychological and neurological concepts:

Hypnagogia and Hypnopompia: These are the states between wakefulness and sleep, where vivid imagery and sensations occur. They’re key moments for accessing your subconscious.

Lucid Dreaming: Like shifting, lucid dreaming involves awareness and control within a dream. Many people shift through lucid dreaming techniques.

Visualization and Neuroplasticity: Studies show that imagining something activates the same brain areas as doing it. With repetition, you "train" your brain to accept your DR as real.

The Placebo Effect: Your beliefs shape your experience. If you fully believe you’ve shifted, your brain will accept it as true. Can be achieved with the Law of Assumption.

Myths About Shifting

You Can Get Stuck: This is impossible. Your subconscious will always bring you back to your OR when needed.

It’s Dangerous: Shifting is as safe as sleeping or meditating. Unless you decide to shift to a Zombie Apocalypse then duhh.

You Need a Perfect Script/Concept: Having scripts and a good self-concept helps, but they’re not required. Your intention is enough.

Tips for Success

Stay consistent: Shifting gets easier with practice.

Believe in yourself: Doubts can create mental blocks.

Use reminders: Read your script daily to reinforce your DR.

Be patient: Everyone’s journey is different.

[thomaslittlegirl]

hello love! i hope you are doing very well:) i just read some of your first and they were so cute! unfortunately i have been in the mood for SOME ANGST lol! would you potentially be able to write a fic where something happened to reader and she got hurt (level of severity is up to you) and like tommy is obviously freaking out over it. idk what's wrong with me but i love angst 😔 if you don't feel comfortable i totally understand and have a wonderful day:)

thank you for your sweet words! 🩷 i wrote this in half an hour, so i hope it's at least not that horrible? hope you like it.

sickness. thomas shelby

warnings; angst. thomas blames himself, as always.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

thomas can't help but feel suffocated seeing you like this. it seems that the walls begin to close and collapse on top of him, preventing him from breathing.

your figure lies on the bed, wrapped in the neat white sheets while your body does not stop shaking violently.

it hurts him to see you this way. hurts because there is no one to blame for your discomfort, no one to blame for your suffering. all he can do is watch yourself in silence and wait for this to pass quickly.

thomas looks at you pitifully as he swallows hard.

the sound of the maid's heels echoing across the wooden floor makes him put on guard. the woman comes almost stumbling, with a tray in her arms. "here it is, sir." she says, in a low voice.

she goes into the room y/n and thomas both share and leaves the plates on the desk.

"thank you, frances." he replies. "i want you to be attentive to any call that me or my girl makes." maid nods and leaves the room, closing the door after her. the annoying sound of heels moving away.

thomas walks over to the bed, squatting down next to you. "doll..." he calls, stroking your hair.

a whimper escapes your mouth and thomas licks his lips, watching you intently; you are pale, your lips cracked.

"what?" you ask in a whisper.

"frances brought you soup." he informs, continuing the caresses on your head. "i want you to eat some."

"im not hungry."

"just a little. try it... it'll warm you up a little." he tries to persuade in vain. you shake your head; thomas stare at the dark circles in your eyes.

shelby look at how your body shakes. it doesn't matter how many sheets you have around you, the spasms don't stop.

his head is a torment, thousands of good-for-nothing thoughts flooding his brain. he collects all the bad omens he knows, like black cats and broken mirrors... everything that could have happened for you to reach this moment.

thomas can't help but think and blame himself. it is not the first time this has happened, it is not the first time that his bad luck and his destiny bring him to this point.

he can't lose you, not you. not again... not when he is thorough when giving you gifts, not when he makes sure to protect you with his life.

why does everything he loves come to this point? does everything he touches have to slowly fade away?

he doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your thin fingers wipe the corners of his eyes, brushing the tears away from his face.

"i'll get better." you try to calm him down, he's not so sure.

he knows the multiple opinions of all the doctors he brought to check you, all of them giving a different diagnosis but none of them making you feel better... everything you can possibly have.

"you promise...?" he asks, looking at your tired face.

"i..." nothing. "just hold me, please." you ask in return, running back a little to make room for him on the bed next to you.

thomas crawls under the sheets with you and wraps you in his arms, holding you close to his chest.

as if love could save.

[estranhossonhos]

It's obviously not a requirement I look for, whenever I meet someone (friends, bf/gf, doesn't matter - I mean people I want to keep around and nourish a relationship with); but I would love to have a significant other with this kind of mindset. That cooks with joy, plans every mealtime with ease, and feeds on other people's reactions to their food. In fact, whenever I get invited to eat at someone's house, and they complain that the food didn't turn up how they envisioned, or state that «it's nothing fancy» - oh, you have no idea how moments like this warm my body, heart and soul. And I wish I was writing all of this out of nostalgia, with that magical, slow-motion like remembrance about everyone gathered around a table, enjoying themselves, talking, laughing, ... but for me, it goes beyond that.

tw: mental health + unhealthy eating patterns

I try not to feel ashamed by confessing this, but I can't help but notice how people look at me weird. It's such an automated/basic thing everyone does, and I can't do it? «What do you mean? You need food to live, yet you can't cook nor do the groceries? ». Not quite, but I do need a whole day to do it, and a few days in advance to get myself ready for this mundane task. You see, my brain shuts off whenever I look at what's inside my fridge or pantry - if there's even anything in there to begin. I simply cannot put combine ingredients like you do (and it's not due to lack of knowledge). And whenever I can, it will most likely become my go-to meal for the next few weeks. It's a logistical nightmare to even consider going out to the supermarket. Yes, I could order online - but that's another task on itself. 80% of the times this gets me so overstimulated that, I've ended up (discreetly, I hope) crying in public, on a few occasions.

Don't worry, it's not an everyday occurrence. And for better or for worse, I am too self-conscious and pragmatic for this bad habit to take over. But whenever my neurodivergent brain is going through the slumps (you know: those occasional rough patches that resurface every once in a while, sprinkled with anxiety and depression), I prefer to stay in bed, disassociate and lose track of time, with an empty stomach. Even though I merely switched that moment with another filled with more guilt and shame towards myself. And yes, that also includes going out to eat. That's why I (while trying to play it cool) usually choose what somebody else ordered, or what the waiter recommended. This way nobody suspects anything is wrong with me, right?

Now, if this all seems childish and overly dramatic, congratulations: you are a typical functioning human-being. Believe me when I say this: I feel the same way you do, whenever I hear myself complaining about this «first world problem». But unfortunately, this drains the little energy we have to navigate our daily lives as neurodivergent individuals in a neurotypical world. Especially for those with a very tight monthly budget, who live alone or share a place with people they are not close with. Just like you, I used to find unnecessary and environmentally unfriendly all of those pre-packed, peeled and/or frozen meals, veggies and fruits. Nowadays I am thankful whenever I find them, since they quite literally have saved my life multiple times. Chemicals? Not healthy? Never heard of them. I need fuel to get out of bed and to not rot away. And if that fuel is a frozen lasagne with a weird ingredient list, so be it. I promise I'll compensate in a near future, when I am mentally and physically out of the slump, and I feel capable of asking for help (if needed) or to mask myself again as a typical functioning human-being 💪 So, next time you catch yourself complaining about those «unhealthy and ready to eat meals» or any other «unnacessary invention» that promises to make someone's life easier: take a deep breath, question everything but always try to do it out of pure curiosity. This way you're always reach the correct answer, be apart of less judgemental world, with more acessibility, compassion and solidarity towards one another.

Cooking for you is my love language.

[magicalrocketships]

You talked in the author's note about having more thoughts on Max's sexuality in Breaking every rule for you. I'd love to hear more about that, if you want to? 🤍

Oh, thank you for asking!! I did a whole disassociation thing after I posted the last chapter and I was like "it's very important to reply to comments and asks about this fic which meant a lot to me to write and to receive" and then I simultaneously thought orrrrr, alternatively, you can keep putting that off because you won't be able to properly tell people how much all the comments and asks meant. Anyway, that's a perfectly sensible series of thoughts to have, which brings me to this ask.

So, Max in Breaking Every Rule For You. This is half brain-dump, half director's cut of Max's POV. Either way, I accidentally wrote 3000 words about my beloved, feral Max. Sorry? Not sorry. I'll always want to talk about him 🧡🧡

He has literally no conception of this (and neither does Daniel), but he's very much on the asexual spectrum. He's demisexual, which is a word he's never heard and wouldn't know to use even if he had. 

He continues to tell the truth about his experience of life, but Daniel doesn't know enough to understand what Max is accidentally telling him, and Max doesn't know that his experience isn't universal. So! This fic is basically Max experiencing sexual attraction for the first time.

OBVIOUSLY this does not excuse Max behaving monstrously to Zoe and being hopelessly cruel to Daniel. He is, however, experiencing a lot of stuff for the first time and he didn't know! That he could feel like this! He is horny about someone else for the first time in his life! He'd be feral anyway, and he and Daniel stay completely feral after the fic's done and long into the future, feral and horny and all over each other, but there's this whole extra layer to it that's just Max being like... you can feel like this about another person? You can want someone THIS MUCH? You can want to fuck and come and kiss and touch another human being? Everybody in the world isn't lying about wanting it?

So on the one hand you've got Daniel's much more linear experience of oh, fuck, I've been bisexual all along, and the person who's opened my eyes about it is Max, what does this mean for my life and am I allowed to have something with Max for the longer term? In contrast to Max being so fucking thirsty to experience all of these things he's wanting for the first time, and barely understanding what it is he's wanting and the impact on the lives of the people around him who love him. He's so fucking needy and he barely understands the reasoning behind that, but that's partly why he keeps bringing Daniel back and reminding him of everything he's promised, everything Max is dying to experience but hasn't yet.

Even like, right back at the beginning when Max wants pictures of Daniel, it's because he's literally never felt attraction to another person. He's never looked at someone's body and wanted to touch it (or, in Max's case, to come all over him over and and over again and make him fucking filthy and his and have him show Max how he touches himself and how he looks soft and hard and horny and everything in between).

And all the things he wants to do to Daniel, he's never done to anyone else because he was horny about it. Everything he's done is because he thought he should, because he thought everyone was faking it when they said they were horny for touching other people. He can't slow himself down. He wants all of it. And then he'll do things like just warm Daniel's dick because he didn't know it felt good, and it feels so good.

On the other hand, Max has a fixed conception of love and relationships and they are work. They are a job. He has had girlfriends because he was supposed to have girlfriends and he's literally not figured out he's gay because he's not been close to a man long enough for attraction to develop, and with Max it takes a lonnnnng time, he's known Daniel for years and it's only been in the past few months it's started to change how he feels about him, ever since Daniel said he was going to leave and Max realised he not only wanted him to stay, he wanted him. And he doesn't want what he has with Daniel (something good) to crossover into relationship (something bad, something that's work, something that's always been a to-do list item) because then it will be bad. Max is getting every single thing he wants for the very first time in his life, of course he wants to keep things exactly how they are and ringfence this space in his life where Daniel is and he's getting everything he wants. The downside is that it's horribly cruel, but he doesn't entirely understand that, because he doesn't entirely understand either how he feels or how Daniel feels, and because he thinks that what he experiences is the universal, which is that relationships and love are bad and work. 

I kind of love that Max at the beginning isn't a great kisser - Max kisses like he jerks off, fierce and unimaginative. A race to the finish line. One day Daniel will make him slow it down. And part of that is literally because he's never enjoyed it before. He's never kissed anyone he wanted to have kiss him back.

But also, Max loves to jerk off. He loves to jerk off. Masturbation is the one thing he's always loved to do, because he's never been low on sexual desire, just attraction. He's jerked off thinking about Daniel before, too. Even before being really attracted to him. It's sort of why he wants Daniel in his bed, not because it's where he shares with Zoe when she's in Monaco, but because it's where Max jerks off, which is the one hugely positive sexual thing he's ever had in his life. Yeah, there's also some kind of "having a girlfriend is boring and work and I'm beating the system by having a better time in the space where that boring work happens" but Max isn't pre-meditiatively cruel in this. His cruelty is a by-product. 

Also: Max doesn't know that things can be better than what he has. 

He's barely managed to get his shirt off before Max is launching himself at him, making some Max-like attempt at human touch by cupping Daniel's face in his hands and pressing their mouths together. It's not romantic. It's not anything, other than fast, and maybe a little furious.

"You talked about kissing me," Max says, pulling away just enough that Daniel can feel the heat of his breath against his mouth. He's still cupping Daniel's face, and Daniel wants to cover Max's hands with his own and keep him there, make him stay still, make time slow down for them just this fucking once. "You said you thought about it. Kissing me. I've never kissed anyone like that, Daniel. I want it."

Max is telling Daniel the truth but Daniel doesn't pick up on it. Max hasn't ever kissed anyone like this before. And he wants it. 

Daniel spends a lot of time thinking about Zoe. Max doesn't think about her at all. He buys Daniel gifts because he's wild about him, because he needs to, like, put some of what he's feeling out into the world but he just— doesn't know how to do it. He's overflowing with it. 

"Think all the time about kissing you," Max tells him, still kneeling over him, leaning in so that he can mouth at Daniel's neck, kiss him so that Daniel will have a fucking love bite he'll have to cover with concealer if he wants to leave the house. Daniel doesn't stop him. Max can mark him up any way he wants. Daniel will take any scrap he can get. People shouldn't live off scraps, but Daniel will take anything Max throws at him. He'll judge himself later. "You have a good mouth, Daniel, I think about it so much." He kisses Daniel's jaw, along the line of it, over his stubble and up to his ear. It is not foreplay. It is just Max, taking what he wants. Daniel giving it because he wants the whole fucking lot of it and to drown in it afterwards. Better drown than starve. Max kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Once, twice. The side of his nose. Is this Max, trying to be gentle with him? Trying to give something he normally only takes?

And then Daniel changes things, he tries to break up with Max and Max goes insane with it. For Max, Daniel really is ruining things. He is being a stupid motherfucker. This really is just sex because Max doesn't know how to understand what he's feeling. And he doesn't want to feel! Feeling is bad. He keeps trying to make the feelings stop. Of course Max just keeps trying to take things back to the space where things were working, because he wants it so much. Of course he's jealous, because he's fucking feral and a mess and he has no idea how to feel things like a real boy, because he never fucking has, and how he feels about Daniel is really fucking easy if only he knew how to identify or name any of the feelings he's feeling. 

So yeah: Max is heartbroken for the first time in his life, but he also just doesn't understand it. His chest hurts. He wants Daniel back in the space where it was all working. Daniel isn't the stupid motherfucker, Max is, for not managing to keep it so that Daniel would still kiss him and want him and touch him and text him, and Max is for not being able to stop himself from feeling stuff he doesn't understand. And then Zoe goes, and he doesn't feel anything. Not really. The only thing he's thinking about is Daniel. And then you get Max's entirely pragmatic, ruthless side, whereby he just makes sure Daniel is safe. He pays whatever he needs to pay to make sure Zoe is satisfied. He tells her the truth about not feeling about her the way he feels about Daniel. He doesn't mean to be cruel. It's a by-product again. It still is hopelessly cruel. He still only wants Daniel. He's the stupid motherfucker, not Daniel. 

And all the time, Max thinking he can get Daniel back to what they had before if only he keep trying. He knows Daniel wants him back. And he thinks he's getting it. He thinks he's getting Daniel back. It's want like he's never wanted. He thinks he's managed it, and then Daniel just— shuts him down. And Max just… breaks. It takes him by surprise as much as it takes Daniel when he sees Max crying, like he's crying and he didn't mean to start but he also can't stop. He loves him. That's what this is. 

"You are not listening," Max says, wiping his tears on his shoulder. "All of this time I am trying and I am trying not to want you and not to feel things but it did not work and I do and I did and I feel it in here and it won't stop." He presses the side of his fist to his chest, like Max is referring to his own fucking heart, which he can't be, because Max is Max, and Max doesn't feel anything, and he doesn't fucking feel anything for Daniel. "It is not fair that you won't listen. Always I am asking how do I make it stop, because you are just supposed to be sex, you are dick and that is for the dark and instead you are always just here, in my head and you have made me go mad thinking about you. Everything I do is very insane and it is all about you and my girlfriend left me and I do not care because she is not you and you tell me that you miss me too but now you are saying no when I want you more than I want anything and it is not okay."

It's the first time in his life he's ever been in love, and he's trying to make sense of it because he couldn't stop loving Daniel if he tried, but here's Daniel telling him he doesn't, and that he's stopped, and that is just— so far outside of Max's understanding. It's not fair and it's not okay and he doesn't know how Daniel could stop loving him if love is what he feels back for Daniel. 

And then he stays. He tells Daniel that no one kisses him like Daniel does. He says: "Nobody touches me like you do," Max says, which is probably a lie since Zoe loved him and wanted him and probably would have touched Max any way he wanted if he'd only told her. "Nobody, Daniel, nobody makes me feel like you do."

Daniel makes a soft, unholy noise in the back of his throat.

"It's true," Max says, urgently. "It is true."

Daniel doesn't realise how true. That no one has ever made Max feel or want like this. That this is the first time he's ever been attracted to someone. 

And for Max it's so clearly worlds apart from him and Zoe. They're not comparable. 

"She was my girlfriend," Max says. "But I didn't love her like I love you."

For a moment, Daniel's brain judders to a halt. It's felt like he's been on a constant spin cycle since last night, but for a moment, everything's still. "Yeah?"

"With you it is very different," Max says. "Everything is very different."

He keeps stroking the inside of Daniel's wrist. Daniel can't think of anything to say. He just watches Max touch him.

"Of course I kissed her, Daniel. She was my girlfriend. I did all the things you're supposed to do with your girlfriend. You cannot be tearing yourself up into knots about her when she is gone and you are here."

And

"I thought about your dick a lot. I thought I would like to see it. I jerked off and used my fingers and thought about you jerking off. I thought if I was going to suck a dick then it would be nice if it was yours."

"You had a girlfriend."

"Yes. I had everything I was supposed to want. Red Bull and Zoe and one day I will have my World Championship. But not you because you are a stupid motherfucker and you left me."

And Max loves jerking off. It's his favourite thing. 

But like, Max finally gets what he didn't know he wanted, which is more than just having sex at regular and irregular intervals, he gets a boyfriend, someone he can actually love and want to be with and it's all turning his conception of relationships and love upside down and he has to re-evaluate how that fits into his life, because relationships have been a boring part of work before, and now they're not, so he just has to… figure that shit out. 

This conversation where Daniel asks Max if he's gay: 

"Max," he says softly, after a minute. "Max, do you like girls?"

Max shifts on the pillow. He rolls his eyes. "Of course I do, Daniel, do not ask stupid questions. They are 50% of the population."

"I'm not—" Daniel searches Max's face. He wants to find something there that Max isn't showing him, some measure of understanding, of common ground beyond the fact that they're fucking and in love. "Do you like dating them?"

"I am dating you," Max says, as if he's talking to someone who barely understands English.

"Yes, but. Before. Did you like having sex with girls?"

"Zoe was my girlfriend. Of course I liked having sex with her."

This isn't Max just obfuscating. He hasn't defined himself as gay. He is, but he didn't necessarily— need to know it or define himself as such? It just wasn't important to him. He didn't really want to have sex with anyone so not wanting to have sex with girls less than him not wanting to have sex with guys he wasn't attracted to didn't matter so much? And now there's Daniel so it's even less of an issue because it turns out he can ferally cheat on Zoe for months and still not intend to ever be with anyone who isn't Daniel. 

Honestly it's more of a journey than Daniel will ever know to get Max to this: 

"I will do better," Max says, when there's nothing else coming, and Daniel's about to step out into the road. "I will learn, Daniel. To be a good boyfriend." 

It's not something he ever even considered before, and now not only does he want to, he's going to work on it too. 

Max smiles at him. He still fingers Daniel, because Max likes to multi-task and do it efficiently, but he lets his gaze rest on Daniel's. He looks happy. He looks so, so happy. "It has never been like this," he says, and Daniel doesn't say because you've been having sex with girls and you don't like them. He'll believe it's just about him. That Max feels like this about him and him alone.

Max telling the ultimate truth - it never has been like this, not a single element of it. Not kissing, not sex, not loving somebody else. Daniel doesn't entirely hear it, but then why would he? Even Max doesn't realise how much of a truth it is. 

"I always thought people were lying about kissing," Max says, without moving or looking at him or anything. "It was so boring. Everyone had to be lying. Nobody could like it unless they liked boring things."

What the fuck.

"So boring," Max says. He still doesn't move or look at him "Sex was boring too. I didn't know why anybody went out of their way when they could just jerk off. Masturbating was so much better than sex, Daniel."

Christ. Daniel's fingers twitch in Max's. "Did you ever think that was because you didn't like girls? And you kept having sex with them?"

"Eh," Max says, and shrugs. "I kissed boys too. Two of them. It was still boring."

Daniel's never thought sex was boring. He's liked it pretty much every time he's had it. He's been kissing girls since he was 14 and could make them laugh enough to kiss him over bags of crisps after school. He thinks about the two boys Max has kissed. What he did with them. When it was. Who it was. If he really thought it was awful. "Do you still think it's boring?"

Max shifts at that, twisting so he can look up at Daniel with the most insulted, don't be fucking stupid look on his face. "I have just licked my come out of your ass, Daniel. I want to have sex with you all the time. All of the things I jerked off thinking about doing I want to do with you. I want to kiss you forever."

Anyway. TL;DR, Max is demisexual and is new to sexual attraction and wouldn't be able to label himself as that if somebody paid him. 

[mssishipi]

CHAPTER 1: mr. panties stealer - enhypen! heesung

PAIRING: broke! rookie panty stealer! heesung x reader, senior panty stealer! jake x reader

SYNOPSIS: When Heesung discovers his roommate Beomgyu's bizarre side hustle-stealing panties for cash in a campus-wide competition-he's appalled. But after hearing about the insane prize money, his moral compass wavers.

Overwhelmed by deadlines and broke from juggling classes and a café job, Heesung finally snaps. Armed with Beomgyu's tips and a growing desperation, Heesung sets out to grab the bag-and maybe a shred of dignity along the way.

warning on this chapter: profanities, explicit content (smut), unprotected sex

chapter two

The soft humming of Beomgyu pulled Heesung's focus from his laptop screen. His fingers paused mid-typing, and his brow furrowed as he glanced toward his roommate. 

Beomgyu stood at the tiny dorm kitchenette, flipping something on the pan with way too much hip movement for someone cooking. 

Heesung's eyes narrowed. Was that... a designer hoodie he was wearing?

He yanked out his AirPods and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, silently observing. Beomgyu was smiling—smiling—like he'd just won the lottery.

 Heesung's suspicions deepened when Beomgyu strolled over and dramatically placed a perfectly grilled steak in front of him, complete with garnish. A garnish!

"Eat up, bro! How's your business plan going?" Beomgyu asked as he dropped into the chair across from Heesung. He even wiggled his eyebrows, looking far too pleased with himself.

Heesung stared at the steak, then back at Beomgyu. "What's this? Poison? Did you get a sugar daddy or something?"

Beomgyu snorted. "Relax. Just eat. You need the protein. You're looking kinda scrawny lately."

"Excuse me, I'm the one carrying this dorm on my back while you're out here buying steaks and flexing designer hoodies," Heesung shot back, shoving the plate away.

"Where is this money coming from? Did you get a promotion?" He asked.

Beomgyu hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "Not exactly..."

Heesung's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'not exactly'? Are you doing something illegal? Selling stolen phones? Counterfeiting IDs?"

Beomgyu let out a nervous laugh, his hand twitching toward the steak knife. "Dude, no! Calm down."

Heesung wasn't buying it. He leaned closer, voice lowering. "Are you... selling drugs?"

"What? No!" Beomgyu hissed, slapping Heesung's hand away. "Why does your brain always go straight to crime? Do you think of me in that way?!"

"Because we've been broke for months and suddenly you're over there playing MasterChef with premium cuts of meat!" Heesung jabbed a finger at the steak. "My diet's been so good, I've gained four kilograms, Beomgyu. Four kilograms! Something's fishy."

Beomgyu groaned, dropping his head onto the table. "I swear, it's nothing bad."

"Then just tell me!" Heesung demanded. "Are you a cam boy? You've been extra cheerful. Did you get a bunch of rich ladies paying for shirtless livestreams?"

Beomgyu sat up, face red. "Hell no! Shut up, dumbass!" He flipped Heesung off before muttering, "But... fine. I'll tell you."

"Well?"

Beomgyu sighed deeply, like he was about to confess to a murder. "I've been making money... by stealing panties."

The room went dead silent.

"...Panties?" Heesung repeated, blinking in disbelief.

"Yes, panties. Underwear. Lingerie. Whatever you want to call it." Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like a man questioning his life choices. 

"There's this monthly competition. The 00 Sigma Liners run it. Whoever steals the most panties wins a huge cash prize."

Heesung's jaw dropped. "There's a competition for that?!"

Beomgyu shrugged. "And it pays well."

"Bro, you're committing theft! And for panties! What if you get caught? What if someone recognizes you?"

Beomgyu waved him off. "It's not a big deal. I'm fast, and no one ever suspects me. Plus, I've got a system."

Heesung stared, completely dumbfounded. "...A system?"

"Yeah." Beomgyu grinned smugly. "Turns out, laundry rooms on campus are prime territory. Easy access, no security cameras, and people forget about their stuff all the time."

"Used panties?" Heesung repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. 

He grimaced, an image of Beomgyu stuffing a bunch of underwear into a duffel bag popping into his head. He physically shuddered. "That's... so gross, dude."

Beomgyu just shrugged, completely unbothered. "Money doesn't smell, bro."

Heesung gagged a little. "It probably does in this case." He squinted at his roommate. "Okay, fine. How much do you even make doing this... career path?"

Beomgyu smirked, leaning back in his chair like he was about to deliver the punchline to a joke. "Why? Thinking about joining the club?"

Heesung stiffened, turning back to his laptop in mock indignation. "Pfft, no. I'm just curious. Totally normal curiosity."

"Uh-huh," Beomgyu said, clearly unconvinced but letting it slide. "Anyway, it depends on how many you grab. Last time, I made 600 bucks."

Heesung's head snapped back toward him. "Six hundred dollars?! For panties?"

"Yup. But get this," Beomgyu continued, raising a finger, "Jake—you know Jake? The hot Australian dude?—he snagged 40 panties from the girls' dorm and made four thousand dollars. Four grand. Straight up." He let that sink in.

"And, bro, the competition's sponsored now. The 02 Alpha Liners are putting money behind it."

Heesung's jaw dropped. "Wait. There are sponsors for stealing underwear? What is this, the Panty Olympics?"

"Pretty much," Beomgyu said with a shrug. "But now it's trickier. Most of the girls are onto us, so it's getting harder. Locks on laundry room doors, hidden cameras, fake panties as traps... It's like Mission Impossible, but for underwear."

Heesung stared at his laptop, his business plan completely forgotten. A little voice in the back of his head whispered about all the things he could buy with $600. He pictured himself walking into the campus store and loading up on snacks, new clothes, maybe even upgrading his ancient laptop. Hell, 4,000 dollars? That was tuition and a trip to Jeju Island.

He glanced at Beomgyu, who was casually biting the steak like this whole thing was perfectly normal. "Four thousand, huh..."

Beomgyu smirked. "Told you. Don't knock it till you try it."

Heesung closed his laptop, deep in thought. "What's the... uh, strategy?"

"You are interested!" Beomgyu cackled, slapping the table. 

"Fuck you! I want to earn 600 bucks too!" Heesung snapped, glaring. "How dare you keep this from me? If I'd known, I wouldn't have busted my ass at the café for chump change!"

Beomgyu raised his hands defensively. "Okay, okay! My bad! I'm just a rookie, alright? Three months in the game. But I'll teach you, bro. Don't worry."

"Damn right, you will." Heesung popped a piece of steak into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

The steak giving him just enough energy to imagine himself prowling the laundry rooms like a panty ninja. He could almost taste the $600 already. Maybe if he bagged 20, he could treat himself to a fancy massage at that spa he always passed by. Hell, if he hit Jake's 40-panty mark, he could upgrade his whole lifestyle.

He is definitely joining and gonna grab that bag.

- - - -

“Damn these fuckers,” you mutter, glaring at your laundry basket. Half your panties are missing—again.

“It’s the fucking competition!” Chaewon screams, slamming her fist onto the counter of the dorm laundry shop. “I thought you said your security was better than this! Do you know how much I spend on panties every month?”

The shop owner sighs, clearly tired of this conversation.

“Miss, we’ve done everything we can. The competition is out of our control. The university refuses to get involved, and the police don’t take it seriously. They think it’s just some harmless club activity.”

“Harmless?!” Wonyoung shrieks, waving her empty laundry bag like a flag of war. “How is stealing panties harmless? Get better locks! Or guards! Or something!”

“We tried new locks,” the owner says, rubbing his temples. “The participants broke them. We can’t afford to keep replacing them.”

“Then install CCTVs!” Karina yells, pointing accusingly at the ceiling. “Track those bastards and turn them in! If we can’t report them for theft, go for property damage! Think smarter!”

You smack your palm against your forehead, sighing. Everyone’s yelling, tensions are high, and yet here you are, missing half your underwear. Again.

“The 28th is coming,” Giselle whines, dabbing at her eyes with fake tears. “God knows how many of them will show up this time. My favorite VS lingerie is gone forever! The one my boyfriend loves so much…”

“Here we go,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“…and now I can’t even get the hard fucking I deserve when I wear them!” Giselle cries dramatically, slamming her fists on the counter.

“God, TMI!” you snap, covering your ears.

“Hey, it’s not TMI!” Giselle protests. “This is important! I have a life, you know!”

“I just want my panties back,” Wonyoung groans, clutching her bag. “What kind of psycho steals this much underwear?”

The owner sighs louder, rubbing his face. “Miss, it’s a competition. There’s prize money. People will do anything for cash.”

“Prize money?!” Wonyoung shrieks. “You’re telling me some perverts are getting paid to steal my stuff?! Where’s the justice in this world?”

“Forget justice,” Karina mutters, cracking her knuckles. “We need revenge.”

“I thought leaving our laundry in the dorm was safe!” Chaewon shouts, throwing her hands up. “But last time, there were three guys lurking around, probably hoping the laundry room would be empty!”

“Three guys in our dorm?” Wonyoung gasps, biting her nails. “What if they come back? God knows what else they’ll try to do!”

Karina slams her hands on the counter. “That’s it. We need to set a trap.”

Everyone freezes. Then slowly, heads begin to nod in agreement.

“A trap…” Giselle whispers. “To catch the perverts in the act. Expose them to the whole university!”

You stare at them, dumbfounded. “You do realize they’re already getting smarter, right? They know we’re aware of their stupid competition. If they catch even a whiff of a trap, they’ll just get sneakier.”

Karina turns to you, narrowing her eyes. “What’s your point, genius?”

“My point is, you’re dealing with people who’ve probably been planning this for weeks. You think a bunch of laundry-room heists happen without some kind of strategy?”

“They’re stealing panties,” Chaewon says flatly. “I don’t think they’re masterminds.”

“Yeah, but we don’t even know who’s participating,” Wonyoung chimes in, pacing nervously. “It could be anyone. Anyone! How are we supposed to catch them if we don’t know who they are?”

“It’s only boys, though, right?” Giselle asks, crossing her arms. “I heard someone say it’s all guys.”

“That’s the rumor,” Chaewon agrees. “But they’re good at hiding it. No one knows who’s actually in it.”

“So they’re sneaky and shameless,” Karina says with a scowl. “Great. That’s just what we need.”

“And let’s not forget,” Giselle cuts in, her voice dramatic, “the 28th is coming. The stakes are always higher at the end of the month.”

“Why does this sound like some Hunger Games bullshit?” you mutter, massaging your temples.

“Because it is,” Chaewon snaps. “But with underwear. Our underwear! And if we don’t do something, we’ll keep losing our stuff.”

Karina nods decisively. “We’ll need bait. A decoy pair of panties. Something irresistible.”

“Are you kidding me?” you ask, glaring at her.

“What?” she says defensively. “It’s a good plan!”

“It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” you shoot back.

“No, it’s genius,” Giselle says, jumping in. “We lure them in, catch them red-handed, and BAM! Public humiliation!”

“Sure, if we don’t end up looking like idiots first,” you mutter, but no one’s listening anymore.

“Alright,” Karina declares. “Let’s get to work. We’re going to take those bastards down.”

You sigh, staring at the ceiling. This is going to end so badly.

“I’m going to get some fuck. This is stressing me out,” you say, throwing your hands up as you back away. Grabbing your laundry basket, you turn to leave.

Karina scoffs loudly, crossing her arms. “Are you even a girl’s girl? We’re literally planning a strategy to protect our panties, and you’re bailing on us?”

You shrug, pausing just long enough to glance back at her.

“I’m going to fuck and spy. I have a gut feeling about this,” you say, smirking as you turn away.

“You better get that dick and some information, girl!” Giselle shouts, raising her fist in support.

You throw her a mock salute before fully turning on your heel and walking out.

“Fuck, baby, yes!” Jake’s hips stutter, his grip on your hair tightening as you feel the familiar spurt of liquid hit your tongue.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, a sly grin forming as you push him back onto the bed. Sliding onto his lap, you straddle him, feeling his body tense beneath you.

“Jake, miss me?” you whisper, grinding yourself against his oversensitive cock, teasing him further.

“Yes, baby, miss you so much—ohhh, fuck, I’m sensitive!” he whines, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks.

You chuckle, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth.

“Did you see my panties? The green ones I wore last time we fucked?” you ask, your voice low and teasing as you slide him inside, a soft moan escaping both of you.

“Hmm, I don’t think so, baby,” he says, gripping your waist tightly as you start moving, slow and deliberate, feeling his breath hitch beneath you.

“What about the pink ones? The lacey pair you said you liked? A bunch of my panties are missing lately.”

His hands tighten on your waist, but his face remains neutral. “Missing? Nah, baby, I don’t know anything about that.”

You lean in, your lips grazing his jawline as you trail soft kisses along his neck. “You sure? You don’t know anything?”

His laughter comes out nervous, almost forced. “Why would I?”

“Are you stealing my panties, baby?” you ask dumbly, your pace quickening as you move on top of him.

“Ah! Fuck, no, baby! Why would I steal your panties?” he groans, gripping your hips as his thrusts meet yours.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your tone teasing. “Maybe it’s a kink or something.”

He angles his thrusts perfectly, pulling a loud moan from you. “A kink?” he chuckles breathlessly, his hand sliding to your neck. “What do you think I am? A panty thief?”

“Maybe,” you tease, biting your lip as you ride him faster, his hands guiding your hips firmly. “You’ve heard about that dumb competition, haven’t you?”

His movements falter slightly, just enough to catch your attention.

“What competition, baby?” he asks, his voice low as his mouth moves to your chest, sucking and nibbling your nipples making you gasp.

"Hmm," you moaned, threading your fingers through his hair. "You sure you don't know? Some boys' competition... stealing panties for money?"

He groans, his teeth grazing your skin before pulling back. “Why would I need to steal, baby? You’d give me yours if I asked, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends,” you murmur, your hips grinding harder. “What if you were doing it for the prize?”

He laughs shakily, his hands gripping your waist tighter. “Prize, huh? Sounds like something desperate guys would do.”

You catch the flicker of something in his eyes before he kisses you, thrusting harder, scattering your thoughts.

“You’re dodging,” you whisper against his lips, your voice unsteady as he moves with relentless rhythm.

“Not dodging. Just focusing on more important things,” he says, flipping you onto your back, his cock driving into you faster, pulling loud cries from your throat.

Pleasure ripples through you, your body arching beneath him as his hand finds your clit, circling it perfectly. The tension snaps, and you cry out, thighs trembling around him as you lose yourself.

“Fuck, baby, so tight. G-gonna cum!" Jake groans, his pace faltering as he reaches his release, his grip firm as he gasps, spilling inside you.

When the heat subsides, you collapse back against the bed, Jake pulling you close. His lips brush your shoulder as his fingers trace lazy patterns along your side.

“You know,” he murmurs, his tone teasing, “I’ll just buy you new panties if you’re so worked up about the missing ones.”

You freeze for a moment before forcing a lazy laugh. “Missing? I just said they were like misplaced.”

Jake smirks, that maddeningly cocky grin tugging at his lips. “Same difference, right? They’re gone, baby. Doesn’t matter why.”

His hand drifts to your thigh, squeezing lightly. You trace his chest with your fingers, your mind racing.

“Do you know your favorite red ones? They’re gone too,” you say, sighing with feigned frustration as you lean back.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “Why would they do that?”

You let out an exaggerated groan. “I don’t know! Maybe it’s some dumb power move or a competition. Either way, it’s disgusting.”

“My red ones were my favorite. The ones with the bow? Gone,” you add, watching his expression.

Jake chuckles nervously, his fingers twitching slightly on your waist. “Your favorite red ones, huh? That’s... really too bad.”

“Yeah,” you hum. “Apparently, it’s all for some competition. Karina swears it’s a thing. Points, cash, whatever.”

Jake stiffens briefly before forcing a grin. “Competition? That sounds made-up. Who’d waste their time on something like that?”

“That’s what I said,” you murmur, dragging your fingers slowly across his chest.

Jake laughs again, but it’s tight. “People are crazy. What would they even do with them?”

You shrugged, keeping your tone light. "I have no idea. Probably keep them as trophies, or sell them, or..." you paused, pretending to think. "...burn them in some weird ritual."

Jake snorted, shaking his head. "They don't sell them. Burn them? Nah, that'd be stupid."

You stilled, hand pausing on his chest. "Oh? Then what do they do with them?"

Jake blinked, realizing what he'd said, but his grin quickly returned. "I don't know! I'm just saying, if they went through all that trouble, burning them would be a waste, right?"

"Hmm." you hummed thoughtfully, shifting closer. "So you do know something about it?"

Jake's smirk faltered for the briefest second before he let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, babe. Come on, I'm just making guesses here. Like I said, people are crazy."

"Right." you rolled onto your back with a sigh, pretending to let it go. "Still, it's creepy. And no one's getting their stuff back. You'd think, if they weren't total cowards, they'd just admit it—or at least return the panties."

Jake chuckled nervously, shifting beside me. "Or, you know... maybe they're waiting for the right time to give them back. Like after the 28th or something."

You froze. Realizing that you never said anything to him about the 28th.

"The 28th?" you repeated slowly, sitting up slightly to look at him.

His eyes widened, but he quickly covered it with a sheepish grin, pulling you back down beside him. "I'm just talking, babe. Forget it. You're thinking way too hard about this."

Your heart raced, suspicious with his statement, though you kept your face neutral, your voice soft. "Oh, I don't know. You sound like you know a lot about it for someone who doesn't care."

Jake kissed you, his lips warm and insistent as his hands roamed over your body, trying to shift the mood. "Babe, I care about one thing right now, and it's you."

His hands slid upward, squeezing your chest as his lips traveled down to your neck.

You got him. 

[durrtydawg]

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 9 | 'Scotty's Archival Finds'

i would like him to put his [redacted] in my [redacted]

masterlist ✨

Other chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Things had to ramp up sooner or later.

Word count: 5.3k-ish x

Sam wakes with a start, unsure at first what’s roused him until the faint sound of someone jumping into the pool outside filters through the window. His body feels stiff, his head heavy, and for a moment, he wonders why he didn’t wake up in his own bed. Then he glances down.

She’s still asleep, curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Her hand - scrunched, and clinging to the edge of his vest - holds him in place as much as her weight does. He tries not to move too much, to keep the moment intact, but his chest tightens, his breathing shallow.

He looks at her for a moment. There’s a faint crease across her cheek, probably from her bracelet, and a strand of hair sticks awkwardly to her lip - but somehow that makes it worse. The imperfection.

This feels weird, doesn’t it? Inappropriate? He shifts slightly, testing how much freedom he has without waking her. Not much. But he doesn’t mind, really. That’s the problem.

His eyes drift down to her hand, resting against his chest. There’s a faint smudge of green ink near her knuckles, and it takes him a second to place it: the chewed-up pen she insists on using, despite all evidence that it’s a disaster waiting to happen. A soft huff escapes him, barely audible.

Without thinking, his fingers twitch, almost moving toward the mark, as if to brush it away or trace it. He stops himself just in time. What the hell is he doing?

A series of horrendously loud knocks distracts Sam instantly. He jolts upright, violently shunting her off of him, the ledger sliding off his lap and hitting the floor with a muted thud. His brain scrambles to catch up, heart already pounding like a starter pistol’s gone off.

“What happened?” she blurts, sitting up next to him. Her hair’s a mess, sticking out at odd angles, and the crease on her cheek is more pronounced now that the light hits it. There’s something faintly dazed in her expression, and for some reason, it guts him in a way he can’t explain. It’s stupidly endearing.

He twists, grabbing his phone off the nightstand, screen lighting up as if on cue. “Ah, shit.”

“Scott?” she whispers, scrambling for her own phone that’s gotten lost somewhere in the sheets.

Sure enough, there it is - missed calls. Plural. He glances sideways at her screen. Same thing. “Guy’s persistent,” he mutters, rubbing his neck. God, they were out for almost three hours.

The knock comes again, harder this time. The kind that practically demands the door be ripped off its hinges. They both look at the door, then at each other.

“Hang on,” she calls groggily after a tut, already pushing herself upright.

Sam scrubs a hand over his face, groaning as the last remnants of sleep vanish. His eyes drop to the ledger, now sprawled open on the floor, pages creased. Three hours. He checks the time on his phone. They’d burned three hours chasing connections that still didn’t quite fit, only to end up here. He should be grateful. This is probably the longest consecutive string of hours he’s spent knocked out in… decades, perhaps.

She stumbles toward the door, running a hand through her hair, tugging at the hem of her shorts. Sam doesn’t mean to look, but his eyes catch anyway - her messy hair, the sleep-soft slump of her shoulders, the way the late afternoon light frames her.

She glances back at him, one eyebrow raised, and her lips curve into something faintly teasing. “You gonna get up too, or are you planning to sit there all day?”

Sam snorts, leaning back into the headboard. “Nah, you’ve got it covered, sweetheart. You’re very intimidating for someone half-asleep.”

The laugh she lets out is soft and fleeting, but it punches straight through him. He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look away, to shove the feeling back down where it belongs.

Jesus.

He takes a swig from his water bottle, hoping the cold will wake him up properly, or at least distract him. It doesn’t work. Not entirely. There’s something about seeing her like this - unguarded, maybe - that lodges itself somewhere rather uncomfortably.

She opens the door. The moment’s gone, perhaps not a second too soon.

Scott. Rejoice! Sam watches him barrel in like he owns the place, flushed and wild-eyed, sweat slicking his brow.

“Finally,” he snaps, brushing past her without so much as a hello, leaving her frowning and slightly startled. “Christ almighty, you have no idea the hoops I just jumped through to get back here, then Sam wouldn’t answer his-” He freezes, his eyes flicking between them as he clocks she’s not alone.

She glances back at him as he gets off of the bed, her expression tight - a little coy, perhaps - before pushing the door shut. Right. Focus.

Sam’s leaning casually against the bathroom door now, arms crossed, looking just disheveled enough to give the younger man ideas. He can see the flicker of something in Scott’s expression - perhaps accusatory - but it’s gone almost as quickly as it comes.

Sam raises a brow, lips twitching. “Somethin’ happen?”

“Yeah, something happened,” Scott bites, pacing the room like a caged animal. “I was followed.”

The words drop like a brick. Sam straightens, all the humour draining from his face. He flicks a glance at her. Eyes wide, the sleepiness gone in an instant.

“Followed? Like… chased?” she echoes, stepping toward Scott. “By who?”

“I don’t know!” Scott rakes a hand through his hair, his movements jerky - the most unhinged Sam’s ever seen him. “It wasn’t some… high speed chase or anything, but he was definitely following me. Tall guy. Caucasian, I think. Dark clothes. Baseball cap. Real generic, Joe Goldberg type shit - but he was on me from the archive all the way to the rental. I had to ditch the car and take a cab just to make sure I lost him.”

Sam exhales through his nose, jaw tightening despite his desire to question who on earth Joe Goldberg is. “That’s the second one.”

Scott stops mid-pace, blinking. “Second?”

Sam nods slowly, his brows drawn stiffly together. “That guy I was speakin’ to this morning? Same deal - blending in, but not really. Too interested in what we were doing. Loitering around too many times for it to be a coincidence, you know? Balcony out there, then back in Petra, and at the cafe earlier.”

“Same guy?” she asks, glancing between them.

“Doubt it,” Sam mutters, scratching his chin. “Why tail Scott but leave me alone?”

She folds her arms, frowning. “So what? We’ve got two people watching us all of a sudden?”

Scott shrugs, helpless and visibly rattled. "Maybe? Or… maybe this has nothing to do with us. Could just be bad luck, right? Wrong place, wrong time." His eyes snap to Sam, brows pinched, practically begging for reassurance.

Sam blinks, straightening his posture on instinct. He feels the corners of his mouth twitch - amused despite himself. Scott looking to him for answers? Now that’s rich.

His jaw tightens as he leans casually against the desk, tapping a finger against the edge. Stay cool. Don’t gloat. But God, is this… a little satisfying. The guy who always has the answers, cracking just a little. Sam has to bite his lip just to hide the faint smirk pulling at them.

He glances sideways, just enough to catch her in his peripheral. Is she noticing this? Impressed, maybe?

But then the smugness dulls, replaced by a quiet unease coiling low in his gut. Panic, faint but - yep - most certainly present. Wrong place, wrong time? Yeah, right. This feels like a storm brewing.

“Makes no sense,” he mutters. “Nobody knows about the inheritance, not really. And even if they did, it’s hardly like we’ve been broadcasting our every move. So how the hell do they know to follow us?”

Scott’s pacing again, practically wearing a trench into the carpet. “Maybe they’re just covering their bases. Long game. We don’t even know what we’re looking for, so how can they?”

Sam grits his teeth, his thoughts racing. He doesn’t like this - not the timing, not the fact that they’ve potentially been spotted, and definitely not the creeping paranoia tightening in his chest. If they were dealing with professionals, it’d only be a matter of time before someone made a move.

“Doesn’t track,” he mutters, barely realising he’s spoken aloud.

“What doesn’t?” she presses, her voice sharper now.

“All of it,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Whoever these people are, they’re not amateurs. And yet, here we are. No threats. No demands. Just... watchers. What are they waiting for?”

The room falls quiet. Sam doesn’t have the answers and the air feels thick.

Scott sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Well… whatever’s going on, at least we’ve got nothing worth stealing yet.” His tone’s laced with frustration, but there’s a sideways glance - like he’s still trying to convince himself they’re still fine.

Sam stiffens, the words hitting him wrong. Nothing worth stealing. Whoops. His sight flicks over to where she’s sat herself on the edge of the bed, catching her eyes. It’s brief. Just enough time for a little flash of recognition passing between them. They’re very much on the same page. Whatever he’s feeling - guilt, maybe - it must’ve flashed across his face, because Scott’s suddenly on it like a hawk.

“Wait a second,” Scott says slowly, his head tilting, eyes narrowing like he’s just spotted a tell in a poker game. Fitting. “What was that? You two just did a thing. Don’t tell me you’re holding out on me.”

He leans forward slightly, pacing like he’s warming up for an argument. Sam straightens but doesn’t respond right away, letting them mull in the silence. She shifts uneasily, and there’s this flicker of hesitation before she moves, almost like she’s asking him permission. It’s subtle - a glance, nothing more - but he clocks it anyway.

Gets another weird kick out of it, too.

She bends to grab the ledger off the floor, the movement snapping him out of his head. Straightens up and holds it out toward Scott, her grip tight.

“Found this,” she says, voice reluctant.

Scott takes the book without a word, his expression unreadable as he flips through the pages, flopping himself onto the chair by the vanity. Sam watches his eyes dart across the handwriting - scrawled notes, messy numbers, dates - and catches her biting her thumb again.

Scott’s hand drags across his forehead as the cogs turn.

“It’s a gambling log,” she says, voice softer this time, like the words might be weaselled out by the wrong ears if spoken too loudly. Scott exhales sharply, closing the ledger and leaning back in the chair.

"Where’d you get it?" Scott’s eyes shift up to Sam, eyes narrowed.

He shakes his head, jerking a thumb toward her. "I didn’t. It was her."

Scott’s eyebrows lift. "Oh. Where’d you find it? Market?"

Her shoulders stiffen, and she crosses her arms, already bracing for what’s coming. "I… found it in Umm ar-Rasas the other night."

Scott freezes mid-breath, incredulous. "Hang on - two days ago? And neither of you thought to tell me?!"

Sam shrugs. "Hey, she only just showed me, too."

Scott exhales sharply, his tone dropping. "Shit. Why’d you hide it?"

She huffs, rubbing at her face, the weariness of the past few days etched into her movements. "I was going to show you - both of you - as soon as I found something concrete."

Sam clocks the quick flick of Scott’s eyes toward him, and he shrugs again, palms up. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Scott leans forward slightly, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and something just shy of condescension. "What, is an old book you found in the middle of nowhere, still intact, not concrete enough for you, darl’?"

Her arms tighten across her chest. "Oh, for-“ She rolls her eyes, a sarcastic laugh practically dripping out of her mouth. "Another instalment of What Would Saint Scott Do? Lucky us."

Sam presses his lips together, hiding a smirk. It’s kind of funny, seeing her give as good as she gets, but he knows where this is heading.

Scott’s jaw tightens, his face darkening. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

She doesn’t even flinch. "You’ve got opinions about everything, don’t you? Like you’ve never kept anything back for a second."

And there it is. Sam straightens up slightly, bracing for impact. He’d seen enough spats in his life to know when one was about to hit full throttle.

Scott’s voice sharpens, cutting through the room like a blade. "Don’t be ridiculous. If it were me, I’d’ve been eager to share. This isn’t just your damn treasure hunt, you know."

She raises her eyebrows, letting out a sharp laugh. "Oh, is that right? Well, since we’re in a sharing mood-“ Her eyes lock onto him, the shift in tone catching Sam off guard. "Why don’t you tell me why you had my wrist gripped so tight after I passed out the other day, huh?"

Scott blinks, caught mid-step. This buys Sam’s attention almost instantly. "What the hell are you on about?" he asks, glancing between her and Sam.

She leans forward slightly, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You heard me. When I woke up, your hand was clamped around me like a vice. Bruise has only just gone. Care to explain that?"

He swallows, his jaw working like he’s chewing through words he can’t quite spit out.

Sam watches with intrigue as Scott exhales sharply, throwing his hands up. "Seriously? You smack your head on the ground, conk yourself out, and bleed all over the place, and now you’re pissed I was checking your bloody pulse? Next time, I’ll just leave you there, shall I?"

Sam sighs, stepping forward before this thing spirals any further. "All right, enough. Both of you. I’m too tired for this shit."

The room falls quiet, Scott backing off first, though his expression stays hard. "I’m sorry. I’m on edge. Getting followed through alleyways doesn’t exactly leave you in a good mood."

She exhales through her nose, still tense, but her voice softens slightly. "Fine." Then, as if on autopilot, she adds, "Sorry for snapping."

Sam watches her for a second longer, his gut twisting uncomfortably. The way she’d brought up Scott holding her wrist - she’d been sitting on that one for a while. And Scott… well, he wasn’t sure if that defensiveness was guilt or chase-fuelled exasperation. Either way, it’s kinda nice to see him rattled for a change.

"Right," Sam says finally, a clap cutting the awkward air in two. "Now that we’re all friends again, Scott - why don’t we get you up to speed, huh?”

“I’m all ears.” He says with a tight smile, like he’s trying to pretend the last minute didn’t happen.

She nods at Sam, walking over to Scott, reopening the book, chewing at her lip. She clears her throat.

“Emaan was hosting games in the crypt. Right where Sam found those cards.”

“Mhm,” he hums, thumbing the fragile pages.

Sam crosses his arms, his voice cutting in. “And the stakes weren’t just cash.”

Scott’s head snaps up, his grip tightening on the book. “What kind of stakes?”

“Things of value,” she replies, her arms crossing over her chest again as she leans back against the wall. “Huge sums of money, land… Some of it I can’t even make out. Toward the end, it gets messy. A page or two ripped out, even.”

Scott’s face hardens, his thumb brushing over the spine like he’s trying to squeeze answers out of the damn thing. “You think this is what they’re after? Those guys? This... book?”

Sam shrugs one shoulder, but there’s a knot in his gut that won’t loosen. “It’s a start,” he says, his tone flat. “If they know about it, they’re already ahead of us. But it’s not exactly a big bag full’a gold, is it?”

His words settle over the room all foggy. Sam glances at her again - arms hugging herself now, gaze fixed on Scott. She’s tense. He can feel it, even across the room.

“So,” he says, voice low, measured. “Not worth stealing, huh?”

Sam doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. The tension in his shoulders speaks loud enough. Instead, he watches Scott stare at the book like it might open a black hole right there in the room.

“Looks like we’ve got more to worry about than we thought.” Scott mutters.

Sam flicks back to her, and for a split second, their unease mirrors each other’s. The same question’s tugging at all three of them: What the hell kind of game are they playing? And more importantly - who else is holding the damn cards?

They’ve been sitting stagnant for too long - they need something good, and soon.

“Does any of this match up with what you found?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest, squeezing a little anxiously at his bicep.

Scott slumps back in his chair, looking like everything that’s transpired today has finally pinned him down. “I think so.” He rubs his temples, a heavy sigh dragging out of him. "Hey, look, why don’t we step out?  Go over all this somewhere a little more relaxed. I could use a stiff drink and a proper meal.” He looks between the two of them with a hopeful smile.

Sam raises an eyebrow but keeps his tone casual. “You think that, given the fact you’ve just been chased down several miles, playing detective in public is a good idea?”

Scott shrugs, “You said your guy was loitering around here, too right?”

Sam sighs. Then nods. Fair play.

“Right, and she’s got cabin fever, so-”

“She is fine,” Sam has to bite back a smirk as she cuts Scott off, leaving him putting up his palms in mock defence. “But if a stiff drink is involved, count me in.”

Scott’s already pushing out of his chair. The boy’s restless. “There’s a decent spot just a block over. Quiet. Give me ten to shower, then I’ll meet you out front.”

After a quick nod, he up and leaves.

Sam stays leant against the wall, fingers tapping against his forearm as his eyes flick over to the ledger Scott's dumped on the dressing table. Then to her. And her damn thumbnail back between her teeth yet again.

The room feels like it’s been doused in a cocktail of sweaty, stale tension. He frowns.

“You all right?”

She startles, blinking up at him like he’s yanked her out of a deep spiral. “How could I not be?” Her smile flickers to life, quick and bright, and his stomach twists because it’s very much false. “Got my knight in shining Hawaiian shirt here, haven’t I?”

It’s almost convincing - the quip, the smile - but something about her feels… dulled, still. Her usual fire is there, just buried under too much. She’s good at hiding it, sure. Just not from him.

He doesn’t push. There’s been enough drama for one afternoon.

Sam huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he adjusts his collar. “Yeah, screams 'chivalrous', doesn't it?” He smirks, trying to sell the joke, but inside, her words cloy enough to make eye contact a slight challenge.

Instead, he stands, stretching out his back and forcing a grin onto his face. But his mind’s already racing. If Scott’s holding something back - and Sam’s gut says he is - then maybe a drink or two will crack him open.

If there really are people hot on their trail, they don’t have the luxury of patience, and he hopes that whatever information Scott was able to dig up is enough of a catalyst for this old book to mean something.

“Gonna head back next door,” he says after a beat. “Wake myself up.”

She nods, dragging herself off the edge of the bed. “Yeah. I’ve got ‘sleep mouth’.”

Sam’s lips twitch - of course she’d call it that. He watches as she rubs her eyes and heads to the bathroom, muttering about toothpaste. His eyes hold for a second too long, clocking the tenseness of her shoulders.

He can't let her worry any more than she has to.

Before he leaves, he pauses in the doorway. “Hey,” he says, waiting until she glances up. His eyes narrow as if to hold her attention tight. “We’re good.”

His tone is steady, grounded, and for a moment, he sees the shadow of a real smile flicker back to life. She nods. That’ll have to do for now.

//

The restaurant is dimly lit. Rustic. Traditional, with the type of charm that, if it were back in London, would’ve made it an influencer hotspot - a sharp contrast to the sterile monotony of your hotel room.

You slide into a rounded booth, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space, making you feel oddly at ease. Sam scoots in beside you, his knee brushing yours as he adjusts the collar again. It’s an absentminded gesture, but regardless, it sends a warm prickle up your spine. You remind yourself that you must get your shit together.

Scott takes the opposite side, already scanning the drink menu as if it’s a new lead. His fingers drum lightly against the table’s edge, restless, like his mind’s running three steps ahead.

He leans back, gesturing toward the waiter. He asks for something in Arabic - smooth and confident as usual - then turns to you with a faint smile. “Are you good with whiskey?”

You nod, managing a small smile back. It feels stiff, the earlier spat between the two of you still clinging.

Sam chuckles, breaking the awkwardness. “Didn’t peg you for a whiskey guy.”

Scott smirks, leaning back against the booth. “Necessary when you’ve had a day like today. Think we all have a few anxieties to drown out, ey?” He raises a brow at you. The words sound friendly, but there’s an edge to them - a pointedness that makes your stomach twist. So he's still not over it - picking at the scab. Fine.

The drinks arrive quickly, the waiter setting down three glasses. Scott takes a long sip, exhaling sharply as he sets his glass down with a thunk.

“I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. Let’s get to it. Scotty's archival finds.”

“Lay it on us.” Sam leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, hands clasped together.

You nod, clutching your glass, the cool condensation a welcome distraction against your fingertips.

Scott pulls a notebook from his bag, flipping it open. “So, so far we’ve got,” he starts, glancing at you, then over your shoulder to Sam before returning to his notes, “Emaan’s letter. Gambling. Winning or losing big - potentially losing the entire inheritance. Yes?”

You exchange a look with Sam, who shrugs and nods. “Sounds about right,” he says, leaning back against the booth, dragging his glass with him.

"And our ongoing questions include…" he peruses his notes again, "One: what actually is the Sadir Inheritance,"

“Mhm.” You hum, taking a sip. It's vile. People drink this for fun? Masochists.

You make an odd hiss-cough hybrid sound that draws a snort out of Sam, who takes it upon himself to pull you back by the shoulder to give himself the pleasure of seeing your screwed up face.

Scott continues speaking as you silently slide your glass over to Sam, grimacing as he pours your share into his own glass. You mouth a 'disgusting' at him, to which he responds by jabbing his elbow into your arm.

"and two: seeing as Petra was a bust, where can we find it?”

You wish away the aftertaste and focus. Nods all round.

“Well, I’ve got potential routes to explore for the latter right…” Scott fans his notes out in front of the three of you. “...Here. Emaan's connection to British aristocrats and… a lady called Layla.”

The name hits you like a slap to the back of the head. Your breath hitches, a dull thrumming beginning at the base of your skull. Again. Brilliant. Could we not?

Suffice to say, the returning feeling is both concerning and really starting to piss you off.

Scott notices your reaction and pauses, brow furrowing. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, waving it off even as the tightness lingers in your chest. “Yeah. Sorry, just… go on. Layla.” Your mouth feels tight when you say the name - the dreadful sensation you get right as your body is preparing to throw up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Sam frowning, his eyes sharp and searching. You pretend not to notice, forcing your attention onto Scott’s notes.

“Layla Bashar was Emaan’s… partner? Girlfriend? Lover, whatever you want to call it.” Scott leans forward, his voice dropping like he’s letting you both in on a secret. “They couldn’t marry. Lower class, a scandal waiting to happen, etcetera, etcetera, so they kept it a secret.”

The waiter returns, setting down a plate of warm flatbread between the three of you. You barely glance at him when you nod in thanks, your thoughts snagged on Scott’s revelation. Without thinking, you grab a piece, tearing off a corner and chewing rapidly.

Sam’s frown deepens, scepticism etched deeply. “So you think she got her hands on it?”

Scott shrugs, his expression oddly nonchalant. “Well, she died, so-”

“She died?” you cut in sharply, leaning forward with your mouth half full, hand curling round the nape of your neck to subtly attempt to massage the persistent ache away. “So is that a yes or a no?”

Scott lifts a hand to temper your interruption. That action alone makes you grit your teeth. “She died in childbirth. About twenty-two years or so before Emaan’s death. So… no.”

Sam straightens, his brow furrowed. “Woah, hold on. Childbirth? Emaan had a kid with her?”

Your pulse spikes as you snort in disbelief, fingertips digging into your scalp as you wave the bread around. “He - he didn’t have any kids. Nothing came up in our research. He was the last of the Sadir bloodline.”

“It’s… blurry, sure. No record explicitly says it was his, but-” Scott pauses, flipping a page in his notebook. “-illegitimate children sometimes went undocumented. That’s what the archivist said, anyway. And given that they were supposedly childhood sweethearts… it’d make sense for it to be his.”

“Fuck!” You take another, rather feral bite. “How on earth are we supposed to follow up on that, then?”

Sam blinks, still processing, grimacing as he flicks off a bit of bread you’ve accidentally spat on his forearm. “Did the kid survive?”

Scott shakes his head. “Like I said, Sam, undocumented. Don't even know its gender.”

Blood rushes to your head, drowning out whatever choice expletives Sam mutters. Bite, chew, swallow. Your thoughts fragment, melting into a bubbling cauldron of stress. Sam and Scott’s voices fade into the background, your focus narrowing to the notebook on the table and the tidal wave of implications battering your brain as you go for another flatbread. Bite, chew, have a crisis, swallow.

“Okay, so - Christ, you animal, save some for us-” Sam mutters with a smirk, swiping the basket toward himself and grabbing a piece before turning back to Scott. “-you said something about the British… somethin’ or other. Is that gonna help us out?”

You snap out of it, narrowing your eyes at Sam. With deliberate precision, you reach across the table, pluck the bread from his hand, and take an exaggerated bite, crumbs tumbling onto your t-shirt.

“Really mature,” he deadpans, leaning back and folding his arms. Then, quick as a flash, he ducks forward, snatching the bread right out of your hand and biting it, his eyes daring you to try him. Cute.

Scott, entirely unfazed, leans casually over your shoulder to snag a piece too, flashing a grin. “Stress eating’s contagious - anyway, yes,” he says, waving his half-eaten bread for emphasis. “British aristocrats. They were…” He glances back to his notes, chewing. “Funding parts of the Hejaz railway's construction, alongside donors from Transjordanian high society. This included Emaan, surprise surprise. Started out as contractual stuff, then evolved into more friendly meet-ups, which included…” He trails off, raising his eyebrows meaningfully and gesturing for one of you to finish his sentence.

Sam leans back, exhaling. “Private poker games, by any chance?”

Scott points at him, snapping his fingers. “Bingo.”

Your pulse quickens, the conversation suddenly feeling like it’s moving faster than your brain can keep up. You grip the edge of the table, the wood pressing into your palms as your thoughts churn.

Oof.

Even thinking that name is making your head spin.

You don’t dare say his name out loud. Keep your elbows and sudden minor aneurysms off the table, please.

But Sam’s head snaps toward you, his knee knocking into yours under the table again. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a jolt through you, steadying the swirl of thoughts in your head, just for a few glorious seconds. He’s reading into you, and you know immediately he’s already made the same connection.

“William Campbell.”

The name hits like someone’s struck a gong right beside your ears, and the sharp pain behind your eyes flares into something molten. You force yourself to nod, your throat tightening as you push the feeling down.

You nod, your throat working as you force the uneasy feeling down along with your last mouthful of bread. “Makes sense. Name’s… British enough, and the timing tracks. If he was gambling big then-”

The pressure in your temple spikes, your breath hitching for just a second. You press your tongue against your teeth, willing yourself not to wince. Not here.

“-whatever he won could’ve driven Emaan to madness.” Scott cuts in, though you’re grateful for the quick removal of attention from you. His fingers drum against the table, a rhythmic counterpoint to the chaos in your head. You tune in to it as best you can. “Thus, inheritance. No?”

“So, what now? We’re suggesting that he either lost it all to Campbell in one of these backroom poker games, or passed it down to this mystery child?” Your voice wavers despite your effort to keep it steady.

“Both are possibilities,” Scott says, watching you closely. “If William was as ambitious as his investments in that ledger suggest, he wouldn’t have just walked away after winning himself a few bucks.”

You feel horrendous. And now Scott’s looking at you, waiting for a response.

Sam taps a finger on the table as he chews on his lip in thought. “Campbell’s a name we can dig into now. The kid? That’s a needle in a haystack. Undocumented - Dead? Lived after Emaan? Decades removed from anything solid. Feels like a waste of time that we might not have the luxury of any more.”

Scott nods reluctantly. His eyes stay locked on you, and for a second, you wonder if he’s caught the way you’re gripping the table or the faint tremor in your hands. The thrum at your temples fucking kills, and you feel like chucking up every crumb of the bread you’ve wolfed down. 

“So, Campbell first. But if anything about that kid pops up - anything - we follow it. Agreed?”

Scott nods again, finally turning back to Sam, more sure this time. “Agreed.”

It takes you a beat too long to respond, and when you do, your voice comes out thin. You’re too focused on the dull tingling in the bridge of your nose. “Mm. Agreed.”

You shift in your seat, slipping your napkin up to your face with what you hope passes as casual nonchalance.

It’s fine. Just a headache. Just stress. Just another imminent nosebleed and pounding headache in the midst of another very Sadir-heavy conversation.

Scott leans back, satisfied, flipping his notebook shut with a snap, exchanging it for the menu. Sam reaches for his glass, his movements on edge, and slightly distracted.

Neither of them notices the blood staining your napkin as you pull it away a little.

You press it harder against your nose and swallow the creeping dread signalling that something’s very, very off with you. And now, this whole bloody thing has become three times more convoluted.

look, when i said slow burn i meant slow.

[animorphsficcommenter]

I want to preface my reply here with the understanding that I agree with you on how a lot of these *are* double standards. But at the same time… I think there is a *legitimate* criticism laid against Cassie that I feel is being brushed off here. And when I say “criticism” I mean “character flaw she has”, in the same way that one could criticize Visser Three for being evil; it makes her character more complex, makes the book better, and it’s not bad to have!

But her decision to put Aftran in her head, to let Tom escape with the morphing cube, genuinely do put the whole world at risk. More than anyone else on the team, she struggles to set aside the close-to-her people instead of the world. In Percy Jackson, his fatal flaw was supposedly “loyalty”- he’d let the world burn for his friends. I don’t think that flaw was managed well there, but it reminds me of Cassie in theory.

Putting Aftran in her head to save Karen was a bad decision. It worked out really well, and I understood why she did it, and I don’t think that it makes her a Mary Sue that it worked out. That’s one of my utterly favorite books in the series. I love its message. *And* I think it was a bad decision. I think it put everyone else at risk, and the correct thing to do with the information she had at the time would have been to let Karen die rather than become a controller herself, and I think Cassie is the only one of the Animorphs who would have made that decision at that point in the war. Brushing this off as “The alternative was killing a 6-year old girl, and that tells us more about you than it does about her” is disingenuous, I think. Killing Karen *would* have been deeply deeply unpleasant, I’d have hated it, all of them would have hated it. But between “killing a six year old girl” and “exposing my entire team so that the whole planet falls to a life in slavery”, I know which one I’d pick, even if I *really wish a third option existed*. It’s a very legitimate thing to be upset with a character about, *even if* it’s incredibly realistic and very hard for anyone to do.

Similarly, the decision in book 50 to let Tom get away with the morphing cube- it worked out well, but it put the whole war at risk, and with the information she had it was the wrong decision. I think she is a *better character* for it; I think the story is better for it; I love Cassie. But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that at that point in the war, no other Animorph would have taken that risk, and I don’t think it’s sexism to say “I think that that was a bad decision and this is my least favorite character as a result.” (And side note, she isn’t my least favorite character.)

They need her. They need someone to stand up for what’s right, to keep them from going too far. But she is *more likely* to go too far in the opposite direction than any of them. And that’s not a double standard; I’d be upset with any of them who knowingly took an action of that magnitude of risk. The others didn’t- except Jake, who gave up on the war in MM4, and I’m upset with him for doing that for exactly the same reasons. (With the exception of Nice Rachel in book 32 and Marco in book 42, both of which get passes for being literally brain damaged at the time.)

A similar thing goes for Rachel too, but a more interesting one here. Ax absolutely is bloodthirsty, and I’d even say *more* bloodthirsty than her. But the *narration* calls out Rachel as being the bloodthirsty one, over and over again. “Ax, get Rachel”, not “Rachel, get Ax”. Book 48 (which I love as a character study) is all about how Rachel reacts to the constant way the others treat her as bloodthirsty; we don’t get a similar book for Ax because they *don’t* treat him that way despite him being the one to suggest, e.g., flushing the Yeerks in 53, letting them starve in 7 without concern for the hosts.

So I think there absolutely is a sexism of sorts going on here, but I think it’s happening *in-universe too*, and I think a lot of people *out-of-universe* form their opinions based off of what the characters themselves think without doing deeper analysis to see what biases the characters have. And so I don’t think a discussion about this is complete without mentioning that aspect too.

So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.