#am i considered cringe yet

[invinciblerodent]

it's been a real struggle to find notebooks that I actually like, but I think I have found myself at a crossroads where I must ask myself--

am I the kind of person who would put function above form, and use the lovely, though plain notebooks from the office supply store

or am I the type to say fuck it, form over function, bitch, and order a custom-made one with a collage of my blorbo on it strictly for the meme

[unproduciblesmackdown]

thinking about how of course billions is about people trapped in eternal battle world, and trapped because they won't ever exit, and don't want to because that's the only way they can define their idea of themself or like move through life, to the degree they have to just create or find another battle if one ends or they don't have enough going on at once or they're unhappy about anything & can only respond to that the only way they'll respond to anything: finding someone to consider a target to Defeat & being like nice, i'm so competent & active as a person, so with any other issues in my life, i'm sure it's not my fault at least

and it's been clear that to be someone at the Center of the show means needing to be inflexible enough to never leave that life, which also probably means never engaging in genuine self-reflection besides like, fuming in distress for 5 sec & then immediately searching for blame for someone else, or calling up your designated moral supporter who'll tell you you're upset b/c you're very complex & sympathetic & maybe if you do [xyz] you'll be able to Keep Winning, so like, don't worry, we'll never get too off track here. you have someone like connerty who cares so much about playing by the rules ft. ethics, but he was also someone completely inflexible who would give a shit like "ha ha you broke the law" and be Defeated b/c like yeah damn you do got him in that situation. he may then have gained the flexibility to throw a punch when he's already imprisoned but he's still just gotta retire & pursue some completely different goals

this in contrast with like, what a coincidence (surely not) that the more flexible characters are the ones who also do introspect & reflect & genuinely think about & question themselves ever, & how even beyond that, being in this world of people who overwhelmingly are thee opposite & aiming for a static sense of self & thus strategy for navigating life & all interactions & situations, the more reflective parties also tend to accept both Blame & the fruitlessness of pushing for more/different/better from the people & relationships & situations they're amongst. those willing to take on responsibility at all surrounded by people casting all of it off, always, w/the former already primed to take blame & the latter primed to be looking to find the blame in anyone else, a powerful mismatch....which allows the flexible parties to also put up with shit for longer lol like if they got fed up that quickly or recognized the dead-end here they'd just leave the show lol. like wow can't believe taylor spent their whole life already stuck having to deal with someone who's so very much like these bullshit central men & those trying to emulate them, & perhaps also then have a lifetime of experience extending endless patience & sympathy with little to no expectations for more from people who put up with such a bullshit man & his effects on everything around him, like, what do you mean taylor's mom hasn't seen them b/c douglas didn't want to see them b/c he wasn't yet motivated enough to have to exercise begrudging shows of basic respect. whilest sure seems like taylor felt more concern & basically stated their responsibility re: trying to make their relationship with their dad work / basically take on the task of making his life work for him according to his sense of himself (genius! who deserves the recognition thusly!) and doesn't seem to take on this role re: their mom, who nevertheless is just presumed to move closer to them along w/douglas. and here's taylor never truly putting their foot down re: wendy, no matter what, able to have no real positive expectations in how wendy treats them or thinks of them, but also always able to extend sympathy / decent treatment themself

thinking of like team ben out here as the Nicer axe cap or mpc people who also happen to be people absorbing the L's, blaming themselves for being at the bottom of the hierarchy & being subjected to the always negative treatment doled out to them accordingly, and, winstonesquely, still generally like extending genuine gestures of amicability, efforts of constructive actual communication, etc, & this being shut down & likely punished by all the people around them who won't handle that kind of thing. that Of Course nobody's actually supported around here, like, at best they'll get some kind of "well you're actually talented & valuable :)...." (so why aren't they already treated in a way such that they're aware of this?) "....so just have more confidence already god!" wherein (a) again that just means it's Their Fault that they're having a miserable time at the hands of others & (b) their having "confidence" doesn't really mean like, an emotional buffer between their sense of self-esteem & the message of inferiority in how they're treated, it has to mean externally acting different in some ways, more like A Winner, more like everyone else. the limits of ben trying to sometimes be a buffer for tuk as that kind of friend/mentor role, where either it simply fails or ben's Help is more unilateral "correction." that generally only any increase in aggressive hostility gets them anywhere, and really not that far.

the way dollar bill could always act however he wanted & they could always clean up his messes / save him from himself / just flatout blame other people for what dollar bill did to them or someone else; success in being a mini axe in that way for sure. dollar bill going off the rails over his literal dollar bill & that's not a problem, he's validated b/c he's upset, & b/c rudy knew he'd be upset it's really all rudy's fault....who just so happens to be more of a loser, what with his glasses & possible masturbation ever and all. whilest even when dollar bill is like every season being shit at his job & life, well, just find a loser to trounce while everyone ignores this, cheers you on, takes on responsibility for fixing things for you, blames the person targeted probably. dollar bill couldn't even do in office transphobic hate crime physical attacks, or that but while yelling the r word at the autistic guy he's already harrassing & threatening, without it being really basically the target's fault, & hey, as long as no investors are watching. and we're still dragging dollar bill back to the office b/c uhhh yeah!!

& then of course there's winston, who, like a loser, says things in real efforts for real communication with others, that they winningly can only bring themselves to respond to as "he's not allowed to talk, that's out of line, i have to punish/deny this to reassert our respective status" except for, sometimes, taylor actually communicating in turn, or even simply receiving the information. winston in a duo with the very winning & worthy rian, being something of a quasirival for 5 seconds but even during then, and since, trying to be amicable to establish an actually positive dynamic, trying for actual communication, engaging flexibly & actively based on her feedback & her terms & etc to try to find some more success; versus rian completely inflexible, unwilling to respond to efforts to communicate, unwilling to have an actual relationship with any flexibility & genuineness in turn, or see winston as a person of course, and engage with real emotions. which is hardly an exclusive response of hers, like, everyone else is just the same, she's just also the one interacting with him more often and personally bullying him & standing next to him & immediately responding with clear contempt when he tries things like earnest expressions of "hey rian could you not do what you just did b/c it makes me feel like shit, probably b/c that's what you're trying to do" and "hey that was cool what you just did b/c it makes me feel like—" b/c like, what a loser. real winners cannot handle engaging with another person as a person. when you can just make up & stick to a narrative about "oh but i don't hate winston, who i feel is inherently beneath me. i wouldn't wanna feel bad about killing him, not when i could feel fine about administering more of a death by a thousand cuts with some other people helping out & hey maybe it was their cut that did it after all....but also if you're like 'pwease' then eh sure" or that winston's got a lesser inner existence anyways, some classic dehumanization, no complexity there, & hurting him isn't real, & it'd never be you in his position anyways! especially the more you're buying into "yeah i'm more of a person / more deserving / more real & sympathetic & correct than him :)" & being cheered on as you act that out. pretty cringe of winston to be earnest, flexible, openly trying & wanting & needing things, sounds bad & silly. unlike the winners around him who really cannot handle him or any of these things about him. of course near equivalent in loserness, tuk, is the person with the realest most amicable relationship with him. both of them too incompetent to realize their mutual failings in this, ha ha, real winners are repulsed & fleeing & can't handle a basic exchange with either of them. and the imbalance re: how little others are willing to give them in interest, consideration, time, words, etc, while they're always trying Too Much re: the disinterested others, totally proves their unworthiness

winston and tuk always having to stay at the bottom of the hierarchy, winston only able to be shitted on even as he extricates himself, ending up surrounded by people who will only act "correctly" according to their superior roles & this mf wags only processing anything as "did that reinforce my being a correct/winning person???" & only responding by trying to reassert to others how much of a winner they are, which requires establishing a loser, and crushing them. winston having recognized / gotten fed up with a bullshit scenario & had realistic expectations of those around them & spent those years being treated like shit yet never crushing an enemy to restore his ego & also spent those years trying to communicate and work with others and share actual info and make actual connections & now independently choosing to make a big shift in his life so that things can be different? is definitely the contemptible loser here while everyone else looks very good faffing around for an episode getting some temporary ego boosts & being very "correct" in every response to winston, even pointing out that rian even noticing something genuine & positive from winston in the absence of it anywhere is first & foremost incorrect, which rian will Also immediately drop in the face of that "well yeah it's more correct to prioritize Anything else. like that he's pathetic & mpc 5ever" like wuh oh rian being doomed from 5x08 "time to embrace acting more correct now" & being truly inflexible from that point on, never had a moment of conflict not resolved by [ignoring that] &/or again just getting someone more correct to declare how it'll be answered. taylor at their most flexible and Taylorest and most juxtaposed with central men & static ossified "winners" when they are also at their best in engaging with winston. taylor Like winston & vice versa in so many substantial & interesting ways, despite their relating to / sympathizing with / devoting much more effort & interest to people more like the central men. that here we are, when taylor might have to give up on Being A Winner, someone who'll walk away with status & resources & a seamless transition into some established business foundation, to really get the wins that matter, against pince, &/or to clock out of a sunk cost factory, &/or to not have strangled every part of themself that can be in conflict with this general situation into eternal dormancy. don't You dare blame latency lol, the taylor who gets to exist outside the conditional "well i guess you're a winner who's very useful to me, like dumping work on you & blaming you if it goes awry. and you can act like a Real winner in the ways that really matter (crushing people)"....is also a taylor who can be rejected & shut down & shut out & have their value denied & be treated shittily despite even knowing they'd be / are good at this shit, superlatively even, & could never feel okay just being regarded as a tool stashed away at someone's disposal. & Has been treated shittly & is liable to accept blame, unilateral responsibility for other's selves & feelings & actions & lives, & marinate in self-loathing. while people who refuse any introspection, questioning, responsibility, awareness, etc, & refuse to handle the least of genuine interactions/relationships with others as real people, are glad to scoff at them & dismiss them & imply or assert their superiority, like, wow have You got a lot to learn, or maybe you can't b/c you're inherently inferior. all just like re: winston!

tl;dr shoutout to the flexible characters who like can & do reflect & change things up actually, just so happening to always be Losing for this in the [only way to win is not to play] arena of fake winners seeing if they can consider themselves superior to everyone else & only even possibly correct always & forever, in the pyramid scheme of social hierarchy & also capitalism

[kalashtars]

having access to money & having a brain that likes to hyperfixate are two things that should not exist within the same person

[withlovemark]

“how to make a girl cum?”

synopsis -> mark lee. 25 years old. too busy with his career. has only ever touched a girl once in his life and he’s not even sure it counts considering she didn’t cum and he lasted 7 seconds. all he knows is his hand and what he watches from porn. you’re absolutely tired of seeing your loser of a best friend, who’s supposed to be this hot sexy idol, fumble every girl he comes in contact with because of his fear of sexual acts…so you decide to help him out.

warnings: fingering, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), praising kink if you squint

—

“how are things with belle?,” you ask mark! who is seated right next to you on the black couch in the middle of the practice room. the two of you alone in this room full of mirrors.

“oh dude, i ended things with her,” he says nonchalantly.

“what!? why? weren’t you just telling me last week how she was perfect?,”

“exactly! it was getting too serious, she touched my thigh and i was like okay, yeah, we’re done,”

“are you fucking kidding me? this again,” you sigh in disappointment. he practically begged you to introduce her to him and he just pulls away like he always does.

“uhhh yes this again,” he replies blatantly, rolling his eyes, “remember what happened last time with that other girl, she laughed at my face and told me it was disappointing that i didn’t live up to everyone’s expectations yet alone even make her cum,” he cringed at the words, that day vividly replaying in his mind like a reoccurring nightmare.

“it was your first time mark, cut yourself some slack, it happens!,” you reassure him for the millionth time.

“yeah, no, i’d rather die a virgin than go through that embarrassment ever again,” he scoffs and you almost can’t believe what you’re about to say but your best friend needed serious help.

“how about you do some practice?,”

he looks at you like you just said the most ridiculous thing ever, “and who exactly am i gonna practice on?”

“me,”

“what?!”

“me,” you repeat even louder.

“i-what?”

“me! mark,” he freezes on the spot, registering your words and for a second you’re afraid you broke him until he breaks the silence, “no.”

“and why the fuck not? do you think i’m ugly?,”

“what?! no dude, you’re fucking hot,” the comment going straight to your head, giving you a boost of confidence.

“so what’s stopping you?,”

“dude, c'mon, you’re literally my best friend!”

“so?,”

“best friends don’t touch each other,”

“sure but as your best friend i can’t keep seeing you sabotage potential relationships because of something as silly as this!,” you argue while he still looks at you like you were crazy.

“i promise i won't laugh at you and i promise you will at least know how to make a girl cum after this,” you continue, becoming more compelling with every second that passes.

mark sits there in silence, weighing out the pros and cons of this agreement…and well, he couldn’t think of any cons. plus, you’re the only person he trusts enough to do this with.

he sighs deeply, finally making up his mind, “when do we start?”

you smirk at his response, happy to hear him agree, “right now.”

“what!? no!,”

“but you just agreed!,”

“yeah but i gotta do research first,”

“you mean watch more porn??,” you roll your eyes, scoffing, “THIS is your research, it’s not gonna get better than actually experiencing it firsthand,” you make your point and mark can’t argue with that.

he does learn faster when he’s doing it himself.

“okay,” he nods slowly, trying to come to terms that this is happening now.

“okay,” you agreed, slowly inching the space in between you, “we’re in a practice room after all,” you smirk, whispering against his ear, sending goosebumps throughout mark’s body as he waits for you to take the lead, not quite sure if this is real or just a figment of his imagination.

you notice the way he froze, only indication that he was still in the room was the anxious bouncing of his leg, eyes staring straight at the floor, “relax, mark,” you say, placing your hand gently on his thigh. mark gulps, staring at your hand, still refusing to look at you.

“well, this just won't do,” you break the silence, grabbing his hand and pulling him across the room, making him sit on the floor – right in front of the mirror.

“wh-what?,” he sputters, looking up at your figure, still standing in front of him.

“now you have no choice but to look at me,” you tease, slowly removing your pants, leaving you in your panties before quickly taking your seat right in between mark’s legs, back rested against his body, facing the mirror ahead of you. this was as vulnerable for you as it was for him.

mark watches it all unfold in a blink of an eye, seeing you in your pink lacy underwear has got him salivating, the gravity of the situation settling in him…he was about to touch his very hot best friend.

“mark,” you call out to him, snapping him out of his daydream, his eyes following your voice, “yeah?,” he responds quietly, finding it hard to breathe. you give him a gentle smile, “is this okay?,” you ask, making yourself comfortable in the space between him. he responds in slow nods, the warmth from your body making it hard for him to think about anything else but you.

“good,” you part your legs for him, grabbing his hand and placing it on your clothed core, “touch me,” a light shocked expression appeared on his face due to your boldness before he obeyed, lightly rubbing his fingers against your panties.

“more pressure, mark,” he immediately follows your command, adding more pressure to his fingers as he slid them up and down the cotton barrier. you release a sigh of pleasure, feeling your arousal start to build up, watching mark through the mirror as he focuses on his fingers, eyebrow’s furrowing, making sure he’s rubbing you with the just the right amount of pressure.

it’s cute how determined he looks.

“don’t think too hard about it, you’re doing so well, can’t you feel how wet my panties are now?,” his cock twitching at your praise as your stained panties were starting to feel sticky against your cunt.

“take them off,” you demand. mark follows straight away, gently removing your panties off of you, leaving you completely bare, all for him.

“look in the mirror, mark,” you order and for the first time he finally makes eye contact with you through the glass, “look how wet i am for you,” you pout, your juices glistening under the lights.

mark can’t help but stare in awe, “dude, i-i did this?,” he says unsure, cheeks pink.

the nickname makes you frown, “do not call me dude when you’re about to have your fingers inside me,” you reprimand and he lets out a tiny apology before you grab his hand, placing it back on your cunt.

“now, show me what you know,”

marks fingers are back on you, rubbing you the way he did before, his fingers easily sliding up and down your slick folds, the friction making you whine under his touch. he takes that as a sign and without any warning, jams a finger in, immediately thrusting them in and out of you at an already brutal speed, making you hiss in pain.

“stop!,” you say, legs instinctively closing as he quickly pulls his fingers out, eyes wide, afraid.

“that did not feel good,” you give your feedback and he almost crashes out, the reminder of him being bad at this catching up to him, “b-but that's what they do in all the videos!” he sputters out, slightly panicking.

oh, how badly he needed your help.

“just take it slow mark, there’s no rush,” you smile softly, trying to comfort him, “here,” you grab his finger, controlling his speed as he slides down your core again, finger slowly disappearing inside you, following the curve of your pussy.

you let out a shaky breath at the slow intrusion, feeling your walls tighten around his digit. like this, you can feel how much longer his finger is compared to your own, reaching that spot so easily, “now curl it,” you instruct and he curls it perfectly on the first try, eliciting a moan from you, making his cock twitch.

“good boy,” you praise, boosting mark’s confidence as he curls his finger in the same spot again and again. you let go of his hand, letting him take over as he took note of every moan that spilled from your lips.

“i-is this good?,” he asks, adding another finger in and curling it just the way you like it.

“s-so good mark,” you whine under his touch, approving his action, “go faster now,” you say, hips arching up, needing more from him.

mark loves watching the way your body reacts to his hand and almost like his free hand had a mind of it’s own, it finds its way around your sensitive bud, rubbing slow but harsh circles, “ohhh fuuck,” you moan, head falling back to his shoulder as your hand gripped his thigh trying to ground yourself, the tension in your stomach tightening.

“yeah?, you like that baby?,” he whispers against your ear, the nickname sending tingles down your core, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers. mark doesn’t need to hear your answer with the way your body speaks to him, he takes note of all of it.

“s-say that again,” you gasp, fingers continuing to move inside you while the tingle in your stomach keeps growing and growing, mark’s newfound confidence becoming stronger and stronger with every moan you give him.

“gonna make my baby cum,” he grunts in your ear, more determined than ever to get a job done. you watch it all play out on the mirror in front of you — body trapped in his, mark’s fingers curling in and out of you, juices leaking onto his fingers, eyebrows slightly furrowed, light sweat dripping down his forehead, muscles clenching.

he’s so focused on you, and he looks fucking hot doing so.

you can’t help yourself, turning your head towards him and catching his lips in yours. mark halts his movement for a quick second before regaining his composure, kissing you back ferociously, tongue meeting yours, quickly taking the lead. he did not need any tips for this – mark was a good fucking kisser, great even.

his lips moving with yours heightens the rest of your senses, drowning out all the other noises and only focusing on the boy next to you. you feel everything — the circles around your clit, the curls of his finger, his rock hard cock against your back; making you feel lightheaded, heat traveling throughout your body as mark swallowed your moans with his kisses.

you only pull away when your release took over, “—gonna cum,” you barely warn him, head falling back to his shoulder, eyes rolling back, toes curling as you let out a strangled gasp, the mind bending orgasm making your body shake, mark coaxing you through it.

“made my baby cum on the first try,” he softly teases, leaving soft kisses on your temple as he watches you unravel through the mirror. your hips arched up as you leaned on him for support, eyes closed, lips flushed, looking absolutely fucked out and his own body can’t help but react to the scene, staining his sweats.

you try to calm your erratic breathing, eyes fluttering open to the scene of mark licking his fingers clean off your arousal, “how does it taste?,” you tease. his eyes darken at your question, looking right at you through the mirror, “so good baby…you taste so good,” he says before diving his fingers back to your cunt, making you jump, as he collected the remaining juices, bringing it back to his lips, humming in satisfaction, eye contact never breaking – the action turning you on more than ever.

“congrats, you just made a girl cum,” you smirk, turning around on your knees to face him.

he lets out a nervous chuckle, glancing at you with uncertainty. "be honest, how was it, really?" he asks, his voice tinged with anxiety and you can tell the burst of confidence he had earlier was gone.

“honestly,” you start, gaining his full attention, “soo good mark, you learn so quickly…you think you can make me do it again?,” you ask, doe eyes innocently looking up at his brown ones.

he nods furiously at your request, hands immediately going to your hips, getting ready to turn you around and have you back in the same position before you stop him.

“hmm, i was thinking, maybe you can make me cum on your cock?,” you ask and mark chokes on his own breath, glancing around the room, getting shy under your gaze.

“i-uhm, i already came in my pants,” he whispers, afraid to confess it out loud.

“that’s. so. hot.” you comment, hands finding its way to his thighs, as you observe the wet stain on his grey sweats, capturing mark’s attention.

“wait? really?”

“mhm, i think it’s really hot how much effect i have on you, cumming in your pants and i didn’t even have to touch you,” you tease, his pants feeling tighter and tighter, “what do you say, mark?, you want to cum again?,” you whisper, pouting your lips.

“fuck y/n,” he whines breathily, you had him wrapped around your fingers now, how could he ever say no?

he pulled you towards him, taking the lead and smashing his lips against yours, gently sucking, tongues battling for dominance. your hand wraps around his neck, fingers finding its way to his hair, gripping it gently. the action enough to harden his cock.

quickly you pull away, taking off your shirt, pink lacy bra coming into view matching your panties. mark takes a second to admire your body, warm hands squeezing your waist, before following suit, discarding his own clothes to the side, leaving him in his stained boxers, lips back on yours as you continue to explore each other’s mouths.

your hand travelled down his chest to his torso, lower and lower, slipping inside his boxers and wrapping around his cock, earning a moan from him. you take note of how long he is, the anticipation of him inside you making your pussy twitch, insides bubbling once again.

you pump him once, twice…his whines against your lips, making you clench around nothing but air.

“stop it baby, i'm not gonna last if you do that,” he pleads and you want so badly to just have your way with him, pumping him to finish as he withers in his moans but before you could do so, he pushes your hand away, creating space between you.

“stop, please…want to be inside you,” he cries, shutting his eyes, trying to calm himself down as he slows his breathing, holding you an arm length away. he feels like he’s gonna burst any minute now and he really doesn’t want to do that without making you cum a second time.

“okay, mark,” you follow his order, “you’re in charge, baby,” you give up control, waiting for mark to take the lead, as he inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying his best push away his orgasm. he slowly opens his eyes, all his breathing work practically useless at the sight of you.

“you’re so pretty,” he says before his hands wrapped around your hips, easily picking you up. you let out a quiet yelp at his sudden action. your best friend was a lot stronger than he looks.

he makes his way over to the couch, gently placing you down, body hovering over you as you push his boxers down, pink cock springing up, hitting his belly.

there was absolutely no going back from this.

“mark, do you have a condom?,”

“fuck,” he says looking at you wide eyed, “i-i dont have one,” he stutters, frustrated, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes at the thought of not being able to satisfy you.

“you don’t carry one around?,”

“dude, we’re literally in this situation because i don’t get any action,” he reminds you, earning a laugh from you – you almost forgot…especially with how good his touches felt against your skin.

“you’re laughing, i don’t have a condom and you’re laughing,” he says in disbelief, annoyed at himself, his frustration increasing every second your laugh reaches his ears, “hey, you promised you wouldn’t laugh,” he pouts, gently poking your sides, a small smile displayed on his lips.

“sorry, sorry, i-just, you should’ve seen your face, you look like you’re about to cry,” you point out, calming down, “i’m on the pill mark, its okay,” you soothe him, and mark’s jaw almost drops to the floor.

the last and first time he had “sex” with a girl, he came in the condom as soon as he bottomed in and now he expects himself to last more than 7 seconds with you? raw? he freezes once again and you notice the change in his demeanor.

“don’t be scared mark, we’ll take it at your pace,” you comfort him, turning his head towards you for a soft, gentle kiss – so much different from the rushed kisses you previously shared.

“hey, i'm your best friend, okay, you can trust me,” you remind him, giving him a small smile “it’s okay if you cum faster than me, you’ll know what to do if that happens,” you assure him, completely trusting him with your body and all his worries fade away.

mark finally snaps out of his overthinking mind, taking the lead once again, soft lips on yours as he gently pushes you down, back against the couch, body completely hovering over you.

he swipes his cock against your folds, collecting your juices, making you shiver in anticipation, before lining against your core, slowly pushing the tip in your hole, he breathes in — you feel so fucking warm. you moan at the invasion, walls expanding, adjusting to the size of his cock as he slowly pushed inside. synchronized moans filling up the air as he bottomed in, walls tightly clenching around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper you swear you can feel him in your cervix — feel every vein on his cock twitching.

“fuuck mark, you fit perfectly,” you whine, never have you had anything feel this good inside you and he hasn’t even moved. the comment makes him blush. he was gonna have to bring that up later…right now, he’s committed to redeeming himself and pleasing you.

he starts thrusting slowly, focused on your reaction, “hmmm, feels soo good mark,” you whine. he recalls the curl of his fingers inside you, making sure he angles his cock the same way, hitting you exactly where you need it. he finds it almost instantly, faster than any other guy has ever found it, “oh god, mark-fuck,” you jumble your words, too caught up with how he’s making you feel. the slowness of it all making it more intimate, each thrust properly hitting you deep inside, back arching at the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, deep grunts right by your ear, hips meeting his.

“y-you’re so fucking tight baby mhm, making it so hard f-for me,” he whimpers, quickening his pace, the sound of clapping starting to echo throughout the walls, moans mixing in the air, the growing tension in your belly making you feel hot as you gripped his toned arm muscles.

“f-fuck mark, i-im close,” you gasped. your sensitivity from your previous orgasm quickly catching up to you, as he continued his thrusts, “m-me too baby,” he stutters, cock twitching inside you.

his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing quick circles. “oh fuck! mark, mark, mark-,” you moan over and over again, forgetting every other word but his name.

he feels like he's going to explode. the amount of restraint he was holding on to to make sure you came before him is making him feel lightheaded — desperate.

“c’mon baby, c-come with me please,” he pleadingly whines, thrusts gaining more speed, your juices making it easier for him to slide in and out, toes curling at the sensation as you feel the heat rise, the coil in your stomach making you gasp for air.

you didn't have time to warn him before your walls immediately closed in on his cock, second orgasm completely taking over, body going slack, breathy moans slipping past your lips, eyes shut, the tension in your stomach coming undone.

mark’s movements falter on top of you, your release triggering his as he paint your walls white, “fuuuck baby,” he groans, head burrowed into your neck, breathing heavily, body shaking on top of yours.

mark slowly pulls out, making you hiss at the loss of contact. you watch, in amazement, as your mixed juices spill out of your throbbing cunt, pussy still pulsating.

“how was that?,” he asks earnestly awaiting your response and all you could do is shoot him a smile, “are you sure you’ve never done this before?,” you ask, making him chuckle in satisfaction.

“good?,” he wanted to hear it from you.

“very good, mark,” you nod in approval earning a smile from him as he got up to get his shirt, using the fabric to clean you up.

“you’re a really quick learner,” you praise him.

“or i just have a really good teacher,” he shrugs, refusing to take credit for the mess the two of you made.

“well, i barely had to tell you anything for that one, you really took notes earlier huh?” you point out, as he sat down next to you, “i guess so,” he says, a small smile on display.

“think you got it, now? won’t be sabotaging any potential relationships anymore?,” you tease, disheveling his hair, a playful smile on your lips.

“hmm,” he hums, pondering.

truthfully, he was proud of himself, he really was scared over nothing, or maybe…maybe it was because you were his partner? and that made everything different. he trusts you which made it easier for him to not get caught up in his own fears, the sound of your moans and praises pushing away all his anxieties, leading him to success.

he wants to hear it again.

mark smiles mischievously, bright eyes shining, before turning to you, grabbing your hips and pulling you on top of him, “i don’t know baby, i think i might need more practice,” he says cheekily, lips on yours once again as he unhooks your bra.

—

au: whew! well that’s that >.< genuinely….what do i need to do in life to make sure this happens to me and mark ?????????

[whirlybirbs]

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

[alinathinkstoomuch]

WILL YOU BE MY FAKE FIANCÉ?

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you find yourself in a sticky situation - you need a fiancé asap and the stern looking man at the bar seems to suffice. warnings: um reader thinks hotch is serial killer at one point, reader is actually really funny (LOL i was giggling so bad writing her dialogue), readers friends suck, the usual banter and chem word count: 3.8k

✧ masterlist | second part can be found here

lemme know if y'all would want this as a mini series?? pls say yes because i had too much fun writing this!!!

It was silly, really. Actually, it was downright stupid. You had imagined a hundred different ways this conversation could go, each one more cringe-inducing than the last. And yet, here you were, en route to dinner with a group of women you still, for some inexplicable reason, referred to as your ‘friends.’

Except they weren’t friends. Not really. More like a collection of high school mean girls who had swapped lockers for brunch reservations, but still thrived on competition and thinly veiled judgment. Why you had continued to entertain their company remained one of life’s greatest mysteries. Maybe it was because some tiny, stubborn part of you still felt the need to prove yourself to them.

Old habits die hard.

Which was absurd, considering you had everything you’d ever wanted. A career you were proud of, a gorgeous apartment and a dog so beautiful he could model for Ralph Lauren. And yet, none of it mattered because you were missing one thing.

A love life.

Or rather, you had the start of one – an engagement, even. But much like a designer bag left too close to a lit candle, it went up in flames almost immediately.

And because self-preservation was clearly not your strong suit, you had told your ‘friends’ about the engagement… conveniently omitting the part where it had ended as quickly as it began.

No love lost there. He was a dick anyway.

Which brought you to now – marching toward an intimate jazz bar, running through all the ways you could break the news.

“Hey, ladies! So fun fact I am actually not engaged! But you were all right, turns out I’m just a walking red flag with great hair. Cheers!”

Yeah. That would go over well.

You pushed open the door to the jazz bar, smoothing your dress down and forcing your most dazzling, I totally have my life together smile. The inside was dimly lit, the hum of conversation mixing with the smooth sound of a saxophone in the background.

“Hi! There should be a reservation for under Veronica?” you told the hostess, who checked the list before glancing up apologetically.

“There’s no one here from your party yet, but I can show you to your table?”

Perfect. Just perfect. You nodded, following her to a sleek little table near the bar. You pulled out your phone, scrolling through texts until one popped up.

Veronica: Can’t wait to meet the fiancé! We’re running late. Be there soon! Xo.

Oh. No. No, no, no.

Your stomach did a dramatic, Oscar-worthy drop as panic set in. Your palms went clammy. Your perfectly planned exit strategies all disintegrated like cheap mascara in the rain.

You needed a fiancé. Now.

Your eyes darted wildly around the room, scanning the clientele for anyone remotely stupid – or kind – enough to rope into your plan. But instead, your gaze landed on someone who definitely didn’t look stupid. He looked serious, almost too serious. But he was alone, and that was good enough.

You shot up from your seat, heels clacking as you made a beeline toward him with the determination of a woman with everything on the line.

“Hi, hello,” you blurted out, earning a slow, assessing glance from deep brown eyes. “I need a favour. A huge, ridiculous, I-will-owe-you-my-soul kind of favour.”

“Sorry?”

“I just – I know this is insane, but I need you to pretend to be my fiancé for like, one hour. Maybe two. It’s a long story, and there is an actual pack of wolves arriving here any second, and if they smell fear, I am done for.” You clasped your hands together. “Please, please, please. I will do anything.”

He stared at you like he was debating calling security. Or possibly the nearest psychiatric facility.

“Everything alright?” Another voice joined. An older man, dressed impeccably clapped your very reluctant target on the back.

“I just need to borrow your friend, pretty please?” you said, turning to the newcomer with the kind of desperate charm that had gotten you out of speeding tickets before. “I promise I will buy you the most expensive bottle of scotch this bar serves. You drink scotch, right?”

The older man’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, I love her,” he announced, before turning to his friend. “Take him. I was just leaving.”

Your supposed fiancé-to-be let out a slow breath, clearly reconsidering every choice that led him to this moment.

You beamed. “See? It’s fate.”

“This is – I –”

The man looked genuinely at a loss for words, which based on the suit he was wearing, was not a common occurrence.

“Come on, Hotch,” the older man grinned, clapping him on the back again. “Help the lady out. And I cannot wait to hear all about it on Monday.” He turned to you, extending a hand. “David Rossi.”

You shook his hand, relieved that at least one of them was enjoying this. “Nice to meet you, David. And I am really sorry for ruining your evening with your friend.”

“Oh, sweetheart, are you kidding? This is better than my evening. This is entertainment.” He winked at you before tossing a final smirk at Hotch. “Be good to your fiancée.”

With that, he strolled off, leaving you alone with the man you had just kidnapped into romance fraud.

You turned back to him. “So,” you said brightly. “Fiancé.”

He stared at you, face unreadable. “This is insane.”

“Yes, well, so is spending two-thousand dollars on a handbag, and I do that regularly. Now, come on.” You reached for his wrist and pulled him toward the table. “So Hotch is your name? Kind of… odd, don’t you think? Or is it a nickname? I don’t really have many nicknames – well, aside from what my ex-fiancé used to call me, but I’ll save you the details.”

Hotch exhaled through his nose, looking like he was already regretting this. “Do you do this often?”

“Fake engagements? No, not really. Actual engagements? Also no, considering how the last one went.” You sighed dramatically. “But you’d think after everything, I’d have at least one decent dating story. Instead, I have an ex who took our wedding fund and bought a motorcycle. A motorcycle, Hotch. Like, what exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

“He took your money?”

“And my sanity, which gives me the right to act this way in public.”

Before he could respond, a chorus of excited squeals erupted from the entrance.

“Oh my God! There she is!”

You moved to stand in front of Hotch. “I will do whatever you want me to. If you need me to kill someone and hide the body, I will literally be your girl – just please go with this.” You tugged at his tie, smoothing it down in a rush. “I’ll take the lead, you just look pretty.”

“That’s not usually how this works –”

“Well, Hotch, welcome to the world of desperate women. Now smile like you love me.”

He didn’t have the chance to argue as Veronica and her entourage descended upon you like a pack of well-dressed hyenas, eyes dancing with curiosity and suspicion.

“Finally! We were starting to think you made him up,” Veronica teased, her eyes scanning Hotch with an intensity that made even you nervous. “So? Introduce us!”

You plastered on your most graciously fake smile and looped an arm through Hotch’s, feeling the tension in his muscles as he clearly contemplated whether this was his personal hell. “Alright here he is! Meet H–”

“Aaron,” he cut you off smoothly, extending a hand toward Veronica.

She barely glanced at it before swatting it away. She then took a step forward, pulling him into a hug which he stiffly endured like someone who had never been voluntarily embraced in his life.

“Oh, honey, we don’t do handshakes here,” she purred, clinging for a second too long before releasing him. “You’re so handsome.”

You jumped in before Veronica could try something ridiculous like feeling his biceps.

“Right?” you grinned, linking your arm through his again. “Total catch. It’s why I snatched him up so fast.”

“And how did that happen?” one of the other girls asked as the group drifted toward the table.

Hotch, mercifully, was quick on the uptake. “She quite literally crashed into me – spilled her coffee all over my suit.”

“Oh my God, that’s so her,” another girl gasped, and you nodded rapidly.

“It was tragic,” you added, dramatically placing a hand on his arm. “The suit did not make it.”

As you neared the table, you reached for the seat, but before you could pull it out, Hotch’s hand brushed yours, stopping you. Instead, he pulled the chair out for you before you could protest.

Was he… really committing to the bit? Or was this just ingrained in his perfect gentleman DNA?

Before you could process it, the table erupted into ooohs and ahhhs like a live studio audience.

Thankfully, you caught a reprieve as the girls turned their attention to the wine list, debating the merits of a bold red versus a crisp white. Taking advantage of the moment, you lifted your own menu to shield your face and glanced at Hotch through the gap.

“I am so sorry,” you mouthed.

“You should be,” he murmured back, just low enough for only you to hear. But there was no bite to his words – if anything, you swore you caught the ghost of a smirk.

“So, don’t keep us waiting in suspense,” Veronica chirped. “Tell us about the engagement! How did it happen? All we got was a text saying you were engaged and a picture of your ring –” She paused, eyes narrowing as they moved to your hand. You followed her line of sight instinctively, cursing internally when you realised the problem.

Your fingers were adorned with rings – statement pieces, dainty bands – but notably none of them were an engagement ring.

Hotch, of course, noticed immediately. He exhaled lightly through his nose, like he was already preparing to clean up your mess.

“Oh,” you laughed, waving a dismissive hand, “I took it off to get it resized, you know how it is.”

Veronica’s brow lifted. “Resized?”

“Yeah, it was a little loose,” you rushed out, the lie forming faster than you could think it through. “Didn’t want to risk it falling down the sink or –”

“It wasn’t loose,” Hotch interjected once more and you froze.

Every pair of eyes at the table snapped to him.

“It wasn’t?” you echoed, unsure if he was about to throw you under the bus or save you from getting flattened by it.

Hotch leaned back, one arm casually draping over the back of your chair as if this was just another Friday night for him. “No,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “She just can’t stand the feeling of something on her finger when she sleeps. She takes it off every night, leaves it on the nightstand.”

Oh.

Oh.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Not only had he just handed you an ironclad excuse, but he had done it so effortlessly that even you almost believed it.

The table collectively melted.

“That is so sweet,” one of the girls sighed.

“That makes sense,” Veronica finally conceded, though her eyes lingered on Hotch. She didn’t seem completely sold yet. “So, how did you propose? Give us all the details.”

Another reprieve – just as the waitress arrived to take your drink and appetizer orders. You had never been so grateful for a poorly timed interruption, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the question would be forgotten by the time she walked away.

It wasn’t.

The second the waitress disappeared, Veronica’s eyes flicked right back to you and Hotch, expectant.

 “You tell it better, sweetheart,” he encouraged, that same miniscule smirk making an appearance.

Oh, he was enjoying this too much.

“Well,” you started, buying yourself a second. “It was…unexpected.”

Hotch nodded solemnly, as if recalling a life-changing event. “Completely.”

You shot him a look before continuing. “We were on a trip –”

“A weekend getaway,” Hotch supplied easily.

“Right, exactly,” you said, catching on. “And it was… romantic?”

“Cold,” he corrected. “Snow everywhere.”

You blinked at him. Snow? Was this man just winging it?

“It was freezing,” you emphasized, rolling with it. “And I remember thinking, God, this would be the worst time to propose, because my fingers are so cold, I might drop the ring.”

The table giggled in delight, completely enthralled, hanging onto every word.

Hotch exhaled through his nose like this was all very serious business. “Which you nearly did.”

Your brows shot up. “Right! Yes, because I was so shocked.”

“You cried,” Hotch added.

You nearly choked. “I – what?”

He turned to you, gaze softening ever so slightly, voice dipping just enough to sell the sincerity. “You cried.”

And just like that, the table melted again.

“Oh my God,” one of the girls whispered, clutching her chest.

“Like, happy tears?” another asked, eyes wide with wonder.

Hotch’s lips quirked at the corner, and damn it, you had never wanted to throw your drink at someone so badly. “Of course.”

You forced a dreamy sigh, resisting the urge to stomp on his foot under the table. “I mean… obviously.”

Veronica tapped a manicured nail against her glass, eyes narrowing. “And what did he say?”

Hotch turned to you, expression a mystery, before casually resting his hand over yours. The move was so smooth, so convincing, that it had the exact opposite effect – it made your heeled foot find his shoe under the table, pressing down with just enough force to say don’t even think about it.

“I think I said something along the lines of…” He paused, eyes fixed on you. “If you need me to kill anyone and bury the body, I’m your man. Marry me, sweetheart.’”

You stiffened, your foot pressing down harder, while the table erupted in delighted gasps and squeals.

“Oh my God,” Veronica practically screamed.

“That is so romantic,” one of the girls swooned, gripping the arm of the woman next to her.

“I cannot with you two,” another giggled, fanning herself like this was the greatest love story ever told.

Meanwhile, you were trying very hard not to commit an actual murder.

You ripped your hand free from his grasp and covered your mouth with it, forcing what looked like a lovesick reaction but was actually a barely contained threat.

“What the hell?” you whispered between your teeth, smiling like the perfect doting fiancée.

Hotch, infuriatingly unbothered, leaned in. “You said to go with it.”

Your foot pressed down again. “I meant like a normal person, not a psychopath,” you hissed.

“Ugh,” Veronica sighed dreamily. “This is disgustingly adorable.”

You turned back to the group, still smiling, but if looks could kill, your fiancé wouldn’t have made it out of this dinner alive.

For the rest of the evening, you definitely had too much wine, and as the night stretched on, the conversation finally drifted away from you.

Instead, your so-called friends delved into their usual habits – gossiping about people they hadn’t seen since college, subtly competing over whose husband had the most prestigious job and complaining about their high-maintenance lives.

You nodded, smiled, threw in a well-timed oh, totally where necessary, but mostly, you just kept drinking. Hotch, meanwhile, remained the picture of polite disinterest, responding when needed as he sipped his bourbon. If he was suffering, he didn’t show it – except for the occasional glance in your direction, as if silently asking are you sure these are your friends?

By the time dessert rolled around, you were exhausted from the performance. Thankfully, your friends were equally buzzed, giggling and snapping selfies before finally, finally deciding it was time to call it a night.

Outside the restaurant, the group exchanged dramatic goodbyes, air-kissing and promising to “do this again soon” (lies, all of them), before disappearing into cabs and sleek black cars.

And just like that, you and Hotch were alone.

“You know,” you sighed, rifling through your purse in search of your phone. “I would apologize again for this, but I think if anyone owes an apology, it’s you.”

Hotch, standing beside you, hands in his pockets, merely raised a brow. “Me?”

You looked up at him with a glare. “Yes, you. You didn’t make this awful evening any easier. Snow? Really? I hate the snow.”

“I might be way out of line saying this, but you seem too good to consider that group of women your friends. Especially ones you feel you have to impress.”

“Impress them? That’s not what I was doing. I just –” You huffed, crossing your arms. “I grew up with them, and they’ve managed to make my life –” You stopped yourself, pressing your lips together before shaking your head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, like he was picking apart every little detail. “I think it matters more than you’re willing to admit.”

You forced a laugh, throwing a hand in the air. “Well, lucky for you, you don’t have to care about it. You’re free. No more fake engagement, no more ridiculous stories, no more Marry me, sweetheart nonsense.”

His lips twitched slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he tilted his head toward the street. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

You didn’t protest, abandoning the search for your phone and following your former fake fiancé back to his car.

Once inside, you rattled off your address as Hotch pulled it up on the satnav. Settling into the seat, you flipped down the visor mirror, swiping at the smudged mascara under your eyes.

“Do you have any tissues?” you asked, glancing over as Hotch reversed out of the parking lot.

“Check the glovebox.”

You reached over, popping it open and immediately froze. Because nestled between some paperwork and an actual box of tissues, sat a gun.

You yanked your hand back so fast you nearly dislocated your shoulder. “Uh. What the hell, Hotch?”

He barely spared you a glance. “Relax.”

“Relax?” you repeated, voice pitching higher. “There’s a gun in your glovebox! Oh my God. Are you – are you a criminal? Did I just spend an entire evening pretending to be engaged to a mobster? Jesus Christ, I really know how to pick them – I mean, you’re making my actual ex-fiancé look like a saint!”

“Check under the gun,” Hotch instructed, voice impossibly calm.

“Oh no, no, no, mister.” You flailed a hand in his direction. “You are not fooling me into touching your murder weapon so you can get my fingerprints on it and frame me for whatever crime you have committed using it! Please stop the car before I jump out of it. I swear to God, I will tuck and roll.”

Hotch exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was deeply reconsidering his life choices. Then, with no ceremony, he flicked on the turn signal and pulled over to the curb.

Your heart plummeted. “Oh my God,” you whispered, pressing yourself back against the seat. “You are a criminal. You’re going to kill me. This is how I die.”

Hotch shot you a look, utterly unimpressed. Then, without a word, he leaned over –

You squeaked, pressing yourself further into the seat. “Oh my God – please don’t kill me –I haven’t been to Paris yet, and I still haven’t figured out how to fold a fitted sheet –”

His hand bypassed you completely, reaching into the glove box. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled something from beneath the gun and held it up to your face.

An FBI badge.

You stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the badge.

“Oh.” A pause. “Well, this is awkward.”

Hotch dropped the badge into your lap, but you immediately picked it up, flipping it over, holding it up to the light, just in case it was fake. There had to be fakes out there. You had gotten a police outfit that came with a badge for Halloween once.

Hotch watched your scrutiny with the patience of a saint. “Are you done?”

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “Okay, so in my defence, you could’ve led with that instead of just telling me to dig under a loaded firearm.”

“I assumed you were capable of following basic instructions.”

“That was your first mistake,” you muttered, still recovering from the emotional rollercoaster that was the last five minutes. You inhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your chest. “Well. This has been a night.”

Hotch shook his head, pulling back onto the road as you snapped closed his badge and placed it back in the glovebox, avoiding the gun like poison.

“So, FBI, huh?” you finally said, breaking the quiet.

“That’s what the badge says.”

You couldn’t help it – you laughed. A real, actual laugh for the first time this entire ridiculous, chaotic evening. And once you started, you couldn’t stop. It bubbled out of you, unrestrained, until you were clutching your stomach, gasping for breath, sure your mascara was completely smudged from the tears streaking down your face.

“Are you alright?”

You wheezed, waving a hand in his direction. “No! No, I am not! Because I just spent an entire evening fake-engaged to an FBI agent, and the first thing I said to you was – and I quote – ‘If you ever need to kill someone and bury the body, I’m your girl.’”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever had that kind of proposition in my entire career.”

You snorted, barely containing another wave of laughter. “That’s comforting. Truly.”

He smirked, eyes still on the road. “Though, I’ll admit—it’s one of the more memorable introductions I’ve had.”

“Oh, great. So I’m going to be a story you tell people?”

“Most definitely.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Fantastic. Just what I needed, to be the punchline of an FBI dinner party.”

“Don’t worry,” Hotch said dryly. “I’ll leave out the part where you almost jumped out of a moving vehicle.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “Gee, thanks.”

A silence settled over the car and eventually Hotch slowed to a stop in front of your building shifting into park. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel before he glanced at you.

“Well… this has been… a very unique experience.” Your hand found the door handle, but you didn’t move. You weren’t quite ready to step back into reality just yet.

Hotch nodded. “It has.”

“You sure you don’t want to keep up the act? I think Veronica was in love with you.”

“Do you want to keep up the act? Ten minutes ago, you were convinced I was a serial killer.”

“Well, technically, I thought you were a mobster. There’s a difference.”

Hotch tilted his head. “And now?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back against the seat. “Now? I think you might actually be worse.”

“Worse?”

You turned toward him, deadpan. “You’re FBI. Which means you probably know every loophole in the legal system. You could absolutely commit crimes and get away with it.”

Hotch let out a laugh, shaking his head. “And yet here I am, still just giving you a ride home.”

You placed a hand over your heart. “I appreciate that. Really.”

He smiled, his fingers still drumming lightly against the steering wheel. Another moment of silence passed before he nodded toward your building. “You should go before your neighbours start wondering why you’re sitting in a car with a strange man.”

You gasped, placing a hand on your chest. “How dare you? We’re engaged, remember?”

Hotch chuckled. “Not anymore.”

You clicked your tongue, reaching for the door handle again. “Shame. I was really looking forward to planning the wedding.”

“We’d have to agree on a season first. You hate the snow.”

You groaned. “I knew that was going to come back to haunt me.” Shaking your head, you pushed the door open and stepped out, turning back one last time before shutting it. “Well, Aaron Hotchner, thank you for entertaining my craziness.”

“Anytime.”

You gave him a small wave before shutting the door and making your way toward your apartment building. At the top of the steps, you hesitated, glancing back just in time to see his taillights disappearing down the street. And in that moment, you weren’t sure what you felt.

Was he someone you’d spend the rest of your life hoping never to run into again?

Or someone you’d regret not giving your number to?

[arolesbianism]

I am Going to learn how to use blender even if it kills me but rly the bigger threat is choosing the oc I'm gonna have to make a model sheet for first 😔

[awrkive]

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 4 — JJK

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 17.1K words

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, alcohol consumption, misogyny 🫤, club fight... but also lots of screaming into your pillow moments part 2, oc goes twenty different emptions in like..one hour (my babyy😖) and uhhhhhh the biggest warning of them all: jungkook pov and the ending😖

NOTES pls pretend you didnt see that post earlier,, it was a testament to my failure lets forget about it anyway WE ARE SOOOO SOO BACK!! hope you guys enjoy this one and as usual, let me know what you think and lets chat!!

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] // [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

“I’m coming home!” Were Jimin’s first words as soon as you answer his facetime invite. 

With eyes barely open, you push your face deeper in the plush of your pillows, groaning. 

“Jimin, it’s six am.” 

“And?” Jimin dismisses. “We ought to celebrate!” 

“I’m not even up yet.”

“So, you hate me.” 

You let out a grumble, this time snapping your eyes fully open to see Jimin’s brow arched your way, his attitude reaching you even when you're a thousand miles apart. Classic Jimin. 

“You’re a drama queen, and for the record, I got everything covered. Octagon, VIP area, 1 am. Dress slutty. Have fun, loosen up. Go crazy.” 

“O– kay ,” Jimin says, chuckling in amusement at your flat tone with your deadpanned face. “God, I just can’t wait to go back. You will not believe all of the shit I’ll be telling you once I get there.” 

You prop your phone on your nightstand and begin to stretch on your bed. “You better tell me you have Italian men’s IGs to refer to me.” you joke. Sleep is slowly starting to fade away from your system. Glancing at the wall clock from across the room, you take note it’s almost time to get ready for work.w

“Please,” he rolls his eyes. “As if you’re gonna respond when they do send you a DM.” 

That earns an abrupt laugh from you. “I do respond, though.” you giggle. You stand up from the bed, carrying the phone with you as you head to the living room to prepare your breakfast. 

“Babe, you’ve responded to two out of ten men I referred to you, and you ghosted two, by the way.” 

You look at him in shock. “What, you supported me!” 

“Still, though… ugh, the Wooseok guy still asks about you, by the way. It was literally so awkward when we met at that– I forgot, but it was a party.” 

You cringe internally, and it probably translates to your face because you hear Jimin laughing from the other side of the line. Shaking your head, you tell Jimin, “Nope– not gonna feel sorry. He was weird as fuck, and I genuinely think – still to this day – that he’s a fury.” 

Jimin’s expression morphs into distaste. “Yeah, no, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was true based on the stories you told me but I swear to you he felt like a normal person to me when we first met.” You and Jimin both gave each other a knowing smile; pursed lips and a scrunched nose, already getting where both your heads are at. But Jimin swerves to the next subject smoothly, “Anyway, I see your apartment’s all fixed, considering you’re there.” 

You light up at the mention and nod. Looking around, you can’t help the smile that spreads over your lips, thinking that finally, it’s all okay now. Like nothing even happened.

“Oh, yeah. It actually is.” you say, enthusiasm apparent in your voice.

“You know you could’ve stayed at my place, right?”

You give him a dismissive wave of your hand, despite smiling still, appreciating the offer regardless. You know you could’ve and that he wouldn’t have minded, but, “Yeah, no, I didn’t want to impose.”

That earns an instant eye roll from Jimin, followed by a scoff, “You’re literally my blood sister.”

“I know! But remember when I had to stay over at your place for three days earlier this year because of some gas leak…” you bring it up, “I swear this complex is out to get me.”

“You need to move out.”

The impassive look you give him is almost warranted.

“And you need to give me a new job for that.” 

Jimin snickers. “... which would be quite ironic because I don’t even have one in the first place.” 

You know it’s a bummer subject but since he mentioned it, anyway, you decide to ask, “How’s the training going, by the way? Pretty sure Ms. Lim has blown up your phone over the course of your absence.” Ms. Lim is the PR head of their company, and Jimin instantly sours at the mention of her name. 

With a grimace, he completely shuts down the subject. “I don’t even wanna talk about it.” 

You give him a sympathizing smile before Jimin picks up the conversation with a more not-so-bummer subject. He asked you how work has been, and he told you all about the places he and Namjoon went to in Italy. He asked about your thing with Taemu, and you could only give him a sheepish smile, one that he chastised you for because “how dare you keep slutty information from me!” . You almost feel bad because it wasn’t that at all, but because you didn’t want to dig deeper into your own grave, you decided to change the topic and talked about how you two are going to spend the night later on when you meet, and soon, you had to end the call so you can catch your bus. 

Jimin has always told you you’re a bad liar. You couldn’t lie even if your life depended on it. But you do it, anyway, even though many instances have already proved the notion right, and one of them presents itself now.

“Sol, I have a question.” You feel bad for your lip as you have to nibble on it for what seemed to be the nth time for the day, treading on your thoughts lightly as Sol turns to look at your side to acknowledge you.

She casts one last glance on her computer before saying, “Is it controversial?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, ask Junhwi,” that earns an eye roll from you instantly, making Sol snicker a quiet laughter. “Kidding. What is it?” 

You’re currently on your lunch break, and what’s the harm in talking about a few things in your head that’s been keeping you up all night these past few days?

“Okay…” you begin, making sure to look around and confirm nobody’s listening. They probably are not and couldn’t care less either. “So this happened to a friend.” you say, as if putting out a disclaimer, gauging Sol’s face for a reaction. 

There wasn’t much. She just raised an intrigued brow, “Uh-huh.”  

How do you even begin? 

“So… she’s kind of talking to this guy,” you start, furrowing your brows, actively thinking about your choice of words. Your friend hums and you continue, “Then one time, this guy sort of like– she’s not exactly sure, but he kind of… tried to kiss her?” You didn’t mean for that to sound so unsure.

With the way Sol’s brow has arched way more at that, you imagine she’s noticing your hesitance in speaking about this in the first place.

“How do you kind of try to kiss a person?”

“Like, they were hugging. Or whatever–” you try to not let yourself be too descriptive, but in the process of that, pictures of that night come flashing in your head. Against your better judgement, there’s heat that creeps up in your cheeks when you get your next words out, “The guy just, uh, swooped down for a kiss. I mean, he was supposed to go for a kiss. But then the girl– my friend– dodged it. So basically, nothing happened.” 

“Why? She doesn’t like him?” 

“That…” Sol probably didn’t mean to but she definitely catches your tongue with the question. You lean back, blinking at her. “I… hah . That’s the… thing. I think… she likes him. But she’s not sure. I think she’s having second thoughts… but to be honest I think she has a crush on the guy but she’s trying to pull herself away from it but then she can’t do it because things are starting to feel a little different.” You let out one heavy puff after you spit the monologue out in one breathing. If Sol was already looking at you weird a few seconds ago, you’re now convinced you’ve unknowingly grown another head behind you. But you continue anyway. “... what does all of that mean?”   

“O… kay,” She says, sounding a little uncertain. She turns her body to you now completely. With the way she scoots her chair closer to you, leaning forward and hunching to be in your earshot, you realize she’s actually just become more invested. “Babe, you have to walk me through this like I’m five. So you and this guy are talking, you have a crush on him, and then he tried to kiss you, but you dodged it. Right?”

“Yeah! Something like that–” and upon realizing that you walked into a trap without even that much effort coming from her, your eyes widen while your friend just grins at you like she knew that was coming. You shake your head vehemently. “Wait, no, no, no. It’s not me.” 

Sol rolls her eyes. Your shoulders deflate. 

You see, Jimin is always right about everything. When he told you you suck ass at lying and you should never try it, he was just looking out for you. And why are you so surprised when these past few weeks, all your lies have blown up right in your face? And at the most inconvenient times and places too, at that – if seeing Jungkook at Jimin’s mom’s birthday party and seeing him in your company’s elevator is anything to go by.

“Alright, it’s me.” you say with a defeated tone. 

Sol stares at you with her squinted eyes. “You whore. Who’s the guy?”

And how are you supposed to say it’s Jeon Jungkook, the one who’s like seven floors above you, the son of the president of the very company you’re currently working in right now, and the interim CTO as of the moment and then expect her to believe you? 

So you shrug, shaking your head. “It’s not anyone you know.”

“Well, thank god! I don’t know anyone who’s decent enough to date any of my friends!” You’re about to thank the heavens when you thought she wouldn’t dig too much into that, but then she adds, “Show me a pic.” She excitedly huddles closer to you, looking right at your phone on your desk.

Well, no. 

“Nah, that’s not relevant to the issue at hand. And… the whole thing’s not even serious–” A blatant lie, but you carry through, “And the… almost-kiss happened, like, two days ago and I’m still–” you cut yourself off with a pained groan, which makes Sol look at you with concern. You purse your lips into a thin line, then. “We were actually drinking at his place together. So we were both kind of drunk? Though that was me mostly. I’m thinking, maybe, I misjudged the whole thing or worse, I just imagined it.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s way too elaborate and your feelings about this feels way too real to just come from an imagination. You said he tried to kiss you, right?” She grazes you with a gentle nudge on the arm. 

“Maybe?” 

“What do you mean, maybe?”

“I don’t know. It was just weird. I swear he tried to kiss me, but I could be wrong. I couldn’t think of reasons for him to try to do that. And I don’t even know why I avoided it in the first place.” You say with a frown, and then sighing when you realize your own thought process doesn’t make any sense.

“Well, what happened after?” 

You grimace. “I told him we should probably sleep,” You remember him carrying you to his bedroom – and as per your shameless request, at that. You intentionally leave that out because even you cannot comprehend what it meant. Why did Jungkook do all that? And did he , really? Or you just somehow deluded yourself into thinking that there is more to his actions rather than what they really are on the surface? “He was just like… he laughed it off, then that was the last of it. I slept in his room alone, and the morning after, I went out because he wasn’t there anymore. Went to work early.”

Sol gasps. “Oh brother…”

Your heart begins to hammer at her tone.

“What.”

“He hasn’t reached out after that night?” 

You wince, and not because of what she thinks it’s for.

“He actually did,” Sol looks at you in question, rightfully so. You nibble on your bottom lip before elaborating, “So a few days before that happened, he bought me a couch cushion. And then he texted me if I wanted it because I didn’t bring it with me when I left his apartment.” 

You can see Sol’s confusion beginning to draw on her face. “I’m sorry, he bought you a what?”

“A cushion.”

It takes her a few seconds to form a response. “You know what, I’m not even gonna ask why. But you know what I’m very certain of right now?” 

“... what?”

“You should’ve married him on the spot.”

“What?”

Sol snickers an overjoyed laugh, clearly pleased with herself at your incredulous reaction. “No, it totally makes sense, trust me. But okay. Then what happened after? What did you say to his text?” You stare at each other for awhile, with Sol smiling brightly, obviously expecting you to say something good. You grind your teeth to avoid cringing as you brace yourself for what’s to come, and as if realizing that from your face, Sol frowns. “Oh my god, don’t tell me you haven’t replied to him!”

You can’t help but wince. “Would you hate me if I confirm that?”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, damn. I can’t help you.”

“Ugh…” You groan, bringing your palms to your cheeks, pouting at her, feeling sort of defeated at this point. 

Sol dramatically holds one hand out, giving it an upward flick as if to tell you you’re being ridiculous for not seeing a point so clearly soon. “Obviously, this guy likes you! That man wants to fuck you ten ways to Sunday but also wants to wife you up and pay your mortgage in straight cash as well as your water and electricity bills. And he’d most likely set up your nonexistent kids’ trust funds the first month into the marriage because he just wants to make sure.”

Your jaw drops. “Okay…? Now you’re doing too much.”

She rolls her eyes in response, as if what she said is a totally normal response.

“You’re dense, it’s crazy. You couldn’t think of a reason why he tried to kiss you? Listen, why would you want to kiss someone? Because you like them. Of course he likes you! And he asked you about the cushion because he probably didn’t want to bombard you with questions about what happened the previous night. It shows he still wants to keep whatever it is you have going on.”

You sigh, seeing her point. “I… know.”

“You don’t wanna make a move? I mean, you seem to really like him.” Sol says, looking at your face. You give her a slight nod, feeling that there’s no use denying that. 

But…

“I can’t, though.” you say, pursing your lips. 

Frowning, Sol tilts her head in genuine confusion. “Why?”

“Because he’s…” you try to think of any adjectives to describe Jungkook. He’s… charming. Kind. Smart. Funny, in his own little way. So down to earth. Handsome. Pretty. Tall. Really… big– muscly in all the right ways. But those things are not helpful to justify your case on why you don’t want to pursue… whatever it is you two have going on. Because as much as the sole memory of him holding your waist while he leaned down to your face caressing your cheeks in the way he softly did, his cologne wafting your senses into dysfunction, he’s still someone that you just can’t get involved with. “He’s just really out of my league.”

A few beats. Then, Sol raises her eyebrow.

“That’s it?” Sol asks, “That’s the big reveal?” 

“... Yeah?”

“Honey, a man can never be out of any woman’s league.” 

“I–” you crack a chuckle, rolling your eyes but smiling anyway. “I know what you mean. But he’s genuinely really out of an average person’s league, I’m telling you.”

“What, does he have a Nobel prize or something?”

You laugh, nudging Sol. She mirrors your laughter.

When you settle down into silence again, you tell her, “He’s a… he’s really nice and sweet, though he doesn’t have a Nobel prize–” you roll your eyes playfully when Sol laughs again. “But yeah, I don’t know. I’m still… confused about my own feelings. I’ve always had a crush on him ever since I first met him, and I just always kind of shrugged it off? But ever since that night… I’ve been feeling weird. And I haven’t talked to him, haven’t replied to any of his texts yet. You know how non confrontational I am and it gets really bad, but I just genuinely don’t know how to approach this. The whole thing is confusing.”

Sol gives you a sympathetic smile. “I get that.”

Nodding, you continue speaking your thoughts, “You know the thing about nice guys… it’s that, they’re so nice that you can’t figure out if you just put yourself into a deep psychosis where they care about you more than they do with other people. And it’s like, yeah, it’s nice that he’s sweet, but what if he’s just like that with everybody?”

“You mean you think he also tries to kiss everybody?” Sol quips.

You chuckle. She got you there. “Come on.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it!” Giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder, Sol gently says. “I think what you need to do right now is just be honest to yourself first. Really try to figure out if you like this guy romantically or not.”

“That’s the thing, I just genuinely don’t know. I like the idea, maybe?” 

She nods. “Then just enjoy the flow for the meantime? I do think there’s something in there, though.” 

“Really?” you didn’t mean to perk up at that but you did, anyway, making Sol smile, even though she doesn’t point that out.  

“Of course I won’t know completely. Unless you show me this guy…” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m sorry about this gossip turned into bummer stuff. I know it’s depressing.” 

“I don’t mind,” She shrugs coolly. “You listen to my boy problems all the time. And Jimin can suck on my plastic dick but you’re my best friend too.” 

Your laughter becomes louder, but you tone it down just as instantly, slapping Sol lightly. 

“Anyway, speaking of the devil, he actually invited you to come along later. We’re going for drinks at the Octagon.”

“Ohh,” Sol says in intrigue. But then she pouts sadly. “I wanna go. But Junhwi and I have a thing later,” You’re quiet for a while. When Sol sees your expression– your very bad attempt at a neutral expression– she rolls her eyes, knowing what you’re probably thinking. “Don’t even start.”

“What! I didn’t even say anything.” 

“It’s a work thing.” 

“Sure.” 

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.” 

You laugh. “Whatever, Sol.” 

She rolls her eyes again. “Whatever, too. Drink your hearts out, by the way.” 

You shrug. “Nah, I’m probably not gonna drink that much.”

“Jimin, I’m starting to feel dizzy”

Jimin laughs, stepping closer to you while still swaying his body to the music playing in the club. He looks at the tequila in your hand – your third one for the night in the span of an hour… and thirty minutes? He tried to stop you from getting it, but you swore you can handle it and you can, you know you can, but maybe you’re not too sure about that anymore as you’re beginning to feel a little light on your feet.

“What happened to you saying you weren’t in the mood for drinking tonight?” He arches a brow. 

You groan, sounding more like a whine. “What’s up with these tequilas! If I get alcohol poisoning, is the club going to pay for it?” 

“They won’t. I’ll have to haul your ass to the ER myself.” 

“You can’t even do that because I know you’re three drinks away from tripping on your face.” 

Jimin rolls his eyes playfully. “No, I’m not. Unlike you I don’t have the tolerance of a freshman college girl,” He gets a hold of you when he’s closer, linking your arms together to guide you to your table, where you left Namjoon as per his insistence for you to enjoy yourselves on the dancefloor and catch up. Jimin said his boyfriend is actually leaving soon the next two days, so they’re making it count every hour, you guess. “Come on, I need to introduce you to someone. I’m pretty sure he’s arrived now.” 

You halt on your steps and look at Jimin alarmingly. “Who is it? I told you I’m hitting it off with Taemu these days.” The lie sits heavy on your tongue but Jimin calls bullshit right away.

“Is the hitting it off in the room with us when you just told me you literally do not care like just awhile ago?” 

You let yourself follow Jimin’s steps as you mumble, “Fine.”

Maybe the tequila had let your tongue slip that information. Great. Now you can’t use Taemu as a shield when Jimin asks about your lovelife.

But anyway, it’d be good, right? Meeting other people tonight? It’s been long since you dated somebody. And it would definitely be good for you if you talk to them as soon as now to forget certain things. Certain things like a certain somebody with the long, fluffy, brunette hair whose eyes speak the language of the moon and whose smile gives you the feeling of seeing ten puppies and twenty kittens all at once but at the same time makes you want to whip all your hair out because he casually does things like make your heart hammer in your chest at an abnormal pace by one, brief touch and then try to kiss you and laughs it off when you dodge it and tell him you’re sleepy. Like he doesn’t mind that you may want things to go… slow.    

But fuck. You’re supposed to avoid thinking about him. Not tonight. Not when Jimin’s apparently introducing you to somebody.

You’re not into rebounds or shit like that, and you’re not cruel to use somebody to move on from someone else – but maybe it’s only a matter of time before you dig your own grave too deep by prisoning yourself in the specific thoughts of a certain someone and you’d find it too late to move on.

So, yeah, it’d definitely be a good thing to meet and talk to other people right now.

And you’re sure whoever Jimin is having you meet with tonight is nice, anyway. 

From afar, you can see your table and the familiar figure of Namjoon’s figure facing towards your direction. You’re about to wave so he can see you and Jimin approaching but you notice another frame across his seat. Namjoon and the unknown person (who is judging from the back is definitely a man) is presumably the one Jimin is meaning to introduce you to, and your best friend mentions it right away beside you. 

“Oh, that’s him!” Jimin yelps, excitement filling his words. You look at him and before you realize it, you’re already near the table. You’re just about to ask who it is, forgetting to do so during your walk, when Namjoon suddenly gestures to you both in recognition; dimples showing even in the dim lighting as he smiles at you two. He glances back at the guy in front of him, who as a result, turns his body to look in your direction.

And what. The. Actual. Fuck.

How many times – how many fucking times are you going to see Jeon Jungkook in the most inconvenient places? 

Can you somehow make yourself disappear at the speed of light? Did Einstein ever figure that out and the US government just fabricated a lie that he implied that very act was contrary to the law of Physics so people don’t attempt it? 

Because as of now, you could have used that trick. 

Jungkook looks stricken in his seat for a solid beat until Jimin comes crashing into him, greeting the man enthusiastically.

“Jeon Jungkook, the man himself!” Jimin says, spreading open his arms, grinning widely. You can see Namjoon smiling at both of them, and you watch as Jungkook stands up from the couch to meet Jimin’s half-hug. Jimin pulls back a little. “I thought you wouldn’t make it tonight.” 

Jungkook chuckles, giving Jimin a light pat on the back. “Nah,” he says with a grin. “I wanted to make time to see you.” You try not to linger on the way his biceps subtly flex under the slim long-sleeve tee he’s wearing, its sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing a hint of the veins tracing his forearms. It draws your attention to your ensemble – a sparkly cropped halter top that leaves much of your midriff exposed, paired with a mini skirt. You’ve seen each other in towels before, sure, but somehow, being around each other like this feels different… no?

“This is __,” Jimin says, gesturing to you and looping an arm through yours to pull you closer. “You know her.” 

Your eyebrow shoots up, and you instantly look at Jimin in quiet surprise. Before you can say anything, Jungkook lets out a deep chuckle. The sound drawls your gaze back to him, and for a second, your eyes meet. 

“I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he extends a hand towards you. His voice is… quite charming when he adds, “I heard a lot about you.”

You hesitate for a moment before taking his hand, unsure if it’s just the alcohol coursing through your system or something else entirely, but the second his sizable hand engulfs yours; a warmth shoots straight to your cheeks. His grip is firm yet gentle.

You swear the handshake lingers a beat too long. 

“Good things, I hope?” you quip, managing a small smile despite the odd flutter in your chest. 

“Lots of good things.” Jungkook replies with a nod, his gaze steady. 

“Yeah?”

His eyes don’t waver, and somehow, you find yourself holding his stare longer than you intended until he arches a brow slightly, the subtle expression earning a small, involuntary tug on your lips. Jungkook doesn’t miss that and mirrors the gesture just as indiscreetly, head dipping in a barely-there nod to respond to you. 

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad, then,” You turn to look at Jimin to avoid letting the moment stretch further, unintentionally picking your voice up an octave higher – a small nervous habit because there was something that flashed on Jimin’s face witnessing both your and Jungkook’s interaction. “Anyway, I’m so glad we finally met! Jimin’s always mentioned you to me and all that stuff. Hey, Jimin, this is great! Joon, you guys know each other?” You say, desperate to divert the attention and glancing at Namjoon. 

He nods with an easy-going smile. “Yeah, we went to the same post-grad uni together in Cali.” 

Jimin perks up and slides over beside Namjoon, who immediately drapes an arm around him in a half-hug, letting him lean against his shoulder. “Jungkook’s actually the one who introduced us.” Jimin says, glancing fondly at Namjoon.

You blink in surprise. “Really?” Awkward as you may feel about the whole thing, you’re also genuinely surprised about the new information. You think you remember Jimin saying somebody introduced someone to him when he and Namjoon started, but you didn’t think it was his cousin.

“Yep,” Jimin nods, and Namjoon chuckles softly beside him.

The two of them are now comfortably seated on the couch, leaving the only open spot directly across from them. Before you can decide whether to sit or keep standing, Jungkook gestures subtly toward the available seat, his expression unreadable. You step forward hesitantly, only to realize he’s following right behind you.

Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of his proximity. Fuck. Even though he isn’t sitting that close, the scent of his cologne – clean, warm, and annoyingly alluring – wraps around you like a second presence. Why does he always have to smell good? You try not to fidget as you glance back at Jimin.

Your best friend grins as he leans on his elbows, looking between you and Jungkook. “I’ve always wanted you two to meet, you know? This is perfect! I was trying to keep it a surprise.” 

“Oh, it’s a surprise alright.” you mutter, forcing a laugh. 

“Pleasantly surprised.” Jungkook adds, his tone light, though the way his lips quirked upward makes your heart race.

Jimin laughs and there’s a tinge of evilness to it, and you know full well he did this intentionally.  Why, you don’t even know. He’s just like that for no reason. You’re gonna kill him. 

“You’re still staying at Hannam, right, Jungkook?” Jimin asks suddenly.

You freeze on the spot, and you hope no one notices.

Jungkook takes a moment before answering, his voice calm and casual. “Yes, still there. Why?” 

Wait… what?

Jimin nods. “Surprised you’re managing there. Thought you wouldn’t last a month.” 

Namjoon laughs. “Yeah, Yoongi hates that place.”

Beside you, Jungkook lets out a soft laugh. “Nah, it’s fine for now.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to let your surprise show. He’s lying – and you know you told him straight up to not tell Jimin about you two knowing each other yet, but you didn’t know he’d make good on his promise. It’s a small thing, but it makes your chest tighten in ways you’re not ready to unpack.

Surprisingly, the conversation starts to flow easily among the four of you. Jungkook asks Namjoon about his work in Italy, and at first, you find it hard to engage in it casually because you can’t shrug off the fact that you’re in such a casual setting with your co-worker– and not just a regular co-worker at that, but an executive at your company; but the relaxed atmosphere starts to chip away at your tension. Jimin cracks a joke, breaking any unease, and soon you’re laughing along, listening as he shares his own experiences in Italy as well. Jungkook jumps in with his own joke you can’t even recall now, and the sound of his laugh is infectious enough to make you smile.

Switching between fruit punch and water helps ease the lingering buzz of tequila in your system, though it doesn’t fully clear your head.

“Fuck,” Jimin suddenly hisses, grabbing everyone’s reaction. “Need to go to the bathroom.”

The words feel like confetti in your ears; the sun is up again, and the gates of heaven open upon you.

“I’ll come with you!” You blurt out, sounding overly enthusiastic. You feel the stares of Jungkook and Namjoon but you choose to ignore them, focusing on Jimin instead. 

Your best friend sends you a suspicious look, but after a pointed stare and a forced smile on your end, he relents. “Alright.” 

When you stand up, you make a misstep and you stumble a little on your feet. 

Concerned sounds erupt from both Namjoon and Jimin, but before they can do anything, an arm shoots up around your waist, with another one wrapping around your wrist to steady you. 

It’s Jungkook. The warmth that suddenly surrounds your skin is Jungkook – seated by the edge of the same couch you’re on, he managed to quickly catch you mid-fall.

“Here.” He murmurs, almost a whisper, helping you stand up straight. 

You blink, stunned at the warmth that envelopes you at that moment.

“T-thanks.” you stammer when he lets go, the sudden absence of his touch leaving your skin colder than you expected. You shake off the feeling, glancing at Namjoon and Jimin to gauge their reactions, but they just look like usual when they see you’re okay. 

“It’s fine,” Jungkook smiles gently, sipping from his drink. A non-alcoholic beer, you suppose. He gestures to the cleared space in front of him, and you awkwardly stand up, taking a few steps while trying not to graze him. He’s polite enough to avert his gaze, sparing you further embarrassment when you quite literally have the front of your body going all up on his face while you maneuver past the table. 

“Careful next time!” Jimin teases lightheartedly, interlocking his arms around you when you get near him. “We’ll be right back.” he adds, glancing at the guys as you both walk away.

Once you’re out of earshot, you pull Jimin at a corner and grab his arm tightly.  “Oh my god, Jimin,” You start, looking around one more time. “That was my freaking boss!” 

As if not understanding the weight of the situation, Jimin rolls his eyes. “He’s not your boss, he’s just some guy.” 

“Some guy who happens to be an executive at the company I work in? This is the most awkward night of my life!” 

“Babe, I know that. But just try not to think so much about it. It’s just Jungkook – we’re all out here as friends. You and he didn’t meet here as coworkers or whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

“To you , but to me this is just… not…” you trail off, fishing for the right word. “.... appropriate.” 

A groan escapes Jimin’s mouth at that, and you know your wording was a bit exaggerated but you can’t help it. This whole thing is insane. You can’t believe you’re meeting and you’re hanging out with Jungkook in the presence of his cousin who also happens to be your best friend. 

“Okay, you know what? Try to think about it like this: that guy right there–” he points to the general direction of your table, then looks at you seriously in the eyes. “That’s not your interim CTO. That’s just a guy I grew up with very closely who I used to order around when he was a baby.” 

“Jimin.” you roll your eyes at him.

He insists. “No, really, that’s true! Just think of him as some sort of friend, please? I’ve been really wanting for you guys to meet and anyway, it seems like you like him and he likes you! Why worry about anything?” He takes your wrists and gives you the best puppy eyes ever he always sports when he wants something, and this time you let out a defeated sigh.

Thinking of Jungkook as Jimin’s younger cousin does help put things into perspective– it’s a bit of mental gymnastics, sure, but it works. Suddenly, the idea of meeting him in a nightclub doesn’t seem so strange. And you really do appreciate Jimin’s excitement about your meeting. After all, as he put it, having his Favorite Person On Earth (which, according to a very reliable source: you) and his Favorite Cousin meet is a big deal for him.  

“Okay, fine. But just know if this happens to you – like imagine meeting up with Ms. Lim at a nightclub – I’ll be laughing at your damn face.” 

Jimin snickers a laugh, and you both continue your way to the restroom. 

“But you know what I think?” he suddenly says, breaking the silence.

You raise a brow at him in curiosity. “What?”

He grins mischievously. “What you said earlier – it’s inappropriate but hear me out. Jungkook is exactly your type.”

“Excuse me, what? ”

“No, okay, listen!” He raises his palms as if to plead his case and begins listing every trait that apparently aligns Jungkook with your type. “He’s a tech guy. He would usually wear glasses – and don’t even try to deny again that you don’t have a thing for it, girl – and he’s objectively attractive, as far as straight men go.” 

With every word, your jaw drops a little more.

“What are you even talking about?” You ask, utterly dumbfounded.

Jimin squints at you, feigning suspicion. “He has my genes, __, you don’t think he’s attractive?” 

“First off,” you start, rolling your eyes, “that would mean I find you attractive, which is gross and absolutely not true. You’re like my brother,” Jimin only laughs, clearly entertained, so you double down. “Second I don’t exclusively date tech guys, okay? Jesus Christ. And I definitely don’t have a thing for men in eyeglasses. What is wrong with you.” 

Jimin just stands there, squinting his eyes more at you with that infuriatingly inquisitive expression. You do your best to hold a neutral face under his scrutiny.

“You got that pondering look,” Jimin concludes with a victorious smirk. “You’re totally thinking about it!”  

You gasp, scandalized. “You’re unbelievable, Jimin. That’s your cousin and my boss!–”

He bursts out into laughter. “I’d say something about how defensive you’re getting, but I’m too drunk and really need to pee.”

You swat at his arm, following his steps anyway. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know that?” 

Your best friend throws you a teasing glance. “For the record, Jungkook’s only thirty. Not that old, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh my god, for the last time, I am not thinking about your cousin!” You swear you’re gonna kill him, and then yourself. 

“Boohoo. What, you can’t date your friend’s relatives?” Jimin muses with a teasing tone.

“Yes, Jimin, it’s called boundaries,” you snap. Jimin still wouldn’t drop the malicious gaze, making you groan. Just how far is the restroom here? “Seriously, that’s completely unethical. I would never date any relative of yours, let alone if they’re my boss.”

Jimin starts cackling, clearly enjoying how worked up you are. “ Unethical ? Come on, you’re gonna get punished for premarital sex, anyway. Might as well date your boss while you’re at it.”

You hate that he’s so damn funny, even when he’s being a complete pain. Despite yourself, you can’t help but laugh at his ridiculous retort.

“Fuck off. I hope your bladder explodes.” you mutter.

Jimin’s laughter echoes around you, but finally, the restroom comes into view.

“Relax,” he says between chuckles. “I’m only joking. Jungkook h—”

Before he can finish, someone barrels into you – quite hard that you almost fall on your feet.

Instinctively, you let out a hurried, “Oh! I’m so sorry—” 

“Watch where you’re fucking going, bitch.”

The words take a second to register. Your shoulder throbs where they collided with you, but before you can react, Jimin steps forward.

“Excuse me?” your best friend snaps, his tone sharp.

The stranger doesn’t miss a beat, sneering as he looks you up and down. His gaze lingers far too long on your chest, making your stomach churn. 

“I said what I said.” he replies, completely unapologetic.

“Hey, that’s not cool, man. Just apologize to her, you hit her pretty hard.” Jimin says, positioning himself slightly in front of you as though to shield you from the man.

“What are you, her boyfriend?” The man scoffs. “The little princess slut needs her knight and shining armor—” 

Your patience snaps. “What the hell did you just call me?” You demand, stepping around Jimin.

The man smirks and takes a step closer. “What are you gonna do about it, slut?”

Jimin grabs your arm, trying to hold you back.

“Back off, man. I’m calling security.”

The tension in the air crackles, and you can feel the adrenaline surging in your veins. “Let go, Jimin,” you mutter, pulling free from his grip. You take a step forward, looking the man dead in the eye. “You think I’m scared? You get all up in our personal space calling me names and you think we’ll run for our lives after, huh?”

You watch as the smugness gets wiped out of his face instantly. He doesn’t form a response right away, just gawks at you as if he can’t believe you’re facing him off. Your brows shoots up at him.

This is the problem with assholes. They think they can intimidate you, especially men, but when confronted, they go back to their shells looking dumb as fuck. 

“You slut. Do you know who I am?” The man raises his hand, shoving your shoulder hard enough to make you stagger.

At this point, you’re fuming. What the fuck is this guy’s problem? 

Before you can retaliate, Jimin lunges forward, pushing the man back, just as he forceful as he did to you. “Don’t fucking touch her!” Jimin yells, his voice rising above the growing murmur of the crowd. “This is straight-up harassment and you can fuck off when the security kicks you out of here. Fuckin’ pussy.” With that, Jimin tugs your arm, already turning on his heel to go to the opposite reaction, ready to leave. But all of a sudden, the other guy goes for a punch, and it lands right on Jimin’s cheek. 

You gasp audibly.

Onlookers get more intrigued, and you don’t have it in you to think straight when your brain decides to go in between two men fighting. In the hopes of getting Jimin out of the way, you step in only to get elbowed on the jaw by the stranger when your best friend swings at the guy back; your reflexes not fast enough to avoid it

You can’t focus on the pain when panic arises upon the growing scene before you.  

“Jimin, stop!” You exclaim, trying to grab the back of his shirt. But the stranger only retaliates, and the whole thing is starting to blow out of proportion. 

“Hey! What is going on here?” 

You whip around to see Namjoon striding toward the commotion, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. Relief floods through you as he reaches you just in time to pull Jimin away. Two security guards arrive on the scene, stepping between Jimin and the man to break up the fight.

“What is your problem, man?” Namjoon scowls at the guy, wrapping his arm around Jimin. You hurry to them and help him assist your best friend, holding his shoulder.  

“Ask him and that fucking girlfriend of his. It’s that bitch’s fault! Do you even fucking know who I am?” 

Your eyes widen at the accusation. 

You gape at him, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? You ran into me, started cussing me out, shoved me two times and punched my frie—” 

“Enough!” one of the security guards cuts in, his tone firm. He turns to the man. “Mr. Yang, please step aside so we can sort this out.”

Jungkook appears just then, his gaze scanning the scene with confusion. “What the hell happened here?”

“Jungkook.” you sigh at the sight of him, getting a second rush of relief upon seeing both him and Namjoon here.

Jungkook steps closer to you, looks at your state, and instinctively hovers an arm around your waist, concern growing on his face. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, glancing at Jimin. “But he’s not.”

“Jimin got into a fight,” Namjoon explains, his voice tight. “I’m taking him to the hospital. Can you handle this?”

Jimin groans in Namjoon’s arms. “Oh my god, Joon, I’m literally fine—” Jimin rolls his eyes when his boyfriend only looks at him with a deepened frown. 

Namjoon looks at Jungkook again. “Can you take care of this for me, Kook? I’ll drive both of us to a hospital nearby. __, I’ll take Jimin there first before driving you home. Is that okay?” 

Although not unusual, your eyes widen at the offer. You quickly shake your head to decline. 

“Oh, no. It’s fine. I’ll grab a taxi or something… just please take Jimin to the hospital first.” 

“Don’t be silly, it’s dangerous–” Before Jimin could say the words, Jungkook speaks.

“I’ll take her,” All three of you look at him and he doesn’t even faze. “I took my car and I didn’t drink tonight so I’m okay to drive. __, just tell me your address.” 

Your head shakes vehemently. You’ve already been a big nuisance thanks to that asshole back there who’s talking with security.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. I really don’t want to bother–” 

“It’s not safe for you to be alone right now, __,” he says with a frown, and he sounds so sincere that it makes you bite your lip to prevent saying any protest again. He does have a point. “Joon, you can go. We’ll talk it out with security in the meantime.” 

“Alright, thanks, man.” Namjoon pats his shoulder. “Take care of her, okay? She drank a lot.” He informs Jungkook who just nods. And then off they go after Namjoon talked for a while with the other security.

You want to face-palm yourself. 

Soon, a man in uniform approaches you and Jungkook. As if in reflex, Jungkook steps closer to you. 

“Mr. Yang said you said some – what he called, “abusive language” – to him, Miss. Is that true?” 

Your eyebrows crease in confusion as you look at “Mr. Yang” in disbelief. 

“No, I didn’t. He was the one who started calling me names and swung at my friend first.” You defend, upset.

The security just looks over at you impassively with an almost monotonous voice, as if talking to you is a nuisance and taking too much of his time. “He said your friend threw the first punch. Mr. Yang is a valued customer—” 

“I’m sorry, but aren’t I and my friend customers too? We–”

“There’s no going around it, miss. Your friend started a fight and you initiated a commotion which is prohibited in this place, especially in the VIP area. Mr. Yang is currently talking to his lawyers to press charges against you and your friend.” 

Press what now?

“Press charges?” Jungkook can’t help but butt in. He changes his stance beside you and you see exactly how the security backs off a little, the boredom on his face while talking to you seconds ago slipping when Jungkook continues to say, “Did you hear what she said? Mr. Yang started the fight with verbal intimidation and made it physical. The other guy, her friend, just retaliated. How are you purposefully glossing over that detail?”

“Sir, Mr. Yang just told the story–” 

“You mean his side of the story. Aren’t you supposed to ensure everyone’s safety here? Or does being a valued customer excuse harassment and violence?”

The security completely falters under Jungkook’s stare and words.

And you grow livid. 

“Excuse me, sir,” You start, stepping out to get closer to him. You keep your voice leveled when you speak further, “I’m gonna tell you this more time. He, Mr. Yan or whatever his name is, started the whole thing. He bumped into me hard and I have the shoulder pain to prove you that. I said sorry, even though he should’ve said it too, but then he didn’t and started to cuss me out instead and called me names . My friend stepped in because he was trying to intimidate me physically and verbally. He threw the first punch, and my friend just retaliated,” you said with conviction, not shaking even once. When the security opens his mouth to say something, you beat him to it. “And tell your valued customer that if he wants to press charges, I’ll be speaking to my lawyer, too. And I’ll be filing a complaint against this establishment for failing to handle the situation appropriately.”

You don’t look back as you turn on your heel and head straight to your table. Jungkook’s footsteps follow closely behind, and you hear him call your name, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you grab your purse and head toward the stairs leading to the ground floor, your mind set on leaving.

It’s been a long time since you felt so blatantly underestimated by a man. It happens at work occasionally, but having a woman supervisor helps that situation a bit. Still, though, you can’t help but be bitter whenever it happens. No matter how vocal you are, no matter how often you advocate for yourself, there’s a grim inevitability to it. They’ll still see you as less, as though your words carry less weight, your stance holds less power.

The thought burns at you, frustration rising like a heat wave under your skin, and there’s a dull sense of helplessness that settles heavily in your chest.

“__, hey. Stop walking so fast.” You hear Jungkook say behind you but despite his words, he still manages to catch up. 

“You can go, Jungkook. I’m calling a taxi.” You say, voice leveled. You know it’s irrational but you can’t get out of your head the image of the security backing off when Jungkook began speaking to him. As if his opinion matters more than yours. The anger is misplaced, you know, but you just need a little bit of space. 

“I told Jimin I’ll take you home, so I’ll take you home.” Jungkook insists and his voice is firm as well, but there’s softness around the edges. You feel it in the way he gently takes ahold of your wrist to halt you from walking. At this point, you’re already outside the establishment. 

“I don’t want your help.” 

He physically recoils, and you feel instantly bad just right after you say it.

Okay, maybe that was too much of an overreaction. 

Still, though, while Jungkook lets go of your hand, he doesn’t relent. 

“I’m not trying to be insistent for no reason, __. I want to take you home because you’re drunk and I don’t know if you’re safe especially when a guy just harassed you back there.” 

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you turn your gaze away, feeling the telltale tremble in your body that comes right before tears. Your eyes sting faintly at the corners, but you force a sharp, steady breath into your lungs. As much as it stings to admit it, Jungkook has a point.

You’re surprised you’ve managed this far with your mind clouded by too much tequila. And while you keep telling yourself you’re not afraid of that jerk back there, the thought of walking out alone at this hour leaves a knot of unease in your chest.

Turning on your heel, you avoid Jungkook’s eyes when you look at his general direction and say, “Okay.” 

“Okay,” he repeats, gauging your face. “My car is right there.” He says, pointing toward the opposite direction. 

The walk to the parking lot is quiet and tense, so to speak. You avoid walking beside Jungkook and he may have understood that you want space in the meantime, as he lets himself walk ahead of you, only looking back occasionally to check if you’re still following. 

When you get inside the car, Jungkook begins the engine as soon as you both settle yourselves in your seats.

“I’m sorry.” He suddenly says in the middle of the road. 

You look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “For what?” 

“I’m just sorry.” 

You let out a sigh.

He’s just trying to be there for you, for some reason. He doesn’t need to, but somehow he does.

You look away, fixing your gaze at the scene on the window pane. “I’m just��� I just feel angry. That asshole was calling me all sorts of uninspired, misogynistic names and even pushed me twice. And then the security came to me with that bored expression and impassive tone telling me all about that guy pressing charges, not even bothering to hear me out, completely negating me, then you stepped in and suddenly he’s scared? Apparently, your words matter more than mine, and all because I don’t have a fucking penis. How fucking stupid,” You say in one breathing frustration reeking. You take a sharp breath again and massage your temple. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean– it’s not your fault, Jungkook. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m… being mean and taking everything out on you. I just… the whole thing was just really fucked up and men irritate me.” 

Jungkook glances at you and back at the road again. “I… understand. I’m still sorry for stepping in. I didn’t mean for it to look like I was… doing things for you. I was just really surprised when he said the guy is pressing charges.” 

You throw your head back on the seat. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t… think you were trying to be a hero or anything. It’s just really annoying when men only listen to men. It’s fucked up.” 

He hums. “Do you wanna press charges? You can also file a lawsuit. You could.”

“A lawsuit? We’re gonna end up in civil court and I’m most probably going to lose. When I said earlier I’m talking to my lawyers, that means all the law students I barely know of in my department,” you think that was funny, but Jungkook just looks at you for awhile with furrowed brows.

Okay, well, no that was not really funny. It was quite depressing.

“If you want, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way– I can help you with it. Get you a lawyer or something. He also assaulted Jimin, so you definitely have a case.” Jungkook says as if he’s offering you some street food along a store you passed by randomly. You notice the caution in his voice though, the way he worded his suggestion, completely putting it out as if it’s up to your choice. 

You appreciate that. You don’t like it when people step in for you, fight your battles for you . You have a backbone of your own and you can defend yourself in most circumstances – and you believe Jungkook’s pure intentions of just… offering some kind of… genuine help. Because he’s your friend and you would do this to a friend as well.

It’s not charity, you tell yourself.   

“Thanks… I’ll tell you when… I want it.” You offer him a small smile. 

“You sure?” You nod your head. Jungkook doesn’t look like he’s entirely convinced, but he drops the subject anyway. “Alright.” 

The car ride was as quiet as it could be, and the stillness of dawn makes you think about the turn of events earlier. It wasn’t ideal, the way everything turned out. You don’t feel any ounce of remorse about what you said to that asshole because he deserved it for being a dick unprovoked, but too much alcohol clouded your judgment and you and Jimin could’ve acted… entirely differently in the situation.

As you rest your head on the window again, you feel a pang of regret. 

It’s always so… hard to deal with the consequences of your actions. There’s a part of you who wishes you didn’t throw more wood into the flame leading to the fight. Some part is guilty of bringing Jimin into a physical fight. Then, there’s embarrassment. 

You’re not a violent person and you try to stray away from violence overall if you can help it. While Jimin has always been protective over you especially when you go out at night for obvious reasons, you rarely get into physical fights. It didn’t help that Namjoon was there, too. As well as Jungkook. The two knew you both drank a lot, especially you. Jungkook was there beside you when you were flatly getting negated by the security, getting threatened by pressed charges for being unruly. 

It was embarrassing. And even more so when you snapped at him moments ago, despite him doing nothing wrong.

You feel like absolute shit. 

“Sorry you had to deal with… all of that.” You murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Jungkook’s voice, laced with genuine confusion, cuts through your thoughts. “What?”

“For everything, I guess,” you continue, forcing a smile that feels off. “Bet you didn’t expect to drive a drunk woman home after she and her best friend got into a fight.” It sounds like a joke, but it’s a hollow one. Every moment with him tonight feels like you’ve just embarrassed yourself over and over.

You hadn’t realized how close you were to your complex until Jungkook suddenly stopped in the familiar parking lot. You’re about to unbuckle your seatbelt, but your head’s a little dizzy, and you fumble with it a little. Just as you start to move again, Jungkook speaks.

“I don’t mind doing anything for you, __. I hope you know that by now.”

The words stop you mid-motion, and you glance up at him, regretting it immediately. His gaze is intense, and no matter how much you will yourself to look away, you can’t. He lowers his eyes to your hands before leaning in slightly, unbuckling your seatbelt from your waist down with ease. His scent fills the air, making your breath catch in the briefest of moments. “Wait for me.”

You’re a little confused but stay still as Jungkook gets out of the car and walks around. When he opens the passenger door, he offers you his hand. “Can you walk just fine?

You don’t know how you manage to form an answer somehow. “I– yeah. Sure,” you stand up from your seat and get out of his car, but despite your words, you feel the gentle pressure of Jungkook’s hand on your lower back, guiding you. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you mumble a soft, “Thanks.” 

He hums in response. 

The walk to your apartment isn’t long, but it felt like it dragged on forever with Jungkook so close by your side. The chilly air didn’t help either when you’re not exactly dressed for it. When a gust of strong wind blew, you felt yourself shiver, and Jungkook must have noticed because, without a second thought, his arm moved closer, closing the hairsbreadth gap of his skin and yours, now wrapping around your waist to shield you from the cold. 

You didn’t expect it, and neither did he. 

He makes a move to pull away, about to put distance between you, but when you glance at him, maybe with a hint of alarm or desperation, he seems to understand. Jungkook keeps his arm around you as you both continue walking.

Did your face scream “Please don’t take your hands off me” ? Because even now, as you’ve arrived at your apartment, taking the steps towards your apartment units, he still doesn’t let go.

Even when you reach your porch, his arm is still there, holding you close.

“We’re here,” you say to break the silence. You look up at him, and you spent the entirety of the last five minutes or so trying to avoid looking in his direction that you just now discovered he’s been sporting an easy-going look on his face, as if the whole thing is as… natural as it gets. “T-thanks for driving me home, Jungkook.”

He nods, “You’re welcome.” 

You take a step back, and just as the distance grows between you, you feel a strange hesitation, as though part of you doesn’t want the moment to end. Jungkook’s hand lingers for a second longer on your back, like he doesn’t want to let go either.

You give him a small, reluctant smile, and he returns it just as gently, looking so serene with his casual fit and his soft hair, hands now buried in the pockets of his jeans. His presence feels magnetic like neither of you is ready to say goodbye yet.

“Good night,” you say, giving a timid wave.

“Sweet dreams, __.” He smiles, and the sound of his chuckle makes your heart flutter. It’s so light, so easy – like everything feels right in this moment. Like everything that happened earlier was merely not part of reality. He makes you feel so… safe and warm. 

God, have you seriously deluded yourself into thinking you didn’t like this man in a very non-platonic way? 

You turn, about to reach for your keys, but then you hear his voice again, calling your name. You almost spin around too quickly, feeling a bit embarrassed by the sudden motion.

It’s like you were completely expecting him to just call you.

Your eyes meet his in a gentle stare, his voice soft and warm like honey when he asks, “Can I come inside?”

Jungkook asks, letting the words slip out before he can second-guess them. He’s been bothered since the car ride – by the way your jaw flexed, the way your fingers kept pressing into your shoulder like it ached. You never said anything, of course. You wouldn’t. 

Of course you wouldn’t. Jungkook knows by now that you don’t particularly like it when you’re being… doted on.

But still. It’s late – around 3 a.m. and creeping into morning – and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep knowing you’re the least bit comfortable.

He just wants to know if you’re okay.

You open your mouth to speak, but then suddenly, a clink echoes in the quiet of the dawn over the complex.

“Wha– aw!” You wince as your keys slip through your fingers, landing directly on your foot with a dull thud.

“Hey,” Jungkook automatically sinks down on one knee to pick up the keys, arm shooting right up around your waist to keep you grounded when he saw you were about to trip. His brows knit together as he looks up at you, wincing in discomfort. “You okay?” 

You lift your foot slightly, balancing yourself against his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine— just buzzed. Sorry,” you mumble, but the words slur together. Jungkook had noticed you’d been drinking way before he arrived at the club, but now he realizes just how hard you’d been fighting off the dizziness. “I need to get out of these shoes.”

Jungkook stands back up on his feet, handing you the keys. He stays close, keeping his arm around you, hovering just enough to catch you if you fall out of balance again. 

He watches as you try to unlock the door, but your fingers fumble over the keys, switching between them absentmindedly. With each failed attempt, your frustration grows, your huffs becoming more pronounced. Jungkook waits patiently, standing beside you, until he hears it—

A sob. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles. “I–I can’t find my keys,” you try to get the words out in between your silent cry, and Jungkook is so surprised to see the tears dropping down your cheeks that he doesn’t fully process the whole thing together. “And— and my jaw and my shoulder and my toes hurt. And I’m drunk. I don’t know. I’m really—” you’re interrupted by another snob, so you quickly wipe away at your eyes, turning away from Jungkook. “I’m really drunk.” 

Jungkook gently calls your name, and he doesn’t know what comes over him. It almost felt like reflex when he reached for your face, cupping your cheeks; your tears wetting the palm of his hands. Jungkook catches them with his thumbs before more of them even fall, your skin warm beneath his touch. When you look up at him, your glassy eyes reflect the soft glow of the streetlights, and you look so heartbreakingly sad that Jungkook feels an almost physical pain to his gut. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you inside, yeah? I’ll take care of the rest. Do you want me to do it for you?” He doesn’t expect it, but you nod your head, quietly sniffing when Jungkook continues to wipe your tears with his thumbs, soothing you in the best possible way he knows he can. 

You hand him the keys, and his fingers linger against your cheek just a second longer before he turns to the door, finding the right key with ease. He doesn’t say anything about your tears, doesn’t press you to explain. You wouldn’t want to tell him things right now, not when you’re obviously feeling quite… vulnerable. He doesn’t know if it’s just all your mixed up feelings dwindling down into sadness – because you did go through a lot tonight. 

Jungkook has never seen you cry before, but when he saw the tears falling from your eyes, it left a dull ache that settled deep within his chest. You’re always so full of life, so quick to smile, to joke, to fill the space around you with something bright and wonderful. Seeing you like this, shaken and unguarded, stirs something deep in him. Something instinctive.

So he knows by now you don’t like getting taken care of, in a way, but Jungkook lets himself act on the want  and need to do it, anyway. Even if you pull back away from him again the next day. At least he gets to be sure you’re okay. 

He unlocks the door and looks back at you.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” Your voice is steadier now, in Jungkook’s relief, but your tear-streaked cheeks still twist something inside him.

“It’s fine,” Jungkook says softly and keeps a careful arm around your waist when you push open the door, seeing that you’re still walking a little wobbly. He watches you closely, especially your shoulders and face. “Your body still hurts?”

You give him a small, tired smile. “Uhm, I think it’ll go away soon. But I need to ice my jaw.”

When you cross over the threshold, you pause, hesitating.

Jungkook was just about to ask you if you really want to let him in because you didn’t explicitly say he could – but when you turn back to look at him, your eyes are clouded with worry. “Please don’t judge me if my place is messy and if I pass out because again, I’m really drunk. It’s not super obvious right now but I already cried in front of you for no particular reason and I’m embarrassed about that so if you want to, you can totally just leave and I won’t bother you ever again. I’m sorry that you had to do all this. This all seems like a huge bother and I’m taking so much of your time—”

Jungkook blinks.

“__.” 

The way you jumped from one thing to another, the way your eyes darted everywhere but his – it’s a dead giveaway. Drunk you is a whole rollercoaster, and Jungkook doesn’t even try to fight the small, exasperated smile tugging at his lips.

God, he just… he just wants to hold you through it all.

“It’s okay,” his voice is warm. “Don’t be sorry, hm?” 

You bite your lip and it takes you a while to respond before you say, “... Okay.” 

The living room welcomes you both and Jungkook takes a quick look, smiling at the sight.

“You have a nice place.” 

“I know,” your voice is thick with the remnants of the night, your steps slightly uneven as you move towards the couch. “It was even nicer before, but they had to repair it a week ago because of the…” you trail off, distracted, your fingers fumbling with the strap of your heel as you settle down.  

Jungkook nods understandingly, quietly watching. He sees you maneuvering your legs to better see your shoes, and the action makes your skirt ride up, catching his attention for a split second. He decides to redirect his focus. 

“You have ice?”

“Freezer,” You murmur, lips pressed into a thin line and brows furrowed in frustration. You let out a small hiss when the strap doesn’t successfully come off your ankle. Jungkook can tell you’re distracted, even when you add, “Oh, you don’t have to ice me, by the way, I can just—” 

Before you can finish, Jungkook walks over to your direction. In one swift motion, he kneels before you, his hands effortlessly replacing yours. His fingers are warm as they brush against your ankle, and he feels your breath hitching when he unfastens the strap and slides your heels off.

“What did I say, __?” He keeps his voice quiet and firm, “I don’t mind doing things for you.” He gently sets both your feet down then places your shoes next to it neatly. “I know you don’t need my help. But just this one night, okay? Can you let me do that for you?”

The weight of his sincerity presses against your chest, rendering you momentarily speechless. His eyes hold something deep, something unspoken, something that makes warmth bloom low in your stomach.

You blink at him. 

“Oh. Uh… okay.” you breathe, looking up at him slowly as he rises to his feet. “Sorry.”

It sounds sheepish and Jungkook feels the sudden urge to… he doesn’t even know now. He’s never been in the position of feeling so many different things all at once. He felt a little piece of his heart get shattered when he saw you cry earlier but now it’s warm again at the sight of you so… soft. And kind of small. 

Jungkook exhales softly, the corner of his lips quirking as his palm finds your cheek. It was maybe some sort of self-indulgence when he leans down and strokes your skin, thumb tracing delicate circles. He watches as your lashes flutter under his touch. “No saying sorry. Let me take care of you.”

He lets go of you, a slight feeling of disappointment washing through him when he had to break away from the physical contact, but your body hurts and he wants to help soothe it a little bit. 

Moving toward the kitchen, he doesn’t take too long going through your freezer and returns back shortly with an ice bag and a glass of water in hand. He offers the latter first, waiting patiently as you drink before settling beside you on the couch.

“Where does it hurt?” Jungkook asks. You move a little to the side to give him room, and he doesn’t really think too much about it when he drapes his free arm around the backrest of the couch, unconsciously crowding you in.

“H-here.” You tilt your face slightly, pointing to the right side of your jaw. Jungkook hums in acknowledgment before pressing the ice against your skin with meticulous care. You flinch at the initial cold, and he murmurs a soft apology, adjusting his touch until the chill soothes rather than shocks.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

The silence between you lingers, but it isn’t awkward – it’s something softer, something unspoken that settles comfortably between you both. And it gives Jungkook the perfect excuse to take you in wholly.

From this proximity, every delicate feature of yours demands his attention. The way your long lashes flutter under the glow of the fluorescent light, casting faint shadows against your flushed cheeks. He notices the subtle scatter of glitter on your skin, remnants of your makeup catching the light just right, making you look like you’re glowing – no, like you’re shining. Ethereal.

Then, his gaze traces the gentle slope of your nose, following its path down to the perfect dip of your cupid’s bow – sharp, delicate, almost frustratingly beautiful. And then, of course, there’s your mouth. Jungkook has always been drawn to it. The soft, glossy curve of your lips, the way they pout ever so slightly even when you aren’t speaking. They look inviting, almost begging to be kissed, and for a brief, reckless second, he wonders what it would be like to be the one to answer that silent call.

God, you’re so pretty. It almost hurts.

Jungkook swallows hard. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. Not now.

“Jimin tells me I’m either an annoying or quiet drunk,” you suddenly say, snapping Jungkook out of his trance. “I think I’m being a little bit of both tonight.” 

He finds himself chuckling at your words. “I’m alright with both.” 

You let out a quiet huff, and he readjusts the ice, noticing the slight tension in your shoulders.

“Your shoulder still hurts?” Jungkook asks, his fingers hovering just above your bare skin.

You nod, and when he gestures to the ice bag, you take it without hesitation, pressing it back to your jaw. There's a quiet curiosity in your eyes as you glance at him, but you don’t say anything. Jungkook shifts beside you, sitting more upright.

“Lean in for me,” you scoot closer. Jungkook guides you against him, settling you between his arms. You’re unusually quiet, pliant in a way that makes something stir in his chest. “This okay?” he murmurs into your hair, trying – failing – not to focus on the warmth of you against him, or the way your scent lingers in the air between you.

You hum in response, a soft, content sound.

Jungkook smiles against your head.

”Let me know if this hurts or not, alright?” You nod against him, and Jungkook lets his fingers trace over the curve of your shoulder, searching for the tension. The neckline of your top makes it easy for his hand to settle against your skin. “Here?” he murmurs, pressing gently.

The soft gasp you let out catches him off guard. It’s barely a sound, but he feels it – feels the way your body reacts beneath his touch. His breath hitches for just a second before he swallows, grounding himself.

“There,” You sigh softly. Jungkook watches as you close your eyes, indulging in the feeling of him hitting the right spot. 

He watches, almost entranced, as your face softens with relief.

Massaging sore muscles is nothing new to him – he’s done it for himself countless times after boxing, approaching it with the same methodical precision every time. But this? This feels different. The quiet sounds you make, the way you lean into his touch, like it’s the most natural thing in the world – he has a feeling they’ll linger in his mind far longer than they should.

He steadies his voice. “No swelling or bruising, so that’s good,” he murmurs, fingers working over your shoulder, relieved to find that himself.

You may not have wanted his help tonight, but Jungkook can’t shake the thought that the stranger at the bar deserves consequences. Maybe he should talk to Jimin about it.

He files the thought away – until your voice pulls him back.

“Where’d you learn this?” you ask, your tone lighter now. “It feels good. And I think you’re actually making me feel better.”

Then you grin at him – soft, a little dazed – and Jungkook just melts.

How you always get him to feel twenty emotions at once. 

“I box sometimes. My trainer taught me this.” Jungkook tells you, something he realized he hasn’t shared with you yet. Which he loves doing. 

“Oh. You box?” You inquire, craning your neck to look at him with curious eyes. 

Jungkook smiles down at you and nods. “Sometimes. It’s just a little hobby I picked up a while ago.” 

“Ohhh. That’s really cool.” Then you yawn, shifting even closer. “I envy people like you. I ran a 5k once and couldn’t move for two days.”

“I like moving,” Jungkook responds truthfully. Absent-mindedly, he also lets himself fall back on the couch until you’re both very lax against the sofa. “I sit a lot with my job. So I feel the need to balance it out.”

“I guess that makes—” It’s drowned with another yawn. Jungkook looks down at you as you curl up against him. “Sorry.” You smile at him, prompting Jungkook to chuckle before taking the ice bag from your hand. His hand travels from your shoulder to your waist as he stretches his other hand out to place the bag on the coffee table across from you.

“You’re sleepy.” 

“I’m so drunk.” 

“You’re a sleepy drunk,” Jungkook grins when you don’t argue. “Your shoulder okay now?” 

You jut your bottom lip out. “I think you need to massage it a little bit more…” 

Jungkook takes note of the playful tone lacing your words, finding himself chuckling at the thought of you just liking the massage. He doesn’t really mind.

“Alright. But don’t sleep on me just yet.” Jungkook says, resuming his rubbing on your shoulder joint. He knows that soon, you have to change out of your clothes, remove your make-up, whatever women do before going to bed. 

“I know…” you trail off.

As minutes pass, Jungkook forgets all about the massage, his hands alternating between gentle caresses and light squeezes over your shoulder. His touch grows slower, more absentminded, and at some point, he realizes the weight against his chest has shifted— you’ve fallen asleep on him.

He stills for a moment, absorbing the warmth of you pressed against him. It’s… nice. More than nice. A quiet contentment settles over him as he carefully brushes his fingers through your hair. When a few strands fall across your face, he instinctively tucks them away, only for you to stir slightly at the movement. Jungkook freezes, but instead of waking, you burrow deeper into him, your face pressing against his chest, your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt.

A small smile tugs at his lips. He takes a moment just to look at you – your peaceful expression, the way your lips part slightly in sleep, the soft rise and fall of your breathing. You’re not new to falling asleep on him; it happened just last week at his place. And just like then, he thinks you look impossibly adorable. Mostly pretty. Even prettier now. He isn’t sure how that’s possible, but somehow, you make it look effortless.

Jungkook exhales, shaking his head lightly. You have no idea, do you?

He lingers a second longer before deciding he should move you somewhere more comfortable. He doubts you’d want to wake up on the couch, still in your clothes from the club, make-up untouched. You didn’t exactly give him permission to enter your bedroom, but he figures you’d prefer that over being left out here without a blanket.

Carefully, he lifts you into his arms, cradling you effortlessly as he navigates your apartment. The layout is similar to his, but everything feels distinctly you – cozy, warm, lived-in. He nudges your bedroom door open with his foot, relieved to find it unlocked, and gently lays you down on the soft mattress. He debates for a second whether he should help you change into something more comfortable but quickly dismisses the thought. Boundaries.

Instead, he simply pulls the green comforter over you, tucking you in with quiet care. He’s just about to step back when you shift slightly, a small murmur escaping your lips.

“Kook?”

Your voice is faint, laced with sleep, and Jungkook immediately moves closer, sitting at the edge of your bed. He doesn’t expect it when your hand reaches out, fingers grazing his cheek before resting there, your touch warm and featherlight.

“Are you real?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, dazed and dreamy.

Jungkook’s heart stumbles. He swallows, then gently takes your hand in his, pressing it against his skin. “I am.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Good.” Then, in a move that completely disarms him, you squeeze his jaw slightly, fingertips lingering in something almost like admiration. Your gaze, still hazy with sleep, flickers over his features before you breathe, awed, “You’re so pretty… how?”

Jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head at your sleepy honesty. Because this isn’t the first time. You’d said the same thing that night at his place, too.

Does that mean you really think so? Or is it just a drunken habit of yours?

But none of that really matters when he finds himself murmuring, with quiet certainty, “You don’t know how it feels looking at you, __.”

There’s no response, and when Jungkook glances down, he realizes you’ve already drifted back into sleep. He stays there just a moment longer, taking in the peaceful sight of you, the way the dim light makes your features look even softer.

You look like a dream. And Jungkook isn’t sure if he ever wants to wake up from this.

There’s a thundering ache in your head when you start gaining consciousness after you wake up, eyes squinting at the light coming through the windows. 

You pat around for your phone and turn it on when you find it somewhere nestled between the tangled sheets, seeing Jimin’s texts on the lockscreen. 

cuntress #1 [8:00am]: did u get home safe cuntress #1 [8:05am]: i got discharged from the hospital btw joon was just being dramatic i only got cuts  cuntress #1 [3:10pm]: i trust that jungkook drove u home well and alive but if u dont respond in the next 30mins i’ll send a raid team

“Jesus,” you said after reading Jimin’s last text. You glance at the time and see it’s 3:20pm. “Fuck.” Slapping a hand on your forehead, you realize just how much you slept. 

Before agonizing over that, you reply to Jimin first before he actually sends a raid team. You don’t ever know when he’s serious.

You [3:21pm]: dont send a raid team what the fuck

You open the camera app to snap a picture of yourself, but you nearly doubled over when you saw your reflection. That’s why your face felt so sticky, because you still have your make-up and clothes on from last night. 

You groan but take a quick picture to send Jimin anyway. 

Throwing away your phone on the mattress, you throw your feet over the floor to initially go straight to the bathroom, but then your eyes catch sight of the glass of water with a pill of Advil beside it. 

Oh. 

Ohhh. Right. Jungkook was here last night… he asked if he could come inside your apartment and you must’ve said yes because you can remember him sitting on your couch, icing your jaw, then massaging your pained shoulder for a little while before… 

That’s when your memory doesn’t serve you well. 

You don’t know how you got into this bed at all. 

You take the glass of water and Advil, anyway, popping the pill into your mouth and drinking. You were just standing up when your doorbell rings. 

Confused, you wonder who it might be. You aren’t expecting any visitors, that’s for sure. But then you remember Jimin’s words and suddenly grow nervous that he might have actually had a raid team come your way. Whatever the hell that meant.

As you step in front of your door, you hesitantly twist it open, only to be met with none other than… Jungkook. 

“Thank god,” you let out a sigh of relief. Jungkook raises a brow, rightfully confused. You give him a dismissive wave. “I thought you were Jimin’s raid team.” 

“A what?” Jungkook asks, obviously baffled. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say as you take a look at him. He’s in his white button down minus the tie and trousers. It’s funny though because he’s wearing his sliders… so you assume he probably just got back home from the office. It’s only then that you notice the pot in between his hands. “What’s that?” 

Jungkook glances down. “Porridge. Thought it’d help with the hangover.” 

Your eyes widen at the mention.

“Oh, that’s really thoughtful. You didn’t have to…” you trail off but Jungkook only smiles and extends it to you.

When you take it in your hands, Jungkook says, “It’s still hot, so be careful.” 

What you wanted to ask was if he cooked it himself – which looked like he did, but what came out was: “You just, uh, got back from the office?”

He nods.

Then, you stand there for awhile, finding yourself a little awkward just waiting for the other to say something until you both speak at the same time. 

“I’ll get going, then—”

“Do you want to come in—”

You both stop speaking, looking at each other in surprise until Jungkook chuckles. 

“You were saying?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I asked if you wanted to come inside but you must be busy. Thank you for the porridge, though. I really appreciate it.” 

“I’m not doing a lot today,” Jungkook says with a dashing smile, inserting his hands in his pockets. “Are you inviting me over?” He adds with a teasing lilt to his voice.

You shy from his gaze. “If you want to… we can share?” You raise the pot in your hands, giving him a timid smile. 

“I’d love to.” 

Basically, it’s the second time Jungkook will be inside your home. But you weren’t completely sober a few hours ago when he did it for the first time, so technically, it did not count. Now that you’re free from the daze of alcohol, though, with a raging hangover as a testament to that, you’re nervous as you lead Jungkook along the way.

“You woke up just now?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah…” You place the pot on the dining table and realize for the second time you’re still wearing the clothes from last night, probably looking like a mess right now. You’re thankful Jungkook doesn't mention it. You saw your smudged makeup earlier while taking a picture for Jimin, and you definitely don’t look your best. “Sorry, I just need to change out of these clothes first. Please sit here.” You gesture toward the chair you pulled out, which Jungkook gladly came towards. When he sits, you offer him a small smile before heading to your bedroom.

In swift motion, you strip yourself off the skimpy outfit you’ve been in since the last twelve hours or so, hastily removing your make-up with a quick wipe and rinse, pulling your hair in the neatest ponytail you can manage and finally change into the first decent shirt you find in your closet and paired it with some denim shorts.

When you return to the dining area, you see Jungkook setting down some bowls on the table. You head toward him, about to express your thanks, but he turns around and, with a slightly surprised tone, says, “You’re wearing my shirt.”

It doesn’t sound accusatory, in fact, Jungkook is smiling at you, eliciting a warm feeling within your chest. 

His words don’t register as quickly as they should have, but when you glance over at the shirt you’re wearing, it’s indeed his. It occurs to you it was the shirt he lent you awhile ago when you stayed over at his place. It must’ve ended in your bag when you were packing up for your return to your own place.

Heat rises to your cheeks as embarrassment sets in. You remember saying you’d return it ASAP, but here you are, casually wearing it at home. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn’t even notice— I'll go change—”

“It’s fine, __. You can keep it, or not, if you don’t want to,” Jungkook muses. “You don’t have to change out of it.” 

His casual response only makes you feel more flustered under his gaze.

“... Thanks,” you manage to say. After a pregnant pause, you clear your throat and gesture at the food on the table. “Should we eat? Or… I mean, do you even want to eat right now? I know it’s only, like, three pm…”

“I didn’t eat for lunch, so this will do. I make a really good hangover porridge.” Jungkook says with a chuckle. 

“I can’t thank you enough.” 

Jungkook hums softly, and a comfortable silence settles between you as the sound of your spoons clinking against the glassware fills the air. After your first bite, you can't help but compliment him on the porridge – it’s definitely the best hangover cure you’ve ever had. You can't help but think that he's just good at everything, like always.

It’s as if he doesn’t not know how to do something. You almost fear he's getting close to being perfect, and what’s even more surprising is that he does all of this for you without you ever having to ask. And when you mention it, he acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

And that kind of freaks you out.

But, at the same time, it also makes you feel guilty.

“I’m really sorry about last night…” you start. You don’t remember every detail, of course, but you can vaguely remember the fight that broke out and how Namjoon had to interfere with the security. And because you were drunk, Jungkook had to drive you home and take you inside your own home because you probably were so wasted. It’s not your proudest moment, and the apology is something from your heart when you continue, “Jimin and I pregamed at his place before we went to the club, so even before you came to our table we were already drunk off tequila that time. Not a good reason, of course. So I’m really sorry for causing you a lot of… inconvenience— anyway, did I uh— say or did something last night?” you turn meek under his gaze, nerves wracking. Jungkook’s brow shoots up, and when he doesn’t instantly say no, you sigh. “Oh my god, I did.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Jungkook quickly denies, interrupting the impending spiraling thoughts in your head. The only vivid pictures in your head right now were the events in the club, even the moment when Jungkook drove you home is blurry, and you could only tie fragments together poorly. “Don’t worry about it. You were drunk and you fell asleep on me when I helped you with your shoulders. I brought you to your bedroom.” 

You stare at him, trying to see if he’s purposefully missing out on some detail. But Jungkook’s expression is as neutral as it gets, just looks at you like how he usually does. Soft, fond. Something like that. You can’t even pinpoint it. 

“Well, I’m still sorry anyway,” you let out a heavy breath. “Jimin tells me I’m a super annoying drunk and he’s right and he should’ve really stopped you from volunteering to take me back home.” 

“You really like saying sorry, don’t you?” Jungkook teases, but there’s something to his tone that says he’s being half-serious. “I really don’t mind. I wanted to take you home, and we’re neighbors, anyway.” He shrugs. 

You nod your head. “Why… I don’t remember much about last night but why did you lie back there? To Jimin? When you said you’re still staying at Hannam.” 

Jungkook halts from eating and silence stretches out until he says, “I had a feeling you wanted me to.” 

You purse your lips. “I can’t even say I didn’t because I really did want you to,” you sigh again. There were so many things you did last night that you kind of regret now. It’s really just endless favors from Jungkook now, huh? You hate feeling… indebted. And you hate that you feel like you’re bothering him so much. “Things got so hectic and I didn’t have time to tell him about, uh, how we know each other and all that and I… I still haven’t told him, you see.”

“You know,” Jungkook starts, and you adjust yourself on your seat because he sounds serious this time, not like the usual easy-going, lighthearted tone he always uses with you. “I’m okay with whatever you wanna do. It’s your call. But I’m not sure why you’re trying to hide it from him. I don’t think he’s going to care that much that we already knew each other even way before he introduced us.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. 

The thing is, you know Jimin is not gonna care – you know that well. But Jungkook also doesn’t know that you already told Jimin about him the very first day you met him. Jungkook doesn’t know that you told Jimin about this crush that you have on this new neighbor. And you’re not ready to tell Jimin that guy – the neighbor, unit 446, was actually his cousin. 

Maybe you’re overcomplicating things too much, but you’ve always been afraid of confrontation unless you have a solid, fool-proof plan backing you up. You’re gonna tell Jimin eventually, just not now. But…

“I feel bad about it. Sorry– if you wanna tell him, you can—”

“Hey, I’m not doing anything you don’t want me to do.” Jungkook cuts you off, looking at you sincerely.

You frown. He’s way too nice.

“You’re so…” you trail off, realizing that you don’t really know what to follow it up with. Jungkook is so… nothing. Blank. You come up with a blank. And not because you feel that way about him – it’s mostly because there’s so many things to describe him with. 

And all you can think of is that you have the urge to come up to him and wrap your arms around him and thank him for being this patient even though you don’t feel like you deserve it. 

Jungkook leans in, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I’m so what?” 

It’s just going to be a friendly hug. You think to yourself. Yep. Just a friendly hug and nothing more. Friends can hug, right? Like, no malice whatsoever. Jungkook is not gonna think you’re trying to make a move on him; it’ll just be you expressing your gratitude. 

So you go for it, throwing your inhibitions away.

Who even cares at this point.

“Can I hug you?” you blurt out, nervously staring at Jungkook, feeling your cheeks heat up at the way he’s looking at you right now.

His smile widens, and you don’t fully expect it when he responds with a simple, “Yes.” 

You stand up from your seat and round the table to go over Jungkook who pulls himself back and stands, arms opening up to welcome you when you unceremoniously wrap your own around his waist. 

“Sorry,” you say when you bump roughly against him, but Jungkook only chuckles, and you feel the vibration through his chest when he does. His arms circle around your shoulders, making you snuggle against his chest. Probably self-indulgence at this point because his chest is so… big and warm and he smells good and he’s actually letting you hug him so… why not? “This is nice.” you say after awhile.

Truthfully, you initially planned the hug to be just a quick one, but it feels way too tight to let go. And you really don’t want to break away… and by the way Jungkook doesn’t say anything against it, you assume he’s just as into this as you. Probably. 

“I know.” 

You hide your smile against the fabric of his dress shirt. 

And somehow, you stay like that for longer than what… thirty seconds? Just hugging in the middle of your dining table without saying anything. 

You tighten your arms around Jungkook, and you almost let out a sigh of relief when Jungkook begins caressing your back.

“You’re really small.” Jungkook says suddenly. 

“Can you not ruin this moment, please.” 

He chuckles, and you feel him resting his head against the crown of your head. 

And the moment suddenly feels way too familiar…

“Jungkook,”

“__,”

Jungkook chuckles against your hair, squeezing a little on your shoulder. 

“You first.” 

You shake your head. “No, you first.”

“Ladies first.” 

You frown, even though he can’t really see it. “Really?” you deadpan.

“Really.” 

The lightheartedness of the moment doesn’t really deter you from the sudden melancholy that washes over you.

Truthfully, you feel conflicted. You have been for a while now. You don’t know exactly what you feel about him, and Jungkook’s actions don’t help. Sometimes, it feels like you can’t breathe whenever he’s near because you’re so mesmerized, but there are also times – a lot of times in fact – that you feel like he’s your safe space. Like right now. It sounds deluded even in your head but you think his arms feel a little too… home-y. Like you belong right there. 

Then there’s the guilt of being this… way. You’re so confused you don’t even know what you’re doing at this point. You push and pull. He almost kissed you and you swerved just in time to make up some lame excuse about being sleepy. He took you home because you were drunk and brought you hangover porridge right after he got out of work because… because what? 

“Why?” you whisper, the sound barely there. Like you didn’t even mean to let it out. 

“What do you mean, why?”

You shut your eyes close. “Why do you… why do you do this?” 

The question feels weighted, and it is. You can’t see Jungkook, and maybe you’re thankful for that because there’s vulnerability in your uncertainty that you don’t want to show him. 

You feel him pulling up his chin from the crown of your head, and when he lets go of your shoulders, you only tighten your hold around him. Partly because if he breaks away from the hug, he’ll look at you and see you. 

“You do these… things. You’re so nice. And you’re so sweet. You take care of me as if–” you stop yourself. “I don’t know, Jungkook. You confuse me. Why? Why do you do this?”

“__, can—” Jungkook tries to let go again, eager to make you look at him. 

“No. Listen, it’s taking everything in me to be calm right now. I’m embarrassed and I don’t want you to see my face.” 

You hear Jungkook letting out a sigh. 

“Why do you think so?” He says after awhile, finally setting his arms around you again. But this time, the other one is around your waist, and you try to not think too much about how he’s gently rubbing your waist right now.

You really don’t like the fact that you like it too much when he does that. Even hate it more that he himself seems to like doing that. 

“I can think of a few reasons.” you tell him.

“What are those?” 

Thank god you’re having this conversation without seeing each other’s faces. You’ll combust if it was the other way around.

“Well, maybe… you’re just inherently kind and you just like helping people.” You lamely say, and even you don’t believe that. 

Jungkook lets out a chuckle anyway, disbelief painting his voice when he responds, “You think I do this to everybody?” 

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“It’s nice you think of me like that. But no. I don’t do this to everybody, __. I don’t offer my place when someone’s apartment gets flooded, and I don’t cook them hangover porridge right after I get off work.”

You bite your lip. “Okay… then you’re just a really good friend, then.” 

Jungkook stops rubbing your waist. And you feel him freezing.

His tone is almost incredulous when he says. “You think it’s because you’re my friend.”

That makes you break away from the hug quickly. You take offense at the disbelief on his face, and you make sure to glare at him for that. 

“What do you mean by that? Are you being a snob when we’re literally hugging—”

“No, __, god—” Jungkook cuts you off. He grabs you closer again. Gentle. Putting his hands on your waist, he looks into your eyes with a deep sense of sincerity and eagerness. “You really think I do things like this to my friends?” 

You try to look away, but Jungkook’s hand travels from your waist to your cheek, making you look at him. You feel trapped, but there’s no feeling of suffocation from it. You like it, in fact.

“Well. Jimin would let me stay at his place whenever. Just not in his bedroom, though.” 

“Fair,” Jungkook says. His eyes cast their gaze down from your eyes to your lips. And you’ve been in this position before, but unlike last time, you don’t particularly feel like running away. “I’m glad you’re my friend. But I was thinking that… by now you must’ve realized I don’t only see you as that.” 

Maybe somewhere in your heart and mind, you expected that. Maybe you didn’t. Maybe you can still play dumb right now and tell him you don’t know what that means but for the record you’re not playing dumb, you are just this dumb and you don’t even mean that in a self-deprecating way. Just self-aware. 

But Jungkook’s words couldn’t be clearer. 

He likes you – is what he meant.

“Is it weird that we’ve only really known each other for a month… but I can already see the wheels turning in your head,” Jungkook muses when you don’t say anything. A small smile tugs at his lips, then, “You don’t have to say anything soon. If you’re not comfortable with this, I can stop. You just have to tell me.” 

You open your mouth. “I— I…”

But you find yourself drawing a blank.

“I like you, __, if it’s still not obvious.” Jungkook reiterates, more explicitly this time.  

Oh my god. 

You open and close your mouth like a fish in a tank, finding words to be unavailable in your head at the moment.

You feel Jungkook shift on his feet. “You can think about it. I’m not gonna push… but I’ll be here if you want me to.” 

“Jungkook.” You finally say his name, but it feels like the air has thickened around you.

Your fingers instinctively bunch the fabric of his collar, pulling him just a little closer. It’s not enough to throw him off, though; he remains steady, his gaze locked on yours, patient as always.

Always so patient. It makes your chest tighten.

“Yeah?”

The words are there, swirling inside you, desperate to break free. You know exactly what you want to say to his confession – you’ve imagined it, thought about it. It would be so easy, so fucking easy to say it. To tell him you feel the same way, to let him know you want this just as much. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, practically begging to spill out.

But all that comes out is a soft, unsure, “Can you wait for me?”

It’s not what you wanted to say. It’s not enough. But it’s all you can manage.

Because even though it feels easy, even though you can almost taste the possibility of it, you know deep down that you’re not ready. Not for this. Not for the weight of it all – a relationship, a commitment you’re not sure will work. 

It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, nature pulling you in for a dive, the wind howling in your ears. You can feel the adrenaline, the rush, the pull to just jump. But you’re unprepared, no harness to catch you, no guarantees. You know that falling means you’ll crash. You’ll hurt.

“I will.”

Jungkook’s voice is calm, almost too calm, and he smiles at you. It’s gentle, the kind of smile that makes everything feel... safe. And for some reason, despite the fear swirling in your chest, you believe him.

You decide, against everything in you that’s scared shitless, to trust him. To trust that maybe, just maybe, he’ll be there when you’re ready just like he promised.

all right reserved © awrkive, 2025. no reposts, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[minhosimthings]

The Demon of Destruction || 18+

Synopsis: For the first night of the "Make Heeseung jealous" pact, you spend it with the devil incarnate, Park Sunghoon.

Pairings: detective!Sunghoon × fem!reader

Warnings: Smut minors Dni, dildo use, ab riding, swearing, use of aphrodisiac, mention of alcohol slightly drunk reader, fem!reader, p in v, rough sex, degradation, praise, mention of cheating, creampie, dom!Hoon, reader is called 'angel' and 'sweetheart', overstimulation

A/N: bonjour my babies. This is the first installment of the Lucifer series and I seriously cannot wait to start writing Jayeun's next. Also I am shit at writing riding I realised that whilst writing this so pardon me if you cringe Ii

Series Masterlist

If there was one thing that Park Sunghoon would never have expected to ever happen to him, it was taking one of his best friend's wife to his home with the sole objective of luring her to his bed. Although he didn't have any objection towards it, it was rather peculiar now that he thought about it.

Glancing out the corner of his eye, Sunghoon caught sight of how eerily calm you were. Any other woman would have been biting her lips until they bled. Or perhaps making conversation with him at that point.

But no, you were just...silent, devoid of sound, as if you were a creature mute and deaf.

"If you don't want to go ahead with the plan anymore I'm fine with that." Sunghoon offered, snapping you out of your daze. The bourbon had a greater effect on you than you had thought.

"What—no, of course not." You said, looking at him for the first time since you climbed into his car, "Why would you think that?"

Sunghoon considered you for a while before answering. "No reason, angel."

The nickname made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Heeseung used to call you angel too.

•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•

"Welcome to my humble abode." Sunghoon whistled, opening the door of the cozy looking house for you. Your expectations of what his house would have looked like, was far different from the house you were standing in now. It was...homelier than you had expected.

"Are you sure you're not married?" You jested, taking off your coat, handing it off to Sunghoon, who hung it up at the door along with his own, "Any sensible woman would be all over this house, and you of course."

"As I said, I'm not that interested in a wife yet." Sunghoon said, guiding you to a small kitchen island, you had to squint in order to see your way through the dimly lit house.

"A drink for the lady?" Sunghoon offered, opening up a cupboard, "I've got whiskey, bourbon, and—" he stopped to look up at you and smirk, "—some special wine."

"What's so special about it?" You leaned against the counter, trying hard to look at him with seducing eyes, "Is it from France?"

"Jake got it for me." Sunghoon popped off the cork of the bottle with a quirk sound, "Apparently it's supposed to work in getting people..ahem-" he looked down, "Into the mood."

Aphrodisiac, you thought, you remembered Heeseung telling you about it once. He had wanted to buy some, before you scolded him, telling him that you were a big enough aphrodisiac for him. Once a laughable memory to you, seemed sadder now.

"Well?" Sunghoon snapped you out of your stupor once again, now nudging a glass of swirling maroon liquid into your hands. You hesitantly took the glass in your hands, inspecting it for a second, before downing it completely.

"Woah angel, slow down." Sunghoon took a sip from his own glass, "It won't work faster if you drink it faster."

Wouldn't it?, you wanted to question him, suddenly becoming hyper aware of Sunghoon's delicate features.

His hair fell perfectly onto his face in stray strands and his figure was strongly built, with slender waist and strong forearms, he almost looked feminine.

"Fuck..." You swore under your breath, holding your head in your hands, causing Sunghoon to look up worriedly. Setting his glass down and quickly walking over to you, he placed his hands on your lower waist before speaking.

"Alright there, sweetheart?"

"Yes I'm—fine." You forced out of your mouth, god did Sunghoon always smell this good?

Turning your body to his, your hands roamed over his stomach, and you could feel evident muscles through his thin shirt. Now that he had taken off his droopy coat, you realised how strongly built he really was.

"See something you like sweetheart?" His devilish smile came onto his face yet again, fueling the fire which kindled in your belly. Sunghoon's arms wrapped around your waist, eradicating the mere inches of air between you two.

One of his hands came up to your chin, his index lifting your dropping head up, as he examined it carefully. You could clearly feel the effects of the wine now, he looked so ethereal, whilst eyeing you up and down. He smirked once more.

"Let's go upstairs shall we, angel?"

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•

Heeseung wasn't the kind of man to let go of his treasures that easily. So why exactly he had give you up, Sunghoon couldn't get the answer to that question.

It was invigorating to Sunghoon to see you undress for him. Just one look from his eyes and your shirt was on the floor, the faint tear stains on it forgotten, why would you ever remember Heeseung when a much handsomer devil was in front of you?

So there you were, standing in front of Sunghoon in your petticoat, which barely hid the black of your bra and panties. Not that you wanted to hide it anyway, you thought, internally smiling at how Sunghoon was looking at you with bedroom eyes, before walking over to you with slow steps.

"Heeseung's an idiot for giving up such a beauty." Sunghoon said to no one in particular as he eyed you up and down once more, taking in your nakedness with his ravenous eyes.

His hand came down to your inner thigh, your frail petticoat letting him feel the soft skin before he moved to your stomach. He smiled to himself as he lifted your bra up higher, his hand smoothing over the soft warm skin. Sunghoon bit his lip, his eyes looming over your visible breasts.

"Are you already ravishing me without even touching properly, detective Park?" You chuckled, leaning closer to him. Sunghoon raised a brow.

"I never knew Lee Heeseung's wife would be so..." He trailed off in silence causing you to smile.

"So what?" You quizzed his bemused figure, "So... experienced?"

"I was about to say attractive." Sunghoon chuckled darkly, "But then again—" he let go of your waist, striding to his bed and sitting down at the edge, spreading his legs in a way that made your insides unconsciously burn, "Heeseung isn't a man who'd marry some lowly wench, is he Mrs Lee?"

"You're being brave by calling me that." You followed his footsteps upto the bed, promptly settling yourself down on his thigh, he shuffled a bit to make you more comfortable, "You haven't called me by my name even once since we've arrived here. You just keep calling me angel."

"Why shouldn't I call you angel?" Sunghoon smirked, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pulling you down onto his thigh so harshly it made you wince, "Are you not one?"

"Poetic are you?" You scoffed, trying not to whimper at the distance between your lips and his, along with the added pressure of him keeping your clothed pussy firmly pressed to the fabric of his trousers, "Well, I'm no angel if you're expecting me to be one."

You didn't even get to blink an eye, before you felt your back land painfully against the soft matress. Sunghoon's hands burnt into the skin on your waist and his eyes raged with hellfire. He smelled of wet earth and rain on top of you, looking at you with hungry irises.

"Don't be an angel then." Sunghoon whispered, his jaw dangerously close to yours, you could feel his breath on your lips, "Just be a good girl for me yeah?"

Your hands found his stomach as his lips crashed onto yours. He was devouring you in every way possible, his breath coagulating yours, as he moved his sharp tongue across the flesh of your inner cheek. Your hands on the other side, were tracing his stomach. Through the thin cotton threads of his shirt, you could feel his muscles press against your palm as he kissed you, digging deeper with every moment.

"Sweetheart-" Sunghoon pulled away, you lifted your head slightly to catch his lips again, but he was quicker with his words, "-you've been groping my abs since forever now."

"Don't pretend like you don't like it." You scoffed, looking at him with a condescending expression. That devilish smirk came back to his face.

"Then why don't you get on them?" He asked, pulling away from you and instead lying down on the bed. His position was rather inviting, an unbuttoned shirt, (you had no idea how fast he had taken off his buttons), strong legs spread far apart, and a pretty face, illuminated by the faint moonlight.

You gulped heavily, hesitantly going near him, unsure of ether or not to get your ass onto his elysian figure. Sunghoon seemed to sense your nervousness, as he grabbed your arm and, with surprising strength, pulled you into himself.

As soon as your weight fell on his stomach, you mouth fell agape, and your face went down to make eye contact with him. You never noticed how beautiful Park Sunghoon's eyes were, they were always hidden under the guise of his rakish behaviour.

Sunghoon stops you for a second, motions for you to rise up slightly, and pulls your underwear to the side, exposing your dripping cunt to the air.

“Just move your hips sweetheart,” Sunghoon said, his hands on your waist, helping guide your movements. You sighed in pleasure as you started to feel some pressure. He helped your grind on his chiseled abs, until you hit the correct spot, feeling your cunt practically mold onto his tummy.

“Good job, keep going angel.” He said letting you hold his shoulders for support. Seeing your mouth press into an 'o' shape made his carnivorous tendencies ignite on fire.

His hands float to your hips, encouraging you to continue. You drop back down on him, the feeling of your bare clit rubbing directly against the crests and troughs of his abs was indescribable.

Using his firm grip on your waist, Sunghoon pushes you further onto the sharp hills on his stomach, and you quicken your pace, the searing pleasure in your clit overwhelming you.

"Fuck angel," he says, which elicits a whine from you. "you look so fucking pretty like this."

Your back arches slightly at the sound of his praise, your pace quickening even more. His one hand moving upto your hair fists it tight, earning another whimper from you.

“Such a good girl, you're doing so good angel,” He said, now feeling subtle wetness stain his belly button.

“Oh fuck—I-uhh-“ you moan, going faster on Sunghoon's muscled tummy.

“You gonna cum angel?" Sunghoon asks, a mocking tone to his voice that turned you on even more, that his handsome carved face, like the muse of God's scribe himself.

“F-fuck I’m so close, Hoonie” You whimper, your mouth hung open as you breathe hard. Hearing the nickname, Sunghoon jerked his hips up slightly, making you let out a tiny scream at the stimulation on your raw cunt.

“Cum for me angel.” Sunghoon says. With a few more movements, you were cumming, your back arching into his chest as you felt your pussy get drenched.

You nearly screamed as it hit you so strong your body expelled him, along with your wet release. He was quick to move his hips up again, his cum-coated stomach making you feel things you had never felt before, pushing them into you with a loud squelch. Your senses were on overload.

Sunghoon was consuming your entire being. You could feel every inch of him and you didn’t want to stop. Your core began to tingle, feeling another orgasm approach you, reducing you to a blubbering mess.

“Look at what a mess you’ve made angel,” Sunghoon taunted as you came drastically all over his stomach, "messy girl aren't you?"

Sunghoon carefully gripped your waist and lowered you onto the bed, chuckling at how wet his tummy felt. Of all the women he fucked, you were certainly on the topmost tier.

"Wait a tick for me." You thought you had seen him wink at you, but you weren't sure due to the silent darkness, the only noise coming from the rise and fall of your chest. You heard Sunghoon open his bedside drawer, with a creaking noise.

As you relaxed into the sheets, trying to ignore Sunghoon's shuffling around the drawer, you saw him from the corner of your eye, finally taking something out from it. You could see the shape of something easily recognisable in his hands.

"Do you know what this is, angel?" Sunghoon's hands rested flat on either side of your head as he got on top of you once more, waving the dildo in your face, "Of course you do," he answered his own question, "Heeseung wouldn't have let such a good pussy go without one would he?"

"That asshole couldn't have fucked me better even with a dildo." You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "do you just have a market of toys in that drawer?"

"Let's just say a lot of women like the foreplay." You could see him smirk even in the darkness, "I mean if you don't want it, I can put it bac-"

"No that's not what I meant!" You panicked, grabbing his arm. You wondered what about your tone of voice made Sunghoon laugh out loud and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. If anyone asked you later on whether you have felt butterflies or not, you'd had said no.

"Lay down for me angel." His voice was gentler now, a beautiful facade to his internal desires.

Sunghoon places the dildo on your clit and he starts to slowly rub it using the toy while you moan loudly. Moving the toy up and down your pussy, your sinful symphonies become louder, as Sunghoon watched the juices spill from your pussy causing him to groan at the sight. He thrusts the dildo harshly into your walls, and with the slightest touch of the material to your clit, you moan louder than before.

“S-Sunghoon—fuck, I'm-” You moan out as a slap echoes in the room and you feel a sting against your ass cheek. Sunghoon's hand repeatedly thrusts the dildo into your walls, making you wish fervently for his cock to replace it instead. He turns the pace up again as you moan even more while he continues to thrust the dildo in and out of you.

"Aww you want to cum?” he asks, as you struggle beneath him, he wasn't allowing you the pleasure he promised. Your breath came unsteady, fulfilling the reticent desires of Sunghoon's sadistic side.

"speak up, angel, I can't hear you." Sunghoon whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. You quickly pursed your lips, letting yourself make only muffled sounds. but you didn't last long, as every thrust and every inaudible whimper seemed to forcefully open your mouth from the inside.

"so pretty.." Sunghoon trailed off, laughing at your pleasured pain, "You want to cum hm?"

"Sunghoon-"

"Beg for it, come on." He commanded, "Beg me to let you cum, go on."

You weren't ready to give in that easy, but Sunghoon knew that. With a slick, carefully placed flick of his wrist, the slightly sharp end of the dildo touched you in a place that could have made you reach heaven and come back.

"Fuck—Sunghoon please!" You cried, tears falling down your face at the stimulation, "Please—let me cum.."

"Well if you say so." Sunghoon chuckled as you could do nothing but nod and after a few minutes of using the dildo, he takes it out of your pussy, pressing it in again.

You finish for a second time. You cling to him tight as the euphoria washes over you again. Locking your legs around his hips, you keep your face pressed to the warm skin of his neck as it goes through you.

Your juices coat the top of the dildo as you moan raucously, feeling ribbons of cum shoot onto the dildo, making Sunghoon smirk in evident pride.

Your arms grab his, as your chest arches into his mouth, hot and wet. You feel as his mouth comes off of the swollen bud as he removes the toy from your pussy, giving you pain and pleasure at the same time.

You were a mess at this point-- your hair was all tangled and you were a flustered mess full of scratches and hickeys on your tits where he had taken them into his mouth. Sunghoon placed a firm slap on your ass, which made your dripping cunt clench around nothing.

"Can you take more, angel?" He whispered to you, smoothing your hair out with his hand.

Sunghoon didn’t give you enough time to answer over his words as his lips crushed to yours. His tongue invaded your mouth as his hands roamed over your body. His roaming hand grabbed your hair as he ripped your face off himself. He looked down at you as you breathed heavily from his attack on your mouth.

"Hoonie~" you moaned into his mouth, "Want—your cock—please."

That was all it took for Sunghoon to practically rip off his belt and trousers, now laying on the floor, with their owner on top of you. Your throat went dry at the sight of his cock, hard and pulsing, the head of it angry red, glistening with precum.

He pulled back slightly, positioning his cock at your entrance and grabbed a fistful of your hair, stretching your upper body closer to him, putting you into an unnatural position.

His body was perfect, lean and muscular, strong and sharp features etched onto his body that looked straight out of a painting.Your gaze wandered over his arms, his chest and down his waist, hips and strong legs; every detail and body part burning into your mind.

You pant heavily, gasping for air as his large cock stretches your insides. His eyes are darkened but a cocky smirk remains. Achingly slow he pumps in making your eyes roll back, groaning at the sight of your mouth slack and panting.

His hips were moving slowly, with deep hard thrusts that made you moan with each push. His hips were doing most of the work, the thrusts were deep enough and hard enough for you to melt against the bed but enough to make everything shake under your skin as you were taking everything he gave you.  Sunghoon was not going fast, which made you wonder for a split second if he wished to. 

"Yes….Hoonie…FUCK!" You mewled as he hit that spot inside of you, hearing him growl for a moment as he was still fucking you deep into the mattress. His hand that was holding your thigh was in a tight grip, not letting you faint as you clung onto his back of dear life, feeling your nails almost break the skin as your moans were getting louder and more vocal. 

His rhythm was consistent, not slowing down or going too fast just to drive you insane as you felt that feeling of an intense orgasm come over you again. 

 "I'm c-close, Hoonie—" You were moaning into his neck as he huffed and stopped his thrusts. You were about to protest at him, teetering right on the edge of that pleasurable fall when he moved swiftly once again. 

Still inside of you, he leaned back a bit and scooped you in his arms, bringing you closer to him. You let out a noise of pain as you felt his entire girth penetrate deep inside you.

As you threw back your head and moan loudly, it dawns on you how very fragile-mannered Heeseung has fucked you. Your hips tremble as your body tenses, the ragged breath escaping your mouth cuts through your symphony of whines.

"Hoonie~Sunghoon—I can't!"

"Yes you can." Sunghoon groans as he feels you clench around him tighter than ever, "Be a good girl for me, angel and take it."

 The knot in your stomach tightened and snapped, your walls spasming and clenching around him as you released all over his cock that was buried deep inside of you. You were seeing stars and your body was shaking from the intensity. 

His cock jerks around against your walls once, twice, before he’s creaming, filling you up with ropes of hot cum. He thrusts deeper into you, a melody arising from both your moans as you felt him inside your very soul.

Soft pants and deep breaths invaded the space around you, not a word being spoken. You stayed like that for only a few seconds, catching your breath as you both came down from your highs. He then carefully pulled out, muttering a string of curses and an unheard comment about the the mess you both made off of his sheets.

"Come on angel." Sunghoon muttered under his breath, in a barely audible voice, not that you were listening anyway, "Let's get you cleaned up."

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•

"Tea?" Sunghoon offered you, your second cup of the night, "People say I make the best tea of all the precinct."

"Alright I trust you." You laughed, taking the mug in your hands and relaxing into the atmosphere of the cozy kitchen island, clad in a robe, you had no idea where Sunghoon got it from.

Calm silence followed, wherein you and Sunghoon sipped tea from your respective mugs. Yours had a 'To Uncle Sunghoon' on it, along with what looked like a child's drawing. You giggled to yourself. A gift from Sunghoon's beloved nephew, no less.

"Can-can I ask you something if you don't mind?" Sunghoon asked, and you noticed, that for the first time, there was no cocky tone to his voice.

"Go ahead." You smiled, "Unless it's about my first night with Heeseung."

"No no." Sunghoon laughed, taking another sup of his tea, his lips stained pink from all the kissing that had taken place, "I wanted to ask—how is it like, being married?"

You were taken aback by his question. Park Sunghoon, perhaps the last person on earth, who would ever think of marriage, was asking you about it? Had the bees stopped producing honey today?

"Well, I can't say," you started, "It's different for each person, you know. And, as time goes on, it changes. Which in my case-" you let out a cold laugh, "-is very evident."

Sunghoon was quick to put his hand on yours, giving it a tiny squeeze, along with a warm smile.

"You know who was really upset when he found out about...ahem.. your situation?" Sunghoon suddenly said, intriguing you.

"I don't know—Jay?" You said, realising you were right when you saw Sunghoon's expression, "Oh. Wait—Jay? You're not joking?"

"Y/N, trust me if you saw how much that man was brooding over it, you'd think he was your husband, not Heeseung." Sunghoon chuckled, downing the last bits of his tea, "Would you like to head to bed?"

Though you fell asleep soundly that night, wrapped in Sunghoon's surprisingly soft arms (now that the effects of the wine was over), you kept pondering over his words.

Jay—worrying about you? It was a heart thumping thought, which made you feel like what warm winter suns felt like. Jay Park, you sighed to yourself, before going off to sleep.

The day after tomorrow seemed too far away.

Taglist:@diorsyun @jaeyunluvr @hoondrop @mxxninthesky @alvojake @wondipity @blurryriki @lilyuwon @heeliopheelia @pockettwinzz @heeslomll @shiningnono @noonareads @deobitifull @luvitria @wonibae @nyfwyeonjun @hwa-0403 @saanvilovessunghoon @bubblegyu00 @sunpov @heeheeswifey @chartrucewhore @slut4hee @heesangs-blog @rikiwaify-blog @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @kirinaa08 @heeshlove @seokseokjinkim @brownsugarbaybee @yzzyhee @anittamaxwynnn @kgneptun @penny44224 @ribbioniki @strxwbloody @immelissaaa @heesminee3 @nshmrarki @yawnzzhoon @sousydive @yunhoswrldddd @whateverhoon @cloud-lyy @heeseungspookie @nyxtwixx @friedtalong @lyxnneee @hongshuaknow @francinethings23

[yurunivo]

Hello! I'm not sure if i'm the one but can we get some more Mavuika x Creator! Reader (gender neutral) in which the creator is falling deeply in love with Mavuika and the creator is slowly getting his/hers/their memories back and awakening a little bit of power (like maybe aweking some unique element or getting better healing abilities) ?

I'm pretty sure you were the one yea. Sorry for not answering sooner I just had no motivation to write 😭

Synopsis: your time with Mavuika! (And "your" past) part 1 part 2 part 4

TW: slight angst, fluff, OOC, arguements, reader is referred to as they/them for easier use but gender is up to what you interpret as, bad writing, bad grammar, english is not my first language, slightly rushed at the end, not proofread

Characters: Mavuika x gn!creator!reader

"Please don't walk through the halls, our Archon is busy-"

"I just have a word with her, that's all."

The receptionist sighed as you glared at her and walked off. You've had a bad week, constantly getting excruciatingly painful headaches and nightmares which make you wake up in a cold sweat. What made it worse that you couldn't really remember them when you woke up, which made it all the more frustrating. That, along with the fact that your boss was giving you more work than usual was making you snappy and irritated all the time. The even more strange thing was the fact that you were seeking out Mavuika, almost as if she was a pinicle of warmth in a snowy wasteland, so you did eventually visit her.

As you reached her office door, gloved hands gently pushed it open to see her inside. Your eyes softened, and you could feel your stress slipping away. She was sleeping though, her head on a pile of documents.

"That's.. Strange. Normally she would spend a lot of time with me, did she ignore all this work just for me?" You thought to yourself. However, instead of peaking over, you decided to sit in a sofa next to her table.

Curiosity did get the better of you though.

You skipped over to her desk and found loads of papers from different nations, which was really strange considering Mavuika was more busy dealing with Natlan's problems. You picked up a few documents and read them, cringing at the insignia of the other nations.

As you kept reading, you got more confused, and certainly more angry.

"Death threats, intimidation and war threats to Natlan, and Sumeru is asking for an alliance? What the hell is going on?!" You exclaimed, not noticing how Mavuika woke up. As you were about to read more, she snatched the papers from you, and looked at you with an expression you couldn't read.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"Well I did, too bad. Now mind explaining what the hell is this?"

She didn't answer, and you felt your patience running thin. You didn't want to raise your voice at her, but the frustration of her not telling you was too much to handle. Still, you managed to control yourself, taking deep breaths.

"I'm not going to repeat myself, what is this?"

She paused, and for a moment, she contemplated whether she would tell you or not. Guilt was on her face, yet she finally told you.

"The other nations want you back for whatever reason, and they are threatening to add more to Natlan's plate by instituting a war. Sumeru is offering to help, but that's the only consolation I have," she breathed out. Your eyes softened, and your lips trembled. Seeing Mavuika like this was making you feel negative, especially since it was about you.

You picked up her hand and held it gently, but it was also firm. You didn't know what you could really do to help, considering that you were the one that they were after.

"Listen Mavuika, I am your creator, so I should have the right to know about all this, no? I may not be strong, but it's not like I'm completely useless," you held her hand against your forehead, both of you looking away from each other.

Feeling the need to lighten her pile of work, you let her go for a moment, going up to her desk and setting up the documents. You didn't look at her, nor did she look at you.

"I'll help," you spoke up.

"You don't need to."

"I insist."

She sighed, yet reluctantly went up to you to do the same. She knew that you wouldn't really change your mind, so there was really no point in arguing any further.

For the past couple of weeks, you were there to help Mavuika. You were always at her beck and call, skipping your work to help with hers. The only thing you did however was confiscate useless documents, sign the ones that she couldn't, and carry piles of work to warehouses.

As you were walking through the place, whistling to yourself, you realized that you had just passed the place that you were supposed to be in. Noticing your mistake, you ran to that place in exasperation, not noticing how a gust of wind helped you to run faster..

"Why do I keep forgetting this shit?.." You rubbed your temples, setting the box down. Looking at all the shelves, you deadpanned at the realization that the shelves were much higher than you anticipated.

"I should've brought a ladder.." You mumbled.

Then suddenly, without any explanation, a pillar of Geo helped you up, slowly rising to the shelves. The revelation almost made you scream, but you kept it in. You were really high up, and the fact that you didn't know what was happening made it even more terrifying. Was this Zhongli's doing? To taunt you before he came to hunt you again? You couldn't really tell, the only thought running in your head was how the hell would you get down.

The even stranger thing that happened was that a gust of wind separated the boxes and placed the one that you brought without you needing to use your hands. It might've been the Anemo Archon, but the fact that if it was, he would probably not help you with anything. He would most likely make you fall instead, taunting you like Zhongli. But it didn't really make any sense. How the hell would they even reach you all the way from Natlan?

As the pillar mounted you down, you were about to run to reach Mavuika, but your temperature rose uncomfortably high, which was very unusual. The sudden change made you collapse onto the ground, golden blood seeping out of your nose. You felt yourself getting light headed as you struggled to keep yourself awake.

"Not now god dammit!" You exclaimed in your head as your vision turned blank, losing your consciousness.

....

Where were you?

You held your head, groaning at the painful sensation. You got a clearer look at your surroundings, notifying you that you weren't in Natlan. No, this place was nothing like Natlan. It was more regal, the entire place being covered by intricate gold designs. You explored the place for a bit, still trying to figure out what happened.

You walked around, then suddenly, you saw a projection in front of you. Okay, it at least confirmed that you were in a dream. But when the projection finished appearing, you saw someone whom you didn't expect to see.

It was... Nahida?

"Greetings your grace," she bowed, and you just told her to stand back up.

"Kusanali? What are you doing here?" You raised an eyebrow. Seriously today was one of the most craziest days of your life, more than when you realized that you were in the Genshin world.

"I have been trying to speak with you, your grace. It was very hard, I admit, and I may or may not have caused those nightmares, I am really sorry about that." Oh, so that's why these horrible dreams happened, and why you couldn't remember them. You smiled awkwardly, knowing that you would forgive her anyway. After all, she was the first to actually help you in this world.

"What did you need to speak with me for?" You asked.

"It's about the other nations, I want to inform you that they are currently on the hunt for you, and want you back into the position of creator," she answered, and now there were even more questions in your head. What was the strange switch up for?

"But I must ask your grace, is this what you really dream of, your throne room?" She pointed at the giant throne at the back, and you quickly went to answer.

"No, I don't dream about anything like this," you replied back in confusion. Right, was this supposed to be normal?

When you turned around to ask Nahida a question again, she was gone. Was she hiding? No, she was completely gone, you couldn't feel her presence any where, almost as if she was forced out of your dream.

You looked around more and more, only to realize that there was a carbon copy of you on the throne.

They looked exactly like you, except more regal, and more intimidating than what you could ever be. However, you did notice that they were... Crying? Tears were definitely spilling out of her eyes, yet their expression stayed the same.

Yea this was weird.

You looked around again to see the Archons behind you. You flinched at the sight, however, they weren't looking at you, rather they were looking at what you could assume to be the previous creator. Their expression was one of pity, and in almost half a second, they attacked the creator. Yet that "you" didn't move a muscle, allowing them to get a hit. As you stared at the throne, there was golden blood seeping out, yet the creator was as hard as stone.

They had sealed the creator.

....

You woke up with a gasp, feeling sweaty and uncomfortable. Looking at your hands, you saw they were trembling. Your throat felt dry, way too dry for your liking. As you reached out for the nearest liquid next to you, your hands landed on a cup of tea, which you picked up and drank immediately. You calmed down a bit, reminiscing on what you just experienced.

"So that's what happened, I wonder why.." You mumbled. You finally payed attention to where you were, and saw that you were back in Mavuika's office. Huh, you didn't remember being here last.

Finally paying attention to what was next to you, you saw a tray on a stool, and some food on it. The tea you drank just now was probably from that tray.

Your eyes wandered, and it stumbled upon Mavuika. She was on a chair too, yet she was sleeping, her arms crossed. As multiple ideas went through your head, it finally clicked.

"Was she taking care of me?" You thought, yet you were too much in a trance to wake her up and ask her. Your cheeks were flushed, and you felt them getting warmer.

You wondered what this feeling was, the way your heart started beating faster and how you felt all giddy inside.

"Ah whatever, I'll figure it out soon," you muttered, oblivious to your own feelings.

Sorry I didn't include the abilities part too much, I was more focused on the creator and Mavuika's relationship 😓

[dalishious]

About Davrin's little blurb on the official website for Dragon Age: The Veilguard...

"Though he was raised in a Dalish clan, he craved excitement and adventure. He'd rather make history than reflect on it."

There's actually a lot to unpack about these two sentences.

First off, placing the word "though" in front of being "raised in a Dalish clan", gives such a thing a negative connotation. The word "though" is used in a way that sounds like "despite", as in, somehow wanting excitement and adventure must go against being Dalish. This correlates with sentence that follows. "He'd rather make history than reflect on it." The word "rather" is yet again used to separate Davrin from his Dalish origin. All together, this promotional description of Davrin is insisting that he is "not like other Dalish".

Now, obviously the game is not out yet, so we do not have total confirmation on what the nature of Davrin's relationship to his culture is really like. But there is absolutely something to be said about promoting the character this way, regardless of however he actually turns out in game. There is absolutely something to be said about how, as @/the-eldritch-it-gay put in their tags here, why do writers feel the need to make fantasy minorities hate or distance themselves from their culture? As a selling point?

Maybe this is completely misleading bullshit, maybe it isn't. All we have to go by, is what BioWare chose to say here, and their past track record with elves:

Zevran may talk about his mother in a font way, but he still has the line, "Too many of our kind think we deserve pity simply because we have failed to defend ourselves."

Velanna is one of the two elves we've had who is overtly proud of her culture, yet she is treated like she is unreasonable and too angry because of it.

Merrill too, is proud of being an elf, and of being Dalish. The story punishes her left and right for this, treats her like a child, and in the end she is either ostracized from her clan or they end up dead because... she cared too much?

Fenris has pretty much zero engagement with elven cultures, and spends his time ridiculing Merrill for being proud of hers.

Solas complains about the Dalish from the start, and says plainly that he does not see himself as having anything in common with elves of current time. "Oh, you mean elves" he says, when the Inquisitor asks how he feels about his people; the thought does not even occur to him.

Sera is... Sera is a character who could have been a really interesting examination of overcoming internalized racism, if she was written by someone competent with the subject. Instead, she just cringes at everything "too elfy" through the entire main game, and only has a single line in Trespasser that hints that she may have a personal struggle going on. But it's still left unresolved.

That's a lot a lot of negativity. So of course seeing a suggestion that more is to come with Davrin has people wary and tired.

Let us also consider the fact that Davrin is overtly Black as well, and what that means. Acting as if one must disregard history in order to make it, as his description so claims, is bullshit. It sounds too much like promoting gentrification/assimilation in my opinion; the idea that you cannot keep your culture if you want to be successful.

I also think that it goes even deeper, on a meta level - I think that BioWare is afraid people will not be able to like or relate to Davrin, if he is "too ethnic". I think that BioWare is taking this Black character and instead of questioning how he can best represent marginalized fans - particularly Black fans - they are questioning how to make him more relatable to white fans. And the only answer to that is to, of course, make him seem like he is an exception to marginalization through separating him from his people.

I am still holding onto hope that Davrin will overall be an interesting, well-written character. And I sure as hell will still be defending him from the people who are already hating on him or ignoring him completely because of their racialized biases. But that does not exempt BioWare, and specifically his writer, John Dombrow, from any criticism. This is not about Davrin the character, this is about BioWare the company's handling of Davrin the character. And in that regard, they're not off to a great start with this.

[globalrebrand]

An Unexpected Evening

Warnings: Capitano x Reader, not sfw, mutual masturbation, slight coercion

A/N: A piece posted from my Ao3, a gift for @gojoidyll for their stubborn hearts series. Posted here after a request.

It had nearly been a month since your impromptu arranged marriage to Capitano. The first of the Lord Harbingers. He was a notoriously aloof and enigmatic figure, and thus far, married life had been far from standard. Not that it bothered you per se. You both agreed to have minimal expectations of one another. However, you weren’t entirely used to your independence being hampered by the proximity that marriage brought. You two now shared a home, a bed, and the occasional bath, and while you didn’t mind, sharing these important spaces made it difficult for you to have much-needed “me time,” especially in light of the fact you and your husband had yet to be intimate. 

It is late, and Capitano is in his office. You’d spent much of the afternoon helping to archive some older documents at his request, and while you were happy to help, you hadn’t been able to be very far from him since his return home last week. He’d often request your company for all manner of tasks and activities. It was evidence that your marriage was going far better than expected, considering it seemed that Capitano really enjoyed your presence or was putting in effort to acclimate to you, but all of this attention is also what has you feeling rather frustrated as of late. 

“Um, my lord. Is it alright if we sleep in separate quarters tonight?” It had taken you all night to gather the courage to make such a request, but you were pent up and desperate for release. 

“Why? Are you unwell?” Capitano's brows furrowed with concern as his hand came to his favorite perch on your chin, tilting your face this way and that as an impromptu medical examination. Gently, you gripped his wrist and pressed forward with your gambit. 

“No, I would. I just like a bit of alone time, just for this evening.”

Your husband's lips pursed. It was clear this was not an acceptable solution to him, so you offered a compromise.  

“I could even come back later in the night if that would be preferable.” 

Capitano's eyes narrowed, before a slight look of epiphany flashed across his features. “Wife, do you intend to touch yourself? 

“What! No, I-” You stuttered, embarrassed he would state things so plainly. Not that it was all too surprising based on what you knew of his character. 

“Do not lie to me. I am your husband, and you needn’t be coy with such matters.” He said sternly. Your eyes snapped to meet his gaze, knowing well that if you didn’t meet his eye, he would simply make you. 

“Yes.” You admitted, shoulders slumping with embarrassment but doing your best not to break eye contact. “I felt it would be rather inconsiderate to do so next to you while you slept.” That and you usually kept the light on to read whatever smut novel you liked from your collection. It was quite a challenge balancing a book, flipping pages while stimulating yourself, but you’d gotten the science down to an art. Capitano’s expression relaxes, and you feel a bit of hope that he’ll grant you what you desire. 

“Thank you for your consideration, wife.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back after-” You eagerly assure him, a light smile settling on your lips, but your excitement is interrupted, by your husband's thunderous voice. 

“You get ahead of yourself, wife.” He raises an eyebrow. “I will not permit you to sleep in the other chambers tonight.”

“Oh…alright.” You sigh. Perhaps he would at least allow you to bathe alone…balancing a book in the tub was tricky, but you’d managed before.

“But do not fret. You are permitted to masturbate in our shared quarters.” You cringe at his phrasing but continue on in desperate need of a bit of clarification on the logistics of exactly how you’ll get off…privately, of course. 

“…and where will you be, my lord?” You question.

“I shall be watching.” Capitano attempts to hide his grin as you gasp at his declaration, and the color drains from your face. 

“Oh no, that’s quite alright.” Touching your tender parts in front of your husband was out of the question. Besides a few kisses and bathing with each on the rare occasion he was home, you and Capitano were nowhere close to consummating your marriage as far as you were concerned, but even so, this ask to touch yourself, to bring yourself to completion in front of his steely eyes, felt like an even more intimate prospect than sex.

Capitano catches your flustered expression, eyes darting back and forth as his piercing stare silently demands your attention.

“While I am home, you will take your pleasure with me or not at all.” His countenance is stern. You instantly understand this is an important rule to follow if you want to stay in your husband's good graces. And to a certain point, you understand his perspective. He is seldom home, and to pleasure yourself without him would be cruel, but you had not yet broached actual intimacy…how would you manage such a task!?

“I promise it’s not an event that would be worth watching.” You try to insist. Eyes quietly pleading with him to just allow you to have your privacy. 

“I shall see for myself.” Capitano peered over your shoulder. “Are those your materials?’” He gestured to the book you had held behind you back. 

Your face threatened to burst into flames, but any further protest would likely only upset your husband, with your glance askance you quietly muttered “yes.”

“I can read it for you, so you may use both hands.”

“No, it’s ok!” You urge politely.

“Then you will read it aloud so I may hear what arouses you.” He suggests instead. 

Fuck. This was certainly not the anticipated or desired turn of events. 

The short novella you’d selected was an absolutely debauched tale about a menage-á-trois, where a married couple corrupts a young, innocent maiden who stays weekend at their country estate in Fontaine. Capitano would certainly think that you were a horribly lewd young woman if he heard this. 

“I’ll pick another selection-“ Capitano interrupts you by abruptly rising from his seat. 

“No, we’ve already wasted enough time on this matter tonight.” With that, Capitano grabbed your arm, his burly hand gently tugging you out of his office and up to your bedroom. If you didn’t know any better you would think he was rather eager to watch your toy with yourself—something you’d never done for an audience. 

Should you try to make it good for him? Being deliberately sexy was not something you were familiar with, any perceived sexiness in your past intimate encounters was just consequence of your desperate arousal. 

Ugh…you were regretting not just trying to figure out a workaround in the bath. Maybe if you’d perched your book on the end of the tub between the faucet and spout, you flip the pages with your toes? And just drape one foot over the side so your toes wouldn’t wet the pages? 

But then again, you’d ruled out that idea because Capitano’s tub was made for a man of his size and stature, the end of the tub was nearly a mile from the back rest-

“Wife. Make yourself comfortable.” Your husband drops your hand as he finished guiding you to your shared chambers. The opulent room is on the top floor of his manor, and while the wooden finishes are beautifully dark and glossed and the windows suitably grand and imposing, the furnishing in the room remained rather spare. 

Thanks to you there was now a plush rug, set of twin wardrobes and a perfectly situated  chaise, oriented to look across the dark forest to the nearby bay. Before the bedroom consisted of  just a bed, a rather cruel looking bearskin rug and one side table with every drawer neatly packed with a variety of state documents. But even with your additions in the dim candle light the room felt cavernous. It would take quite a bit more furniture to make things feel homey in your opinion. 

You glanced at Capitano as he pulled his night clothes from his armoire, without missing a beat you moved to do the same, but you struggled with the the back of your corset. Normally a lady would help you undress for bed but Capitano had seemingly been so impatient for this evenings decided course of events that you were now stuck fumbling with the laces on your back. 

You let out of slight groan as your nail bent crudely as you picked at ribbons, but before you could even register his advance Capitano was at your back. His hands surprisingly deft and focused as he worked you out of the piece of supportive clothing.  

“Thank you. “ You spoke softly but gasped in shock when your husband immediately went to pull you out of your dress and underdress, pulling both layers in one go, leaving you only in your stockings and garters. 

You were too shocked to utter any rebuttal, and it seemed that Capitano interpreted this as consent to strip you entirely.

You felt his course hands glide down your thigh to begin undoing your garter and pulling the stockings down your legs, but his thumb grazed too close to your bare cunt, and you leapt away from the contact. Entirely unprepared for the feeling of his coarse hand against your silky flesh. 

“It’s ok husband I’ll do this part, thank you for your assistance.” With no more than a grunt of  approval Capitano retreated to the bed as you undid your stockings and put them away. You cast a glance over your shoulder only to see your husband reclined on his side of the bed and quickly scanning a fresh stack of documents as he waited for you. Turning back to your wardrobe, you reach for a nightgown, but you are interrupted by your husband’s booming voice.

“You won’t need that until later now come.” He patted your side of the bed.

You hesitated at his command, a bit petrified at the prospect of laying next to Capitano naked, especially when he had the privilege of being clad in silk pants and a matching buttoned top which laid open against the firm planes of his chest and torso, dimly illuminated by lamp light. 

“Okay.” You muttered softly, resigning your yourself to the surprising turn of tonight's events. 

As you climbed into bed, Capitano handed you your book. He must have grabbed it while you were busy undressing. It was already open to the flap with the plot summary. Ugh, archons save you.  You gingerly took the book from him and placed it on you pillow. The poor novella was so accustomed to being used for this nightly ritual that its spine gave absolutely no resistance and fell prone, pages splayed against downy sheets. 

Your nerves were through the roof, so to calm yourself, you decided it would be best just to pretend your husband wasn’t there and that you were alone in your old dark bedroom in the attic, reading by candlelight. 

Your favorite position was a bit unconventional. Turning over in the bed, you got on all fours before sinking to your forearms and leaning back on your heels. Capitano let out a light groan as he watched you prostrate yourself, his hand slowly stroking against his thigh.

“Begin.” He encourages gruffly. 

Like you’ve done hundreds of times in your dark bedroom, you slide your hand under your body and touch your pussy lightly, letting your fingers slide through your folds to gather slickness. To your absolute surprise. You're completely soaked. Usually, you need to read a bit of the story and thumb yourself over your panties before your fingers are damp enough to glide through your plump lips, but tonight, even the creases of your thighs are slick with the evidence of your arousal. 

With a shaky breath, you begin. You skip to the best bits of the story, hoping you can get yourself to come quickly. 

You finger yourself through the plot, reading aloud all the while. Describing in vivid detail, Monsieur Guillaume Berteau secretly fingers the protagonist, Vivienne, in the bathroom. At the same time, his wife entertains the rest of their party guests, then steals her sopping panties, forcing her to parade around sans culotte for the remainder of the evening. 

But you get really close when, later, the couple seduces Vivienne into the swimming pool, and she shares a kiss with both husband and wife as she relishes being the center of their attention. Then Carmen guides Vivienne to spread her legs and welcome her husband's cock with all the enthusiasm of a baker gleefully spooning a first bite of something sweet into a child’s mouth.

You spare a glance at your husband. Capitano has pushed down his pants, leaving his groin exposed as he strokes himself to your words. Something about his arousal spurs you on, making you feel even hotter, even closer to reaching your peak. The headiness of your husband stimulating himself only inches away while you did the same felt empowering. 

Your cunt aches deliciously as your stroke between your folds even faster. Your awareness of Capitano’s arousal is riling you even more than the contents of the story at this point. You turn to look at your husband, and with just a  few more tight circles on your clit, you feel your whole pussy begin to spasm. You accidentally push the novella onto the floor. It's work done as your hole clenches around nothing as you start to cum, your fingers pressing firmly against your nub, working you through what is likely your strongest orgasm in recent memory. 

Capitano catches your eyes as his hand slides fluidly over his shaft while his thumb occasionally teases the head. His cheeks are flushed with pleasure, but his eyes are so frighteningly intense that your natural instinct is to turn away from his predatory gaze. Faintly, you hear him scoff, but your mind and body are too far gone to register what that could even mean. 

You shudder as you come, hips dropping, twitching, and grinding against the quilt of your bed to elongate your pleasure. With a few heaving breaths, you struggle to collect yourself. Eventually, you turn back to face Capitano, only to find him scowling. 

And still hard. 

“Turn over.” He instructs, not quite waiting for you to move of your own accord and flipping your hips. 

You spook slightly as he positions you on your back and spreads your legs. 

Is he going to fuck you!? The thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should, but this definitely wouldn’t be an ideal scenario for you to finally make love to your husband. 

By way of protest, you offer, “Should I get the bo-”

“No.” He cuts you off immediately. 

Capitano hooks your legs over him as he kneels in front of you, his thick thighs keeping your legs parted. 

You tense as he takes his member in hand and begins to stroke himself again. His eyes first trained on your cunt. He groans at the sight, and his other hand steadies itself on your thigh. 

“May I touch you?” He asks, only slightly breathless. 

Silently, you nod, and Capitano takes the invitation to slide his hand higher. He pushes aside the curtains of your hair that have fallen over your breast and takes a soft mound in hand, grasping it with surprising tenderness and swiping his thumb firmly over your stiff nipple. You whimper at his ministrations, and his eyes snap your face. His hand quickly follows his stare as he brings his rough palm to your cheek, not waiting for permission, and presses his thumb between your plush lips. Capitano licks part his lips to offer a command, but you’re already sucking on his thick digit before he can instruct you. 

Your husband hisses and tosses his head back. You take the cue glance down to his member just in time to see the firm planes of his abdomen contract, and with a few more tugs of shaft thick white seed starts to spurt out. Then it is your turn to cry out at the contact of the hot liquid splashing onto your clit and dribbling down between your swollen folds. 

Capitano’s eyes return to your body, his steely orbs now pinned to where his spend clings to your cunt lips. Your frame is tense, but with a few strokes of his strong palm against your side, you begin to relax. 

“Good girl.” he praises as he begins to lower himself over your body. You reach a hand between the two of you and gather some of the semen coating your pussy on your fingers. 

Without thinking, you bring a hand to your mouth and tentatively suck his seed from your digits, tasting the viscous fluid like an adolescent sipping wine for the first time, which was essentially what you were. You didn't hate it as you thought you would, your eyebrows raise as if to say 'not bad.'

“Who taught you such a whorish trick?” He growls, grabbing your wrist. A slight look of awe mixed with a flare of righteous anger.

“I um, just wanted to taste you. I was curious.” You mumble shyly. Honestly. This was the most intimate contact you've had with a man and every physical sensation became new grounds for exploration.  

Capitano glares at you skeptically for a moment before pulling you up into a kiss, far deeper than any you’d shared up to that point. His tongue seeks yours eagerly, his lips surprisingly plush against yours. When you part, he gingerly lays you down and settles atop you, pressing you into the mattress. He lets out an aching sigh into the crux of your shoulder. 

“Beautiful.” He decides.

And your heart races.

[asksonicverse]

How did Emerald and Shade end up rooming together?

Were they just the two leftover? Otherwise I would have thought that Shade would pick Eight since they‘ve worked together during the metal virus arc.

Is Shade embarrassed that he got turned? Does he feel cringe now? Is he aggressively dodging that 'I told you so'? Is that what this is?

[ Creator Special! ]

Okay: first note! Sorry for the lack of updates the last two days :D I’m working on ironing out a few bits to Paradox and Prisms story and I’ve been a bit busy with life things! In the meantime: behind the scenes!

-

Emerald and Shade ended up together because, yes to all of your reasons.

They were the final ones left and while I did briefly consider putting Eight and Shade together, I decided against it because while Sonic and Shadow don’t hate eachother in IDW, I wouldn’t call them close enough yet to share.

Going to be real, I don’t think Shade and Emerald really talk. They just mutually agree “ok, pillow wall, you get that side I’ll get this one” they sleep, wake up, and leave the tent.

also I loved how you worded this ask it was hilarious: short answer yes

Same thing for Eight and Bandi, except Eight is curled up all the way on the far side of the tent and their pillow wall is twice as tall.

I wish I could do a bit more with Eights touch adverseness and show it but he’s been ASLEEP.

Also no one rooming with boost was very mutual with all.

Everyone saw an extra tent and was like “uhh boost you can have that one dude” (he kicks in his sleep)

I will reply DAMN YOU!!!! /lh

But yes!! Don’t worry my friends, I won’t ONLY focus on Paradox and Prism. I will do little mini comics of dynamic development between all the others.

I also want to start doing more Shadow and Shadow and Sonic and Sonic’s interactions. I feel like right now I mostly have Shadows and Sonic’s just interacting with their versions and I’m like?? Make friends guys!!

Okay so the way I’m approaching this:

The only Sonics in the same “timeline” are Classic and Emerald.

While Emerald (and other sonics and shadows) have experienced the same/similar events, doesn’t mean he was there for those versions. That might not make sense idk it’s 1 am.

So like, for SATBK, he does recognize Lancelot, but it’s not the Lancelot he knew.

For our SATBK story, it’s the exact same, except King Arthur and everyone had some weird magic spell cast on them that made them weird, Arthur has memory loss, game events happen, memory back, peace restored! Yay.

So yeah, they could have a good chat about it but still different.

Previous | next

[hoshifighting]

hoshi as a sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar mommy x sugar baby relationship, smut, teasing, sponsor!reader,dancer!soonyoung, multiples orgasms, soonyoung is a freak in bed, dancer's hips. — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

you were used to being the one who controlled the room, the one who made heads turn for all the right reasons. you weren’t used to showing up in a place where your designer scarpans echoed against the hard floors of a dance studio, surrounded by people in scuffed sneakers and well-worn sweats. it was almost laughable, the stark contrast between you and them, but you held your head high, owning every step as if the place belonged to you.

you were there for business, checking on one of the many studios you sponsored. it was supposed to be a quick visit, a formality, but then you saw him—soonyoung. the way he carried himself, all confident swagger as he walked in with his dance partners, sweat still glistening on his skin from what you could only assume was a performance. he was the kind of hot that made you stop and stare, like the kind of guy you'd see on a billboard in nothing but designer underwear.

but when your eyes met his, something unexpected happened—his face flushed a bright pink. you hadn’t even done anything yet, just looked at him, but suddenly the cocky dancer couldn’t stop stuttering.

“h-hi,” he managed to choke out, his voice cracking just a bit as his friends shot him amused glances.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the smirk threatening to tug at the corners of your lips. “hi.”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, looking for all the world like a fish out of water. you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to figure out what to say. his friends, probably tired of watching him flounder, gave him a shove.

“soonyoung, just ask her already,” one of them hissed, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped.

“ask me what?” you prompted, leaning in just enough to make him squirm. you were enjoying this more than you should.

“uh, i was just, um… me and my friends were gonna grab some food at this, uh, street food bar… you wanna come?” he blurted out, his voice rushing the words together in his nervousness.

his friends all cringed, one even elbowing him and whispering something about you being the sponsor. so yeah, a street food bar didn’t fit you, apparently.

but you didn’t mind. in fact, you were impressed that he’d asked at all, considering how out of place you looked in your crisp white shirt and perfectly styled hair.

“sure,” you said, surprising yourself as much as him. “why not?”

the stunned silence that followed was almost comical, but soon enough, you found yourself following soonyoung and his group to a small, bustling street food bar. it was the kind of place you’d never have set foot in on your own, but there was something endearing about how nervous soonyoung was as he tried to make conversation with you, all while sneaking worried glances at your hair.

“you don’t have to worry, you know,” you teased as he glanced at you again, clearly concerned about the smell of frying pork wafting through the air. “i’m not going to bite your head off if my hair smells like food.”

his eyes widened, and he quickly looked away, his ears burning red. “i just… i didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“why not?” you asked, genuinely curious.

he shrugged, poking at his food with a pair of chopsticks. “you just seem… i don’t know… out of my league.”

you tilted your head, studying him for a moment before smiling. “maybe i am, but that doesn’t mean i can’t enjoy some fried pork with you.”

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the first time, you saw a spark of the confidence he’d had when he first walked into the studio. “well, i’m glad you did.”

and just like that, the tension melted away. soonyoung was still a little nervous, still stealing glances at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were there, but the conversation flowed easier, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a while.

you could tell he was trying to impress you in his own way, showing off a bit as he talked about dancing, about his aspirations, about how much the studio meant to him. and as the night went on, you realized that maybe you’d underestimated him. sure, he was a little awkward, a little rough around the edges, but there was a charm to him that you couldn’t ignore.

by the time you left the bar, your hair did smell faintly of fried pork, but you didn’t mind. if anything, it was a reminder of a night that had turned out to be far more enjoyable than you’d expected.

“thanks for coming with me,” soonyoung said as you walked back to your car, his voice more confident now.

“thank you for asking,” you replied, turning to him with a smile. “maybe next time, we can go somewhere a little more… upscale.”

his eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. “i’d like that.”

the relationship with soonyoung progressed in the most unexpected way. from that awkward street food date to trips in first class, dinners at exclusive restaurants, and gifts that had him questioning your sanity. you loved watching his reactions—how his eyes would widen in disbelief, how his voice would go high-pitched when he realized just how much you were spending on him.

like the time you handed him a box containing a pair of sneakers. he had no idea what brand they were—some obscure, ultra-luxury label that you’d stumbled upon while shopping in milan. you’d seen the way his face lit up when he talked about sneakers, so you thought you’d indulge him a little.

“babe, you shouldn’t have,” he’d said, grinning as he pulled the shoes out of the box, not even realizing just how much they were worth.

“trust me, you’ll love them,” you’d replied with a smirk, already knowing what was coming.

it wasn’t until later that night, when you were in the middle of a meeting, that your phone rang. seeing soonyoung’s name on the screen, you excused yourself, expecting some casual conversation. instead, you were greeted by his panicked voice.

“are you out of your mind?!”

you blinked, trying to stifle a laugh. “excuse me?”

“those sneakers,” he continued, his voice almost a shriek. “do you know how much they cost? that’s more than my rent!”

that did it. you couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up, loud enough to make your secretary peek into your office with a raised eyebrow. you waved her off, trying to compose yourself as you brought the phone back to your ear.

“soonyoung, it’s fine. just enjoy them,” you said, still chuckling.

“enjoy them? i’m afraid to even wear them! what if i step in something? i could buy a car with that money!”

“then don’t step in anything,” you teased, biting your lip to keep from laughing again.

“you’re impossible,” he huffed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “seriously, though… thank you. but you don’t have to keep buying me stuff like this. just… be with me.”

that last part made you pause, your heart doing a little flip. it was easy to get caught up in the luxury, in the thrill of spoiling him, but moments like this reminded you why you’d started this in the first place. it wasn’t just about the gifts or the trips. it was about him. about how he made you feel grounded, even as you floated in a world of privilege.

“you know,” you began, your tone softer now, “i like spoiling you. it makes me happy to see you happy.”

“i am happy,” he said, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “but i don’t need all this to be happy. just… don’t stop being with me, okay?”

your breath caught in your throat, the sincerity in his words wrapping around your heart. “i won’t. i promise.”

from then on, the dynamic between you shifted. sure, there were still the extravagant gifts, the luxurious vacations, and the fine dining. but there was also more—quiet moments together, like when he’d sneak into your office just to bring you coffee, or when you’d spend a lazy sunday in bed, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company. and yes, there were still the moments where you’d surprise him with something ridiculous, just to see that wide-eyed look on his face. like the time you flew him to paris on a whim, just because he mentioned wanting to see the eiffel tower at night.

“you’re really spoiling me,” he’d whispered, standing with you on the observation deck, the lights of the city sparkling below.

“maybe i am,” you replied, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “but that’s because you deserve it.”

but beneath his playful frustration, you could tell that he loved it—the gifts, the attention, the way you seemed to know exactly how to keep him on his toes. and the more you spoiled him, the more he let his guard down, slipping into the role of your sugar baby with a comfort that had once seemed impossible.

every time you saw him, he was wearing something you’d bought him. the designer clothes, the luxury watches, the sneakers that were apparently worth more than his rent—it all became a part of him, an extension of the way you showered him with everything he didn’t even know he wanted.

soonyoung was a fucking beast in bed—there’s no other way to put it. you’d never met anyone who could break down your walls the way he did, turning every ounce of your composed, CEO exterior into a puddle of raw, desperate need. you’d been with your share of men, playboys who thought they could handle you, but none of them came close to what soonyoung gave you.

like that time you were waiting for your chauffeur after a charity gala. you were the picture of elegance, standing there in your custom gown, looking every bit the composed CEO. then, out of nowhere, soonyoung slid up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed his body against yours. you could feel his cock—hard, ready, insistent, and shamelessly grinding against your ass. his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “can’t wait to fuck you in that dress.”

“you’re really something, you know that?”

“oh? what’s that supposed to mean?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. you felt him shift, pressing his hips forward just enough for you to feel the unmistakable hardness against your ass again.

you nearly choked on your own breath, your perfectly poised exterior cracking just a little. “not here.”

“why not? they’re all staring at you anyway,” he teased. “might as well give them something worth watching.”

“soonyoung,” you warned, but your voice lacked conviction, and you both knew it.

he loved to fuck with your composure, to see you struggle to maintain that icy exterior you were known for. like when you were paying for one of his outrageous gifts, handing over your black card with a smirk. he’d sidle up behind you, pressing his hard cock against you while murmuring a quiet “thank you” into your ear. the people behind you in line? didn’t matter. all that mattered was the way your body reacted, the way your brain short-circuited every damn time.

and when it came to sex, soonyoung didn’t just make love to you—he fucked you like he had something to prove. his dancer’s hips were a lethal weapon, rolling and grinding into you with a precision that had you seeing stars. he knew exactly how to move, how to hit that spot inside you that turned you into a moaning, trembling mess.

he held your legs wide apart, his hips driving into you with a rhythm that made you want to scream. and you did—because with soonyoung, you didn’t hold back. he wouldn’t let you.

he had this thing about numbers, too. every gift you bought him, every splurge on something ridiculously extravagant, he saw it as a challenge. like that time in dubai, when you’d gone on a shopping spree, loading up on ten full bags of presents just to see how far he’d take it. each swipe of your card was met with a smirk, anticipation building as you mentally tallied up the orgasms you knew he’d demand in return.

that night, he didn’t just match it—he exceeded it. 10. fucking. times. he had you screaming his name.

he took his time that night, dragging out every orgasm until you were on the verge of begging him to stop. but you didn’t—you couldn’t.

by the time he was done, you were spent, your body trembling, muscles sore from the intensity of it all. you’d never felt so used, so thoroughly fucked, and yet… you couldn’t get enough. not of him, not of the way he took you apart and put you back together, over and over.

by the time he was done, you were a wreck—sore, trembling, and utterly spent. the heat of dubai didn’t help, making everything feel more intense, more suffocating, even with the air conditioning blasting.

you had to take a rest day after that, your body too worn out from the marathon of pleasure soonyoung had put you through. but god, it was worth it. every ache, every sore muscle, was a reminder of just how good he was. and just how much he had you wrapped around his finger.

soonyoung had no manners in bed, and with him, you learned to have none too.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

YOU'RE THE REASON I COME BACK

"Yes mom, I understand." You sighed out of exhaustion, your right arm feeling numb from holding the phone to your ear for so long just to listen to your mom's regular and unnecessary concerns.

"I'm just warning you, Y/n." Her voice heavy with worry that she was only able to express it through mobile phone. "There are many thugs in the streets that your shop is located in. What if someone breaks it? What if they hurt you? What am I supposed to do then?"

You bit back a groan, trying to sound as casual as you could but the irritation in your voice gave it away. You switched the phone to your left hand, letting your right arm finally rest. "Mom, I'm safe, really. You don't have to lecture me like a child. I'm aware of the events that happen around me." You respond was too familiar to sound convincing. That's what you always said whenever your mother started worrying about your safety out of nowhere. She had the habit of overthinking every recent event that happened, only to turn it on you and lecture you about it. She probably heard about the robbery that took place three streets away from your location and started to get paranoid. And yet, it was frustrating - being lectured like a child with no environmental awareness even though you were adult already, with your own job and house.

Your mom sighed in defeat, knowing there's no way she can get through you. "Right... You are. This aside, how's your shop running?" She asked curiously, still with hint of concern in her voice.

You hesitated to answer, your hand forming up a fist by your side. "Eh...Pretty well." You replied, immediately cringing at the lie but it was better than telling the truth about your mechanical shop - that it was better to be closed down soon as hardly anyone ever visited it. If your shop had costumers, it usually were kids that just happened to pass by with their bikes that were barely damaged or not even in the need of checking.

That being said, there's a costumer that visits regularly, as if it was his daily routine. His bike was somehow always in need of fixing, you'd think he's riding with death wish. The name? Hyuk Kwon. Ace of Sabbath crew that are participating in current major cycling event, League Of Streets. Since the day you heard that your regular costumer was participating in such an event, you followed his process. It wasn't surprise that he always comes back with damaged bike, considering how he rides.

Of course you didn't tell your mom about this guy. He was enigma even to you, calm on the surface but raging like a storm on the inside, and he had his way around your shop, his presence felt more rather it was seen. You'd be staring out of the window or scrolling through your phone when you'd feel chills running down your spine and there he was, staring down at you with his casual calm expression. He was like a ghost, poltergeist that kept haunting you even if he wasn't seen to be around you.

Suddenly the door of your shop opened, the guy you were just thinking about walked in with his bike rolling beside him. Speak of the devil. You thought. "Mom, I'll call you later." You hanged up, not waiting for a response. The familiar Cinelli Mash Bolt 1.0 catched your attention, the crack of its frame capturing your focus. "...How did you even achieve that?"

Hyuk scratched back of his head, glancing at his own bike. "Well..." His already low volume trailed in even quieter one. "Let's say, I crashed."

You exhaled. How typical of him. "And send someone to hospital...again?" You stated while walking towards the bike. Your heart ached seeing the state of its frame. This bastard really doesn't know how to take care of his bike, does he?! Even you formed more emotional connection to his bike than he, himself, due to how often you had to fix it.

"No, not today." Hyuk replied, his eyes looking around your shop. It definitely wasn't cleanest but it was the most reliable one he could find in this country. The air was thick with the scent of motor oil and gasoline--a heavy, industrial smell that clung to Hyuk like a second skin. Workbenches were cluttered with metal parts, wrenches and half-dismissed machines. Rusted steel shelves lined the walls, holding parts of engines and tires. He was as familiar with this shop as he was with his own gear.

"Oh, that's a surprise." You retorted. Securing his bike in your grasp, you placed it on the table, where all your tools were scattered around. Your gaze lingered on the slick cracks on his bike's frames - it wasn't anything you could fix in few hours. You shifted your attention to the guy, who has comfortably settled down on your chair. "It'll take time..."

"How long?" Hyuk questioned, slouched in the chair with legs spread wide.

"Around two days. I have to find perfect frame for this little guy." You replied, patting his bike gently.

Hyuk shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "But I don't want to change the frame." He stammered. He has had this frame for years and was most acquainted with. It wasn't just any frame for him...

You snapped your neck to look at him,eyes narrowing as frustration bubbled up. With a sharp exhale, you answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, because broken frame is exactly what you need for peak performance." Bitter smile stretched on your lips, edges curling up in mix of disbelief and frustration as he remained blissfully ignorant of the damage of his bike. The contrast between his calm demeanor and your obvious annoyance only made your smile feel colder.

He huffed, eyebrows furrowing at you as if you were the one shocking him. "That's why I brought it here. Just fix it." He said, his voice thick with hint of superiority, as if he was explaining something that should have been painfully clear to you.

Tired sigh escaped from your lips. There was no point in arguing with him. "Listen, I'm not professional enough to fix a frame this badly damaged. I can only change it into new one." You explained it to him. Hyuk probably was used to professionals handling the issues with his bike, that was blatantly obvious from his first visit, so you had no idea why he was even coming back to your shop. You weren't professional and you lacked experience, especially with bikes. You were much more used to fixing skateboards. "So, it'll be better if you'll take your bike to professional mechanic than me." You added, your eyes glued on the frame, bitter emotion gnawing at your heart.

Hyuk silently observed you, his eyes scanning your expression and, though you didn't notice, his gaze softened. Soft sigh came out from his lips. "...Fine."

With sense of shame, you grabbed the bike tightly and were about to hoist the bike up to put it down on the floor when he stopped you. "What are you doing?" He raised an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you had two heads.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, settling the bike back down. "Putting your bike down so you'll take it to professional?" But Hyuk shook his head, confusing you even more. "No, I meant...You can change the frame." He said quietly, his voice carrying the soft tone.

Your fingers loosened on the bike before completely letting go. For reasons you couldn't explain, warm feeling spreaded through you. "Are you sure? You seem to like this frame." You asked him, trying to push away the thoughts that maybe he was purposely staying at your shop. But you quickly brushed it off as overthinking.

"I'm sure." Hyuk answered sincerely, there was something about his calmness that seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace, his gaze never wavering from you, the intensity making the air feel charged, yet comforting. He watched how you started removing the wheels of his bike, each of your movement making him focus harder on you. There was gentle curiousity in his eyes, despite the amount of times he has been to mechanics and watched them fix his bike, it was different from you. Like how you'd start talking to yourself while analyzing the condition his bike was in and telling yourself what you needed to do, or how attractive you looked when focusing on your job. He felt like a creep whenever he'd find himself observing every single of your movement, every single curve of your body or even the rhythm of your breath, but he couldn't help it. He'd always find himself adrift in the quiet allure of your presence, lost in the sight of you as if time itself paused just so he could linger in your presence. Yet, no matter how much Chronos would slow down the time, it was never enough---because you were like a masterpiece, one he could gaze at endlessly. No matter how many skilled hands has touched his bike - fixing it and tuning it to perfection for good performance - it was you who he always came back to, who he always would come back to.

[mywritersmind]

CAT PARENTS - LN

pt.1

summary : A kitten is all it takes to get two strangers in the same bed for the night. Lando likes how she doesn’t know him, Olivia likes the cat that he’s trying to take from her.

warnings: just lando, olivia, and juna being cute!

word count : 1541

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“Oh my god!” I practically scream when I see the cat on the side of the road.

“Oh shit!” Someone grabs the cat before I can even get close. I look up to see who just stole this beautiful creature from me and am a bit taken aback.

He’s not too tall, but quite cute. He's got curly hair that’s cut into a baby mullet and a gray t-shirt that shows off his arms that are holding the kitten.

He blinks at me, making me realize I've been staring for probably too long, “That’s my cat.” I say quickly.

“Oh?” Fuck, he’s got an accent.

“You’re british?” I may have had a few drinks tonight, considering we are on the side of the road in Miami, the cat and the accent are throwing me off.

“You got that from one word?” He looks at me, confused, “Did you really bring your cat to go out and party in Miami?”

“I- No…” I glance back to see my friends who are still in line at the club, “But it’s the cat distribution system!” He laughs at me. LAUGHS.

What the fuck?

The cat snatcher sits on the curb, the cat pushing against him to get away. I sit next to him and snatch the cat right back. “She’s so cute!” I squeal as it stays still in my arms, meowing.

“Tell me more about this… cat distribution system.” I explain how people keep finding cats and it’s meant for them. He’s easy to convince, a good listener as well.

“Right then. I have to bring her home.” He sighs as if it’s a big issue.

“What? You mean I have to bring her home?” I hold the kitten closer to my chest, her light and dark brown fur brushing against me.

He frowns, “I found her first.”

I scoff, “She clearly likes me more. And I saw her first, you just got there quicker.”

He shakes his head, “Love, I still picked her up first.”

I furrow my brows, “Well, Love, You’re a random man and Juna and I don’t know you.” the kitten meows as if she agrees.

“Juna!? You can’t have already named her!”

“Ever heard of Clairo?”

“Okay- I’m Bob. What's your name?” He holds out his hand. I don’t take it.

“Bob?” I let out a laugh, “If you think I believe that, or would let you take Juna with that name, you’re on something.”

There’s something about the small smile he pulls that makes me feel weird and warm. He runs his hand through his hair, his ring catching the light, “My name is Lando.”

“Okay, Lando.” I roll my eyes, “Odd name but better than Bob. Why did you lie?”

His face scrunches up, “You honestly don’t know who I am?”

“Clearly not. If you’re that arrogant then I bet you’re not even known.” He smiles at this and stands up, offering me his hand.

I take it, standing and pulling down my black mini skirt as I do so. “She looks hungry.” My stomach growls at the exact time he says that. “So do you.”

I don’t know what to do. I’m staying with my friend this weekend and she is allergic to cats. I have no car and definitely not enough money to go buy things for a kitten. “Let’s go then.

I register that he’s speaking to me, “Excuse me?”

“If you won’t let me take her then we’ll have to go together.”

His words are what landed me in a pet store twenty minutes later.

I assured my friends that I would be okay and Lando made his friends prove he’s not some freak. His friends met mine and showed his instagram which made them agree way too quickly. He didn’t let me see it.

I gathered that he must be pretty famous or at least rich considering the McLaren we got into could not have been cheap. I saw him cringe when Juna had an accident in the front seat, yet he stayed quiet.

We’ve got Juna in a huge bed in the cart; food, treats, and toys surrounding her. “You never told me your name.” Lando pushes the cart down an abandoned isle, rightfully so since it is five minutes until closing.

We’ve been so busy that I honestly forgot I don’t actually know Lando.“Olivia.” I give in, “Liv, to my friends.”

“Alright Liv, are you from here?”

“Woah- we are not at friend status.” I shake my head, crossing my arms and shivering. I am still in platform boots, a mini skirt, and tube top. The few people working are shooting me dirty looks.

“Come on…” He frowns, leaning against the cart.

“Tell me your deal, then maybe I'll let you.”

“A fact for a nickname? I’m down.” He places the items, minus Juna, on the register. I explain my money situation but he doesn’t even think twice before he swipes his card. After we’re all back in the car he turns to me.

“I’m a driver.” He starts the car.

“Like a limo driver? Lando, you're not very good at this game.” Juna sleeps in my lap after she devoured a can of food and some water.

“A formula one driver…” He pulls out of the parking lot.

I know nothing about the sport except that it’s loved by my father and rich european people. “I don’t believe you.”

He eyes me and hands me my own phone that he’s carrying, “Lando Norris.” He says his last name.

“Quite the name you’ve got. Meant for fame, I fear.” He tries to hide his smile but he’s shit at it. I bite my lip and put my phone down, “I don’t want to look you up.”

“Why?”

“I want to learn about you, from you.” I shrug.

“Alright Liv…” He grins as he uses my nickname, “What do you do?”

I sigh and lean back in my seat, “I work in movies.”

“Really?”

I nod, “Yup. Mostly set design and some background stuff but one day I want to produce my own.” He listens intently, “So Lando… Why did you become an F1 driver?”

We go back and forth like this for thirty minutes until he pulls up to his hotel.

“Oh…” I look up at the fancy building, “You really want to bring a cat up there?”

He doesn’t say anything, just hands off his keys to the valet and grabs all the bags, leaving me with Juna. I’m amazed at everything we see, even the elevator is fancy with a big mirror that reminds me to wipe my under eyes that have mascara on them.

We walk to his room and as he opens the door for me my jaw drops, “Fuck, Norris.” I look around the huge room. It’s got a king sized bed, a bathroom with a tub and a shower, a couch, a huge TV, and the most beautiful view of the ocean.

“I won my first race here. Get a bit of special treatment.” he says like it’s the most casual thing ever.

He shuts the door and dumps everything onto the floor. We end up making a little space for Juna since we’re convinced we will lose her in this room.

Lando is in the bathroom when I text my friends about my night. They ask if he’s kissed me yet and I blush to myself, quickly explaining that it’s not that kind of night.

I’m laying on the floor, next to Juna when Lando walks back in, wearing only sweats. My eyes catch on his tanned and very fit body. “Forgot my jumper…” He says awkwardly, throwing on a blue dior hoodie as I look away and pretend to not have checked him out.

He lays on his stomach, petting the kitten's head and not meeting my eyes as he says, “If you wanna change, You could borrow some of my stuff.” I think I'm going to melt right there.

I check the time, “No… I really should go.” I sit up and he does with me.

“What?” he looks almost… sad? “You can’t leave Juna though.

“I know… But you can deal with a kitten alone.” I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave.

I don’t want to leave Juna.

I don’t want to leave Lando.

“Can I?” He raises a brow, “If you really want to go that’s fine. But… It’s late. And an Uber would be expensive. And it’s no trouble! Really you can take the bed.”

“Ok.” I say a bit too quick. His smile makes my heart skip a beat. Shit. Friends, Liv! Friends! Remember!? His adorable face and hilarious personality just comes as a bonus. “But you don’t have to sleep on the floor.” I laugh, “You can take the couch with Juna.”

He smiles and shakes his head, throwing a menu to me, “Order whatever, I can hear your stomach growling.”

-

note :

i love this story sm!! pt.2 coming soon!