#anyway. an otherwise perfect fruit

[essektheylyss]

picnic lunch of cheese and crackers made exponentially more hedonistic by the inclusion of a pluot, mankind's closest attempt at achieving godhood to date

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (1/3) | CS55

summary : “Bossy, isn’t he?” The voice is smooth, warm, and laced with amusement. You glance to your left and—of course—it’s Carlos Sainz. You freeze, your brother’s voice echoing in your head like a siren: Run. RUN.

wc : 9k

an : sorry for the lack of updates recently.. ehem.. anyway. rally driver carlos sainz. im making this a thing now.

“You’re staring,” Carlos says, voice low and gravelly. His smile is wolfish, sharp enough to cut through your resolve.

You blink, forcing yourself to focus on something other than the way his fireproofs cling to his frame or how the red of his suit gleams in the harsh light. “You’re filthy.”

“Occupational hazard,” he replies, shrugging. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Challenge? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Because you’re Charles Leclerc’s little sister, and that means Carlos Sainz Jr. is completely, irrevocably off-limits.

Charles would kill you both if he knew. He’s warned you before, in that brotherly-but-deadly-serious tone only he can manage.

Carlos is reckless, he said.

Carlos is trouble.

Carlos is not for you.

But damned it all, he looks good.

The kind of good that sinks its teeth into your chest and doesn’t let go. Mud-drowned, sweat-stained, grime-smeared.

Carlos Sainz Jr. wears chaos like it’s tailored for him.

By all accounts, you have no business so much as glancing twice at him.

Preciously guarded, perfectly poised, the crown jewel of your family’s otherwise tumultuous legacy.

Carlos doesn’t belong in the world that your family envisions for you. He’s nothing like the men you’ve been told to admire. His name carries weight, but for all the wrong reasons.

His reputation is as red as the suit he wears, all sharp edges and unapologetic flame. A bold, glaring warning sign.

—

The first time you meet Carlos Sainz is at the FIA WRC Prize-Giving Ceremony, a glittering vortex of champagne, sequins, and self-importance. The kind of place where you’d half expect someone to announce their yacht has feelings and everyone to applaud.

You’re standing near the bar, clutching a cocktail that tastes like fruit and regret, watching as yet another impeccably dressed couple glides by, all pearly smiles and whispered deals.

You’ve perfected the art of looking like you belong here. Chin up, shoulders back, face set in that careful neutral expression that says, Yes, I am both fascinated and entirely above this conversation.

Your dress, while beautiful, feels like it’s plotting against you.

It’s a designer masterpiece, sure, but also a silken cage, clinging to you with a vengeance. Moving feels like negotiating with an overly aggressive boa constrictor.

You’re mid-sip when a familiar warmth presses against your side, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of Dior cologne and something ineffably Charles.

He slides into your personal space with the precision of a Ferrari in a hairpin turn, arm looping over your shoulders in a practiced, casual gesture

“Hey,” you murmur, tilting your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him. He’s all sharp lines and understated ease, looking like he belongs here more than you feel like you ever will.

“Hey,” he replies, voice low, steady. You know what that particular combination usually entails.

“Charles,” you start, “why do I feel like you’re about to ruin my evening?”

“Because I probably am,” he says, his tone far too smug. “What’s with the silent brooding act? You’re usually better at pretending to have fun at these things.”

You shoot him a sidelong glance. “It’s not brooding. It’s observational detachment. Very sophisticated.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unimpressed. “Observational detachment looks a lot like you wishing the floor would swallow you whole.”

You huff. “Look, not everyone thrives in a room full of egos and overpriced cologne. Some of us are just trying to survive without tripping over a waiter or accidentally insulting someone’s investment portfolio.”

Charles chuckles, a low, warm sound that makes you feel both comforted and mildly insulted. “Relax. Nobody’s looking at you.”

“Wow, thanks for that, Charles. Truly, your support is overwhelming.”

“Anytime,” he says, patting your shoulder like you’re a child who just learned how to tie their shoes.

Before you can deliver a properly scathing retort, a ripple of energy rolls through the crowd.

It’s subtle at first, a shift in the air, but then the room practically pivots in unison. You wonder for a second if someone's giving out free caviar.

Instead, you follow their collective gaze to a man.

He strides into the room with the kind of confidence that should be illegal. The tailored suit, the tousled hair, the jawline that could cut glass. It's like someone combined a Greek statue and a high-stakes poker player and gave it legs.

“Man of the hour,” Charles mutters, his voice tinged with something you can���t quite place. Disdain? Wariness? A general sense of foreboding?

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head toward him. “Friend of yours?”

Charles snorts. “Hardly. That’s Carlos Sainz Jr. Rally royalty. He's won the last 3 seasons. Toyota’s golden boy. Ferrari’s got some partnership thing with them next season, which is the only reason why we’re even here.”

You glance back at Carlos, who’s working the room with maddening confidence. “So, he’s basically Rally’s Verstappen?” you ask, your curiosity slipping out before you can stop it.

Charles gives you a look. “Don’t.”

“What?” you say, feigning innocence. “I’m just asking.”

“You’re not just asking,” he counters, his eyes narrowing. “I know that look. That’s the ‘who’s that guy, and how do I make him notice me’ look.”

“Excuse me,” you scoff, turning to face him fully. “I do not have a-”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. “I’ve seen you use it. Monaco. Italy. That time in Barcelona with-”

“Alright!” you hiss, your face heating. “Fine. Maybe I’m curious. He’s… magnetic.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, magnets also attract negative things. Stay away from him.”

You smirk, leaning a little closer. “What’s the matter, Charles? Afraid I’ll charm him?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’m afraid he’ll charm you. And then I’ll have to deal with whatever disaster follows.”

“Relax,” you drawl, giving him a playful nudge. “I’m not that easy to charm.”

“Yeah, sure,” Charles mutters, clearly unconvinced. “Just don’t do that thing where you get all… wide-eyed and clever. Guys like him eat that up.”

You’re about to respond when you feel it— a gaze.

You glance up, and there it is.

Carlos’s eyes are on you. It’s brief, almost imperceptible, but it sends a spark down your spine.

Charles notices instantly. His grip on your shoulder tightens. “Don’t,” he warns again, his voice low and dangerous.

“I didn’t do anything!” you protest, trying to suppress a smile.

“Exactly. And you’re not going to,” he says, steering you toward the opposite end of the room like a bouncer removing an unruly guest. “We’re going to stand over here, away from trouble.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being predictable,” he shoots back, his jaw tight. “Trust me, mon cher, you don’t want to play with fire.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching one last glimpse of Carlos as Charles practically barricades you with his presence. “You know,” you murmur, smirking, “sometimes you’re more fun when you’re not acting like dad.”

Charles glares at you. “And sometimes, you’re less annoying when you don’t flirt with people I don't even want to see once in my lifetime.”

“The fact that they annoy you is half the fun,” you say sweetly, earning a groan from him.

“God help me,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re going to kill me one day, I swear.”

—

“Alright, sœur,” Charles says as he adjusts the cuffs of his tuxedo. “I need to head out for some Ferrari business. Do not make me regret leaving you alone.”

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your cocktail with mock innocence. “Charles, please. What trouble could I possibly get into in a room full of racing legends and corporate sponsors?”

He levels you with a look so sharp it could shave ice. “I have seen you talk your way out of detention, past bouncers, and into a free round of drinks on three separate continents. You are a wildcard, sœur.”

“Flattering,” you reply, setting your glass down. “But seriously, I’ll be fine. I’ll stay right here by the bar, sipping my little fruity drink, not bothering anyone.”

“Promise me,” Charles says, and his tone is so dead serious you have to bite back a laugh.

“Promise,” you reply solemnly, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Charles doesn’t look convinced. “No cocktails that magically refill themselves.”

“Understood.”

“No sneaking out the back to avoid small talk.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And absolutely, under no circumstances, are you to talk to Carlos Sainz.”

At this, you can’t help but grin. “Ah, so we’re naming names now.”

“I mean it,” Charles says, leaning in closer, his voice dropping. “He’s not for you. He's the kind of guy that makes people do stupid things.”

You tilt your head, amused. “Are you warning me or complimenting him?”

Charles groans as he steps back, hands on his hips, his expression a mix of concern and mild irritation. If he had a clipboard, you’re pretty sure he’d be writing up a contract for you to sign in blood just so he can rest easier.

“Alright,” he says. “Repeat it back to me. What are the rules?”

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your too-tight dress. “Charles, I’m not five-”

“Rules.” His tone is firm, his eyes narrowing like he’s daring you to argue.

You roll your eyes but indulge him anyway. “I will stay here, I won’t get drunk, and I will absolutely not talk to Carlos Sainz.”

“And?”

You blink. “And… I won’t commit arson?”

He glares at you, unimpressed. “You won’t look at Carlos Sainz.”

“Charles-”

“Not even a glance. Not even one of those polite ‘oh, I accidentally made eye contact across the room’ things. Nothing. He doesn’t exist to you. Got it?”

You try to keep a straight face but fail miserably. “What happens if he sneezes near me? Do I ignore that too? Should I call security?”

“Sœur, this is not a joke,” he huffs, his hands moving to your shoulders like he can physically shake the mischief out of you. “Carlos is… he’s trouble.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Trouble? Or, like, annoyingly charming?”

“Both!” Charles exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And don’t give me that look. I’ve seen what happens when you’re around guys like him. You think they’re all charming smiles and nice suits, and then next thing I know, you’re calling me to help you get out of some ridiculous situation-”

“I called you one time,” you interrupt. “And that was because the guy had a pet snake, and I panicked!”

“And who ended up having to rescue you from the snake guy?”

“Okay, fine, you made your point,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “I won’t talk to Carlos. Happy?”

“No,” Charles says flatly. “But I have to leave anyway. Ferrari’s calling.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Abandoning your defenseless sister in the lion’s den. What a hero.”

He leans in close, his eyes locked on yours. “I’m serious. Stay here, don’t drink too much, and if you see Carlos coming, you run.”

“Run? In this dress? Are you kidding me?”

“Figure it out,” he snaps, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before walking off. He glances over his shoulder twice—twice—as if expecting to catch you breaking a rule the moment he’s out of earshot, before narrowing his eyes at a man who isn’t even Carlos but looked at you for half a second too long.

You wait until he’s fully gone before exhaling in relief.

“Bossy, isn’t he?”

The voice is smooth, warm, and laced with amusement. You glance to your left and—of course— it’s Carlos Sainz.

You freeze, your brother’s voice echoing in your head like a siren: Run.

RUN.

“I was beginning to think he’d never leave,” Carlos adds, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “You were… waiting for him to leave?”

“Only because he kept looking at me like I’d stolen his wallet,” Carlos replies, leaning casually against the bar. “Or his car. Or his sister.”

You open your mouth to respond but close it again, realizing there’s no good way to play this off. “He’s just… protective.”

Carlos chuckles, his eyes scanning your face with a kind of slow, deliberate curiosity. “I noticed. So, did you make him that promise? No drinks, no sneaking out, no talking to me?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, deadpan. “I told him I’d only talk to the nice drivers.”

Carlos clutches his chest like you’ve just shot him. “Ouch. Harsh.”

“I’m just being polite,” you say, your lips twitching into a smile.

“Well,” he replies, leaning closer, his voice dropping slightly, “if this is you being polite, I think I would very much like to see what happens when you are not.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re trouble.”

He grins wider. “So I have heard.”

You glance around, half-expecting Charles to materialize out of thin air and haul you away, but thankfully, the coast is clear. “If Charles sees us talking…”

“I will tell him I was complimenting his suit,” Carlos says, completely unbothered.

“Complimenting his suit?”

“It is the diplomatic approach,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, I am not here to talk about your brother.”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly but manage to keep your tone light. “Oh? And what are you here to talk about?”

Carlos tilts his head, considering. “I was going to ask what you are drinking. But now I am more curious about what it takes to make you smile like that.”

You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “Like what?”

“Like you have just outsmarted someone,” he says, his grin softening.

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“Likely not,” he admits. Carlos leans against the bar, his grin firmly in place, the picture of someone who knows they’re being just a bit too charming for their own good. “Alright then,” he says, folding his arms casually, “if flattery is off the table, will you take honesty?”

You arch a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “Honesty? Bold move. Let’s hear it.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Honestly… I do not think I have ever seen someone look so uncomfortable in such an expensive dress.”

Your mouth falls open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

“You look stunning,” he says quickly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “but also like you are plotting the designer’s bankruptcy for making it impossible to sit down without no strategy.”

You try to fight the grin tugging at your lips, but it’s hopeless. “That obvious?”

“Painfully.” He gestures toward your drink. “That is why you are sticking to cocktails, am I wrong? Easier to hold when you cannot sit.”

“First of all,” you say, narrowing your eyes, “I’ll have you know this dress is art. Secondly, yes, it’s also a medieval torture device.”

Carlos laughs, the sound warm and rich. “I knew it. You should have gone for something more comfortable. Like a race suit.”

“Oh, sure,” you say dryly. “Nothing screams elegance like fireproof overalls.”

He raises a brow, amused. “I pull it off, no?”

“Debatable.”

Carlos gasps, hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“Maybe you deserve it,” you tease, swirling your drink. “Coming over here and making fun of my dress. Bold move for a guy who was scared of my brother five minutes ago.”

“I was not scared,” Carlos protests, though his grin gives him away. “I was being… strategic. Big difference.”

“Strategic?”

“Of course. If I had approached with him still here, I would not have had a chance to make you laugh like this.”

You blink, caught off guard by the way his words land. Playful, sure, but with just enough sincerity to make your heart skip a beat. You glance down at your drink to recover. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it is worth it,” he replies smoothly.

You roll your eyes, though you’re still smiling. “You know, Charles warned me about you.”

Carlos leans in slightly, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Did he, now? What did he say?”

“That you’re trouble.”

He grins, clearly delighted. “Smart man, your brother.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think he undersold it.”

Carlos’s gaze lingers on you for a moment, his smile softening. “And yet, here you are. Still talking to me.”

“Out of politeness,” you counter, though your tone is anything but serious.

“Ah, of course,” he says, nodding solemnly. “Politeness. Nothing else.”

Before you can respond, a familiar figure catches your eye— Charles, weaving his way back through the crowd, his sharp gaze already scanning the room.

Carlos notices too.

He straightens slightly, his grin turning almost boyish. “Looks like the bodyguard is back.”

You feel a pang of panic and glance at Carlos. “You should probably go before he-”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off with a wink. “Relax.”

Before you can protest, he pulls a small card from his pocket and slides it across the bar toward you. “Call me sometime. You know, if you ever need a break from all the rules.”

Your eyes widen, and you stare at the card like it’s going to combust. “Are you serious right now?”

“Deadly,” he says, stepping back with an easy confidence that somehow makes the gesture feel entirely natural.

You glance back toward Charles, who’s getting closer. “You’re insane.”

“Very likely,” Carlos agrees, his grin never wavering. “But you are smiling again, so I will take my chances.”

With that, he turns and disappears into the crowd just as Charles arrives, his expression immediately suspicious.

“You’re… red,” Charles says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Why are you red?”

“I’m not red,” you reply quickly, tucking the card into your clutch before he can notice.

“You are definitely red.” His eyes scan the room like he’s searching for a culprit. “Did someone talk to you? Was it-” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Who?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Charles groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I leave you alone for ten minutes-”

“Nothing happened!” you say, cutting him off before he can spiral. “I stayed in place, I didn’t get drunk, and I absolutely did not talk with Carlos Sainz.”

Charles glares at you for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. “If I find out you’re lying…”

“You won’t,” you assure him, fighting to keep your expression neutral.

Charles mutters something in French under his breath, his protective instincts still on high alert. But for now, he seems to let it go.

You take a deep breath, trying not to think about the card burning a metaphorical hole in your clutch.

Trouble, indeed.

—

The next evening, you’re sitting on the edge of the couch in the hotel you're staying in for the week, the card in your hand like a magnet pulling your thoughts.

Carlos Sainz Jr.

His name, elegant and bold, hovers just above a phone number.

You’ve been staring at it for an hour, maybe two.

It’s reckless. You know exactly where this could lead. But after weeks of licking your wounds post-breakup, maybe reckless is what you need.

You grab your phone, dial the number, and press call before you can second-guess yourself.

The line rings twice before you hear his smooth, amused voice. “Did not expect you to actually call. Could you not resist me after all?”

You snort, leaning back in your chair. “You’re lucky I was bored.”

“Boredom. My favorite reason to hear from someone,” he says, the grin practically audible. “Let me guess, you are curious too?”

“A little bit.”

“Well, what are you curious about then? My irresistible charm? Perhaps my car collection?”

“How you manage to stay humble, obviously,” you deadpan, sinking back into the cushions.

Carlos laughs, warm and easy. “Touché. So, to what do I owe the honor of your time?”

“Honor?” you repeat, grinning despite yourself. “You’re laying it on thick, Sainz.”

“Is it working?” he teases.

“Not even a little.”

“Well that just breaks my heart,” he says, the amusement still lacing his voice. “So, what’s the plan? Coffee? A five-course dinner? A museum? A chess tournament, maybe?”

“Very funny.” You can’t help but roll your eyes.

He chuckles. “Not doing it for you? Then.. how about something a little more… fun?”

You pause, caught off guard by the openness of the invitation. He clearly doesn't shy away from what he wants. “Define ‘fun.’”

“Well, that depends,” he replies. “Do you like questionable choices?”

You laugh lightly, your shoulders relaxing. “That’s vague enough to sound both exciting and mildly concerning.”

“Only if you're afraid of a little adventure,” he says. “So, what do you say? Feel like breaking a rule or two tonight?”

It’s tempting, more than you care to admit. After the mess of your last relationship, something casual, something fun, feels like exactly what you need.

No strings, no complications, just one night where you don’t have to overthink.

“Fine,” you say before you can change your mind. “But if it’s boring, I’m blaming you.”

Carlos chuckles, confidence palpable even over the phone. “Deal. Wear something you can run in just in case.”

“Run?” you repeat, half-laughing. “What are we doing, robbing a bank?”

“Not unless you want to,” he quips. “Pick you at nine?”

“Make it ten,” you counter.

“Perfect,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you then.”

At exactly 10 p.m., you step out of your building to find him leaning against a sleek black car, his arms crossed casually over his chest. He looks up as you approach, his grin lighting up the cool night.

“Punctual,” he says, straightening. “I like that.”

“Don’t get too excited. I had to pull some serious James Bond moves just to get down here without getting caught.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, his grin already threatening to take over his face. “You had to sneak out? Please tell me this involved climbing out a window, a grappling hook, or at least a dramatic roll through the bushes.”

“Dial it back, Hollywood,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “Charles is in the same hotel, so I had to wait until he was distracted. Then it was all service elevators and a full-on sprint through the lobby. Not my proudest moment.”

Carlos lets out a laugh that’s so loud it practically echoes. “A sprint? In heels? I would’ve paid to see that. Did you also hurdle over a concierge desk? Maybe slap on a disguise?”

“Oh, sure,” you say dryly. “I borrowed a waiter’s tuxedo, grabbed a martini tray, and dramatically whispered, ‘The eagle has landed’ into my nonexistent earpiece. Happy?”

Carlos is practically wheezing now. “God, I love this. The mental image alone is worth every risk of me getting yelled at by Charles later.”

“Glad my suffering is your entertainment,” you grumble, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“It’s not suffering,” he teases, opening the passenger door with a flourish. “It’s resourcefulness. And it’s sexy, honestly. Nothing like a woman who can evade capture.”

Sliding into the car, you’re greeted by the smell of leather and something distinctly spicy- his cologne, no doubt.

You buckle your seatbelt with a sigh. “Let’s just hope Charles doesn’t find out. I don’t need another lecture about ‘dangerous distractions.’”

Carlos rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat, shooting you an amused look. “Dangerous distractions? That is what he calls me?”

“Paraphrased,” you say, tilting your head. “But yeah, you’re not exactly his favorite person.”

Carlos starts the car, the low rumble of the engine filling the air. “Dangerous, distracting… mysterious? I mean, he is not wrong, no?”

“Sure, if you consider reckless confidence a mystery,” you deadpan, smirking.

The car glides through the streets, city lights flickering like distant stars. Soft music hums in the background, but it’s the easy rhythm of his laugh that keeps drawing your attention.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “do you make a habit of this? Sweeping women off their feet with late-night escapades and mediocre charm?”

Carlos glances at you, his grin widening. “Define habit.”

“Something you do as often as breathing, blinking, or inflating your ego,” you reply, deadpan.

He chuckles, one hand leaving the wheel to gesture grandly. “First of all, I don’t charm everyone. I have standards. Second, I don’t see you as a stranger. More like… a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in—”

“Don’t say mystery,” you cut in, groaning.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “A challenge. And I love challenges.”

You arch a brow. “So what you’re saying is, I’m a Rubik’s Cube in heels?”

“Exactly,” he says, like it’s the highest compliment he could ever give someone.

“Oh, well, as long as I’m colorful and frustrating,” you reply, rolling your eyes.

Carlos grins. “And completely irresistible.”

“Please tell me that’s not your go-to line,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in mock despair.

“Of course not,” he huffs, mock-offended. “My go-to line is, ‘Hi, I’m Carlos. Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.’”

You practically choke on your laugh. “That’s horrible. That’s, like, pick-up line rock bottom.”

“Rock bottom?” he echoes, feigning shock. “No way. It works every time.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does.” You shake your head. “On toddlers and tourists.”

“Hey,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, your laugh betraying you. “I’m here despite you, not because of you.”

Carlos smirks, his voice dripping with mischief. “Keep telling yourself that, mastermind. But I know the truth- you couldn’t resist the ‘dangerous distraction.’”

You groan, sinking further into your seat. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” he says, shooting you a quick, playful glance, “are having the time of your life, admit it.”

For once, you’re not entirely sure he’s wrong.

The car eventually pulls into the driveway of a sleek, modern hotel, its lights gleaming against the night sky.

You turn to Carlos, raising a skeptical brow, putting on your best impression of someone highly offended as he parks in front of the gleaming hotel. “So, this was the plan all along? Fancy hotel, late-night charm, and then…?”

You don’t even have to finish the sentence because his grin, the one that’s already halfway to insufferable, answers for him.

“And then what?” he fires back, leaning one arm against the steering wheel like he’s posing for a GQ article.

“You know exactly what,” you say, narrowing your eyes dramatically.

Carlos gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just insulted his entire family tree. “Wow. So that’s where your mind went? I bring you here for the view and the ambiance, and you’re already casting me as the villain? Shame on you.”

“Oh, please,” you reply, fighting to keep your laugh in check. “I’m just cutting to the chase. Save us both the trouble.”

Carlos turns to face you and nothing in his face says he's particularly ashamed to admit his intentions. “Look, I could tell you some noble story about how I just wanted to show you the city from a better perspective.”

“But?” you prompt, raising a brow and you cover a laugh when he tuts at your impatience.

“But, I figured you’re too smart for that,” he admits with a shrug. “So yes, I brought you here thinking we would share a night.”

Your stomach flips at the sheer confidence of his answer, but you force the neutral expression to stay. “Bold of you to assume I’d even be interested.”

Carlos leans in slightly, voice dropping to something softer, teasing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have taken the whole ‘call me’ thing as you wanting to discuss philosophy?”

He leans in, smirk turning positively dangerous. “Plus. Trouble’s half the fun, is it not?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not paying for room service if this whole charade involves a well-rehearsed speech,” you shoot back, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Speech?” he echoes, already stepping out of the car and coming around to your side. He opens your door with an exaggerated bow that is far too ridiculous to be charming but it manages to be anyway. “If I were planning a speech, it would be Oscar-worthy. Full drama, perhaps a soundtrack. But alas, I left my tuxedo at home.”

“Shame,” you deadpan, stepping out. “A tux might’ve added some credibility.”

Carlos shrugs before gently taking your hand. “M’lady, allow me to escort you to… whatever this is.”

“You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” you say, stepping out.

“Thick is how I do everything,” he replies. “Thick charm, thick dessert layers.. Thick..”

He trails off, wiggling his eyebrows.

You groan, unable to help yourself. “Are you 13, Sainz?”

“Going on 30.”

The elevator ride is like a high-stakes staring contest, except Carlos is clearly cheating by smirking every time you glance his way.

He leans against the wall like a man who’s never faced consequences in his life, while you remain firmly committed to ignoring him.

“I could get used to this silence,” he finally says, breaking it. “Very... peaceful.”

You don’t even look at him. “If you wanted peaceful, Carlos, you picked the wrong girl.”

His laugh echoes in the small space, low and entirely too confident.

—

The suite is jaw-droppingly beautiful, the kind of place you’d expect to see in a movie where the protagonist definitely can’t afford it.

Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a cityscape so gorgeous it feels like you’ve just walked into a tourism campaign.

Even Charles doesn't splurge this much on hotels. Much less hotels to spend a one-night stand in.

“Alright,” you admit grudgingly as you step onto the balcony. “This is… adequate.”

Carlos sidles up beside you, resting his elbows on the railing. “Adequate? Adequate? That’s like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a decent sketch.’”

“Relax, da Vinci,” you reply. “It’s a view, not the eighth wonder of the world.”

He shakes his head in mock dismay. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to book this place? I practically had to arm-wrestle a guy named Greg for it. Poor man is probably crying into his budget tiramisu right now.”

You snort, folding your arms. “I hope Greg writes an angry Yelp review. ‘Carlos stole my room and ruined my tiramisu dreams.’”

“Hey, I was thinking of your happiness,” Carlos counters, gesturing grandly to the suite. “You should be thanking me.”

“Oh, thank you, generous benefactor, for saving me from the horror of Greg’s tiramisu,” you deadpan, though your lips twitch toward a smile.

Carlos taps his fingers on the table like he’s just cracked the da Vinci code wide open. “Boom! A smile! My evil plan is working.”

You squint at him, feigning shock. “You have an evil plan?”

“Obviously,” he says. “I am a professional at this stuff. There’s a whole spreadsheet.”

“Spreadsheets? Really? What’s in Column A? ‘Step one: tiramisu. Step two: convince her I’m worth her time’?”

“Not quite,” Carlos waves a hand as though dismissing your obvious lack of understanding. “Step two is actually ‘compliment her taste in balcony design.’”

You roll your eyes. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to charge you for emotional damages.”

Carlos grins, taking out his phone with an easy flick of his hand. “No need to worry, it’s all part of the strategy. Tiramisu’s on the way, and my evil plan is flawless.”

You cross your arms and step away from the window, keeping your eyes locked on his. “Define ‘flawless,’” you tease, your voice sharp with mock suspicion.

Carlos steps closer, smirking like a man on a mission. “Flawless enough that it is guaranteed to work on you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

His eyes flicker to your lips, and suddenly the air between you feels warmer. “Really,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, teasing with the kind of certainty that makes your heart do a little flip.

“You’re not really gonna make me wait for that tiramisu, are you?” You ask, leaning in just a little, challenging him with a smile that’s all confidence and mischief.

Carlos doesn’t even flinch.

In fact, he takes a step closer, his fingers brushing your wrist with a too-easy familiarity. “Greg can have it.”

Your breath catches as his forehead comes to rest against yours.

“Do I have your consent to skip to the good part?” he whispers, hand brushing against your waist, lingering for your permission. “I promise I’ll wine and dine you next time.”

You can’t help but smile, and he mirrors it, that same knowing look in his eyes.

Both of you know there's not going to be a next time. This is it.

Carlos leans in, just close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath on your skin. "I mean it. Next time, you get the full treatment.”

You smirk. "No need to get romantic. We both know that's a lie.”

For a split second, he doesn’t answer.

Then he shrugs, as if he’s made peace with the fleeting nature of this whole thing. "Yeah, probably," he admits, not at all shy.

The world is big and messy. Tomorrow, you'll wake up with responsibilities, regrets, maybe even some bruised pride.

But not tonight.

Not in this room.

You lean in, the air thick with anticipation, and that's all it takes.

Carlos surges forward, catching you off guard with how quickly he takes the lead. His hands cradle your face like it’s something precious, his fingers spreading across your jaw with a touch so warm and careful it makes your chest tighten.

For a moment, everything goes still.

The absurdity of it all melts away as you sink into the kiss, soft and electric all at once.

The heat of him consumes you, the world blurring into nothing but Carlos and the way he tastes. Sweet, intoxicating, and just a little messy. Lips collide, teeth graze, and the rhythm is anything but steady, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Carlos moves the two of you toward the bed, gently backing you up until your knees hit the mattress. His dark eyes shine with a playfulness that’s new to you, and he can’t help the grin tugging at his lips when you let out the softest gasp as you fall back against the pillows.

He leans over you, his fingers already searching for the zipper of your dress. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “Strip for me, baby.”

You’re hesitant for a beat, cheeks flushing pink, but then you comply, your movements shy but determined as you step out of your dress. Carlos watches, captivated, as if seeing you like this is the most enchanting thing in the world.

“God, you’re so cute,” he says, his voice filled with awe and a touch of amusement.

The moment your bra joins the pile of discarded clothing, his hand reaches behind you, fingers deftly undoing the clasp with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“Done this before?” you tease softly, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Carlos chuckles, his grin widening. “Maybe once or twice.”

His hands cup your breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. The way your body trembles under his touch makes his chest ache with affection. He dips his head, lips wrapping around a nipple, his tongue swirling teasingly as his eyes meet yours.

The little sounds you make are almost too much for him. Every gasp, every whimper, every squirm beneath him sends his heart racing.

“Still okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nod quickly, your expression so earnest and trusting it makes his chest swell. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sure.

Carlos smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before trailing his hand down your body, his fingertips brushing over your stomach, then your thighs. He hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your legs with an almost reverent care.

“You’re so wet, cariño,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with wonder. His fingers trail through your slick folds, teasing lightly before pressing against your clit in soft, deliberate circles.

The way your body arches, the quiet, desperate whimpers spilling from your lips—it’s almost too adorable for him to handle.

He pauses, bringing a finger to his lips and sucking your taste off it with a hum of satisfaction. “I’m going to go down on you,” he says, his voice steady but tinged with anticipation. “Let me take care of you, hmm?”

You whine, covering your face with your hands, clearly embarrassed, but Carlos just chuckles, his heart melting at how cute you are.

“Look at me,” he coaxes gently, his tone soft but firm.

When you peek at him through your fingers, your nose scrunching slightly, he grins. “Good girl.”

The shudder that runs through you at his words doesn’t go unnoticed, and he files that reaction away for later.

He shifts, settling between your thighs before shouldering your knees apart, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt, flushed and swollen with desire.

Carlos is aching in the confines of his jeans, hard and dripping precum into his boxers, but that can wait.

It’s going to wait.

"So beautiful," he breathes, his fingertips barely grazing the sensitive flesh as he spreads you open for his hungry gaze. “Mierda..”

His eyes follow a drop of come that escapes your clenching cunt, enraptured. He smears it along your clit, relishing in the way your body jerks up on the bed.

Leaning in, he drags the flat of his tongue up your slit in one slow deliberate lick, savoring.

"Mmmm..I could spend hours worshipping this pretty little cunt.” Carlos hums, his eyes fluttering shut. The taste of you, sweet and heady, has him groaning softly.

Your body responds instinctively, your back arching as you clutch at the sheets, soft cries spilling from your lips.

He repeats the motion before he can even think about it, tongue flicking across your clit.

He does that a few more times before shifting, grimacing as his covered bulge rubs against the mattress.

Carlos flicks over the bundle of nerves, then wraps his arms around your legs, lifting them from where they're settled and placing them above his shoulders. He spreads your lips, and then gets started.

“Fuck!” You gasp, back arching as you scramble for purchase, sanity fraying with every plunge of his tongue inside of you.

He seals his lips around your clit and suckles gently, flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud.

“I'm- Ah! Oh god, oh shi-it..- Please..” You're not quite sure what you're begging for. All you know is that you're going to die if Carlos stops.

"I'm gonna put in a finger, okay?" Carlos asks, looking up at you for your permission.

Usually, he’s not big on communication, not because he dislikes it, but because he’s rarely found it to be necessary.

But now, here you are, putting on a brave face and quietly defying your brother for the night.

He finds himself pleasantly surprised to enjoy the opportunity to guide you through it.

He grins when you nearly weep in relief.

"Yes, god yes..”

"Just tell me if anything feels uncomfortable.”

He circles your entrance for a moment, placing a kiss on your clit for the sake of it before slowly sinking a finger inside your slick heat.

He waits till your hips start shifting, seeking some sort of friction, before pumping them in a steady rhythm, his palm grazing your clit with each pass.

You’re tight, walls clenching down on just one of his fingers but your wetness makes it a little more easy to slide inside.

He gives a few slow pumps, checking your reaction, before picking up the pace and licking at your clit again.

You’re starting to make a mess, dripping down onto the sheets, and he wonders just how wet he can get you. Will you drip? Will you leak? Will you squirt?

"There we go.." Carlos praises, his words vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

“One more?”

You nod eagerly.

“Words, cariño,” he chides softly, his lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Y-Yes, please, Carlos,” you manage, your voice trembling but eager.

“There’s my good girl,” he praises again.

A shiver runs through you again and he grins, pushing back in with two fingers. Your face twists at the intrusion for just a moment before your hazy eyes are back on him, nodding as you catch his silent question.

Carlos curls his fingers slightly, stroking that spongy patch high on your front wall, easily finding your g-spot in another second as he tilts the angle of his wrist and your jaw drops, eyes widening.

"Oh mon dieu, don't- don't- stop-” you sob.

He laughs, has half the mind to tease but decides to do as you ask and make better use of his mouth by sucking on your clit again.

Your juices gush around his pistoning fingers as he feels your silken walls clamp down on the invasion, rippling and squeezing him in their velvety grip.

Carlos doesn't let up even as you try to squirm away from him, feet planted on his shoulders and trying to push him off your pussy.

He only growls, drags you closer to his mouth, his wicked tongue working your throbbing clit furiously.

"Yes, yes, that's it, let it all out for me," he coaxes between slurping kisses to your twitching sex. "Soak my face. Come on. Know you're close, baby.”

Carlos massages that spot inside you that has your toes curling, and the noises your wet pussy is making are completely obscene, seem to echo in the room.

“Wait-” a panicked wail leaves your lips but Carlos is too far gone, gulping for air as he replaces his tongue with his hand, the red and swollen bud of your clit rubbing against the rapid back and forth of his palm.

But Carlos doesn’t stop, too caught up in the sudden gush of fluid from your body.

His determined ministrations, almost frantic now, send droplets scattering across the bed and even onto his face.

You gasp at the mess, cheeks flushing as you take in the drenched state of his light blue button-up. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry-"

Carlos pauses, sitting up slightly as he glances down at his drenched shirt. For a moment, you think he might be upset, but then he grins. A slow, lazy, thoroughly pleased grin that makes your heart skip.

“Sorry?” he echoes, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it aside. “Baby, don’t apologize for that. That was incredible.”

His hand moves to your cheek, cupping it gently as he brushes his thumb over your flushed skin.

Your eyes dart away, but he tilts your chin up, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“You’ve never done that before, have you?” he asks softly, his voice filled with warmth and curiosity.

You shake your head, feeling a little bashful. “I didn’t even know I could.”

“Well, now you do,” he murmurs, his grin softening into a fond smile. “And it was beautiful. You were beautiful.”

His words make you blink up at him, your lips parting as if to argue, but the sincerity in his gaze stops you. Instead, a small, shy smile tugs at your lips, and you nod.

Carlos leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before his lips brush against yours, slow and tender. “Do you trust me to keep going?” he asks quietly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your response is immediate, a soft and eager, “Yes,” escaping your lips as your fingers thread into his hair, holding him close for just a moment longer.

Carlos groans, before pulling back and sliding off you.

His movements are deliberate, gaze flickering to meet yours as he reaches for the waistband of his jeans.

You can’t help but follow his every move, your eyes heavy with anticipation as he tugs the denim down, revealing inch by inch of him.

He steps out of his pants with a casual confidence that makes your pulse race. His smirk deepens as he notices your unabashed stare, the way your gaze lingers. “Enjoying the view?” he teases, his tone rough but playful.

You bite your lip, a shy but knowing smile creeping onto your face. “Maybe,” you admit softly, your voice laced with just enough mischief to make him chuckle.

“Well, then let’s make sure you enjoy the rest, too,” he says, removing his boxers.

As he does, his erection comes into full view, thick and heavy and already leaking precum at the tip.

Your eyes widen as you take in the impressive sight, a rush of fresh arousal surging through you.

You breathe out, trying to compose yourself. You chance a glance at him and he meets your eyes, nodding his head.

Your fingers wrap around Carlos’ wrist, pulling him back to the bed with a surprising determination that has him raising a brow.

Before he can say a word, you’ve moved between his legs, your intentions clear. Carlos barely has time to process what’s happening before his breath hitches.

“Fuck.”

Your warm, wet mouth enveloping his cock sends a jolt of pleasure straight through him and his eyes nearly roll back.

You move deliberately, letting your tongue glide along his length before pulling back to focus on his tip, swirling and teasing in a way that has Carlos groaning low in his throat.

His hands find their way to the back of your head, resting there more for balance than control, though he murmurs praises that tumble out unbidden.

"That's it, baby, just like that," he breathes, his voice rough with restraint. "Good girl… Fuck, you're such a good girl."

That last phrase draws a muffled moan from you, the vibrations traveling through him like a shockwave, making his stomach clench.

He can’t stop the thought that flashes through his mind— such a good fucking girl.

You find a rhythm, bobbing steadily while your hand works what your mouth doesn’t reach.

Each flick of your tongue over the sensitive underside of his cock has him twitching, a breathy curse escaping when you take him deeper, testing your limits

The warmth and pressure make his head spin, but when your eyes meet his, wide and glimmering with mischief, Carlos feels his control slipping.

"Shit-" he gasps, the sensation overwhelming as he feels the tip of himself graze the back of your throat.

The way your tongue works at the base sends a spike of pleasure so sharp, balls tightening, that Carlos has to act fast, pulling you off with a groan before he cums before even fucking you.

You look up at him, lips swollen and cheeks flushed, a glimmer of satisfaction in your expression.

A thin line of saliva clings to your chin, and you swipe it away casually, your grin both coy and triumphant.

"Holy fuck," he breathes out, running a hand over his face.

It's all the warning you get before he grabs you, flipping your positions in one swift motion so he’s above you again, his body crowding yours.

“Where'd a pretty little thing like you learn how to suck cock like that, huh?”

Your grin doesn’t falter as you murmur, “Wouldn’t you like to know.

Carlos smirks, leaning down close enough that his breath brushes against your skin. He murmurs, voice dark with promise, “let’s see what else you can do."

Carlos leans over you, his hands bracketing your sides as he captures your lips in a slow, heated kiss.

Pulling back just enough to speak, his voice drops to a low, husky murmur. “Dios mío, I can’t wait to fuck you...”

You’re breathless, your lips parted and your gaze heavy-lidded, but there’s a spark of challenge in your tone as you manage to say, “Then do it.”

His eyes darken as he takes in your defiance. “Oh, don’t worry, cariño,” he says. “I will.”

Carlos pulls a condom from beneath the pillow with a sly grin, ignoring your quiet laugh.

He makes quick work of rolling the latex sheath down his length. Making sure you see just so you don't feel uneasy about it.

Reaching for a bottle of lube that he'd asked the hotel staff to leave in the bedside drawer, he opens the cap slowly.

He notices the quizzical look in your eyes and addresses the unspoken question with a shrug. "Just to be safe. Better overdone than under, eh?”

Carlos lubes up his fingers thoroughly before reaching down to massage your slick folds.

His fingers trace teasing circles around your entrance, dipping in just enough to feel you flutter and squeeze, like you’re already trying to pull him closer. It’s almost too cute how your body responds, eager and impatient.

As Carlos begins to press in, the head of his cock breaching your tight entrance, your features twist in the most adorable way, your brows pinching together, lips parting slightly as you adjust. He can’t help but marvel at how perfect you look, even like this.

He exhales sharply, trying to stifle a groan.

Carlos isn’t usually the type to get too vocal, but the way you feel is making it impossible to hold back.

“Shhh, relax for me, amor,” he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring.

One hand strokes soothing circles on your lower back while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin.

He’s trying to be patient, gentle, because he doesn’t want to rush you, doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this.

He pauses whenever your expression tightens, his eyes fixed on you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

The way you wriggle your hips a little, trying to get used to him, only makes his heart clench. You’re trying so hard for him, to take his cock, and it’s impossibly endearing.

Finally, you nod, your voice a soft whisper. “Okay… Okay, you can move.”

Carlos doesn’t need to be told twice.

He starts slow, his movements careful and deliberate, as if he’s afraid of breaking something fragile. Each sound you make, the tiny gasps, the way you breathe his name, sends a shiver through him.

He's going to be obsessed with you if you keep it up.

The way your back arches beneath him, how your hands cling to his shoulders, and the soft “oh” that slips from your lips when he pushes a little deeper. All of it makes him want to be drunk with you.

When he’s as far as he can go, he pauses, watching your face, his voice laced with affection and just a hint of smugness. “Never been this full?”

You shake your head, biting your lip in that shy way, your hips shifting against him instinctively.

He chuckles softly, starting to move again, his pace slow and steady at first. But as you begin to meet his thrusts, matching him perfectly, he picks up speed, his movements more purposeful.

Each deliberate snap of his hips pulls the sweetest, most melodic sounds from you, soft gasps and little whimpers that only spur him on.

You’re perfect. So fucking cute.

The slick heat between you makes every movement smooth, though Carlos slips out a couple of times, only to guide himself back in easily.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint marks that spur him on, and your cloudy, pleasure-drunk eyes roll back in the most pretty way, making his chest ache with something more than just lust.

“Do you wanna ride me, baby?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with need.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice trembling as you nod eagerly.

There’s a flicker of shyness in your movements, a hesitation that only makes you more endearing to him.

Even though your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, you don’t hesitate, shifting so Carlos can lie on his back while you straddle him. He watches you with rapt attention, his lips quirking into a small, affectionate smile as you position yourself over him.

His hand wraps around his length, teasing your folds with the head, and he’s utterly mesmerized by the way your lips part, the way you bite down on them as you begin to lower yourself.

Inch by inch, you take him, and he can’t help but think of how you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

His hands find your hips instinctively, gripping you gently but firmly.

Despite his intention to let you set the pace, his need wins out, and he begins guiding you up and down before you even have a chance to adjust.

A loud, sweet moan escapes your lips as you lean forward, kissing him with an urgency that’s almost too cute for words.

Your teeth tug at his lower lip, making him groan softly, his hands tightening on your waist.

Then you start to move on your own, bouncing on him with a surprising confidence, and your wide, innocent eyes flick up to meet his. Even as the heat radiates from your every motion, there’s something so sweet in the way you look at him, like you’re trying to get his approval.

“Like this?” you slur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, just like that,” Carlos breathes, his voice thick and low.

The lewd, wet sounds of your bodies moving together threaten to push him over the edge, but he focuses on the adorable way you’re trying so hard to be good for him.

“You’re so good for me,” he groans, his words spilling out without thought, and the way you whimper in response, your lips parting in a needy gasp, makes his heart race.

You sink down fully, grinding against him, and he watches your expression shift. When you find the perfect angle, your eyes widen in a mix of wonder and surprise, locking onto his like you can’t believe how good it feels.

“Keep going, baby,” he murmurs, his thumb finding your clit and circling it gently, his voice filled with awe. “You’re perfect. So perfect. Let go for me.”

Your movements grow frantic, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body trembles. Carlos watches in utter fascination as your lips part in a choked whimper, and then you cry out, your release hitting you in waves.

Warmth floods over him, soaking his skin and the sheets beneath, but all he can think about is how beautiful, how absolutely adorable, you are in this moment.

The sight, the sound, the feel of you. It’s too much. Carlos’ grip tightens on your waist as he thrusts upward one last time, his own climax crashing into him.

His body shudders beneath you, his head tipping back as he empties himself completely, groaning your name softly.

When it’s over, you collapse onto his chest, your breaths mingling as both of you struggle to steady yourselves.

Carlos’ hands wander to your lower back, tracing gentle circles near the dimples that make you squirm slightly, a halfhearted giggle escaping your lips.

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The two of you lie there in the quiet, the warmth of each other’s presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

After a long pause, Carlos speaks, his voice filled with playful affection. “You want tiramisu?”

The sleepy laugh you let out is so cute it makes his heart flip, and he knows he’d do anything just to keep hearing it.

The thought makes him sick.

[jenosonlywife23]

Hoodie-Tee

Lowkey got pissed while proofreading this hehe!!! Anyway Jeno is so cute teehee!!

The sun was shining brightly, the perfect weather for a picnic. A light breeze carried the laughter of your group as you all sat on a checkered blanket, snacks and drinks scattered everywhere. Jaemin was laying on his back, staring at the clouds. Haechan was cracking jokes, making everyone double over with laughter, while Chenle munched on a bag of chips, giving commentary on everything.

You were seated beside Jeno, comfortably leaning against him as you picked at some fruit. Things were perfect—until Arin shivered and caught Jeno’s attention.

“Are you cold?” Jeno asked, already shrugging off his hoodie before she could respond.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. Oh, really?

“I’m fine, but—”

“Here,” Jeno said, draping his hoodie over her shoulders.

“Thanks, Jeno,” Arin said with a smile that lingered a little too long for your liking.

Chenle, ever the observant one, glanced at you with raised eyebrows, his chewing slowing as if he were watching a drama unfold. You pursed your lips, trying to keep your composure. It wasn’t Arin’s fault, but it still stung. Jeno’s hoodies were your thing, something he always reserved for you.

He should know that.

When Jeno leaned toward you with a bright grin, holding up a strawberry like he was offering you a gift, you turned your head away.

“Not hungry,” you mumbled, folding your arms across your chest.

Jeno blinked, confused. “You sure? You love strawberries.”

“I’m sure.”

Haechan looked over, sensing the tension. “Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?” he teased.

“Shut up, Haechan,” you snapped, a little sharper than intended.

Jaemin finally sat up, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken from a nap. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you and Jeno said in unison, though your tone was far less convincing.

Chenle, still munching his chips, leaned closer to you and whispered, “You okay? You’re looking a little… stormy.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though your clenched jaw said otherwise.

Jeno reached for your hand, but you pulled it away, grabbing a drink instead. He frowned, his confusion growing by the second.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, leaning closer.

“Nothing,” you said, plastering on a fake smile. “I’m just peachy.”

Jeno tilted his head, his gaze searching yours. “Did I do something?”

Finally, a clue. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Nope. Not at all.”

Haechan snickered. “Bro, she’s mad at you.”

“I’m not mad!” you insisted, though your voice was a little too loud.

“Yeah, you’re not mad,” Chenle chimed in, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Jeno looked between you and Arin, clearly trying to piece things together. When it finally clicked, his eyes widened. “Wait, are you upset because I gave her my hoodie?”

You stayed silent, sipping your drink aggressively.

“Babe…” Jeno started, but you cut him off.

“It’s fine, Jeno. It’s just a hoodie.”

“But—”

Before he could finish, you grabbed him by the wrist, yanked him toward you, and put him in a light headlock, your strength catching him off guard.

“My hoodie. My thing,” you muttered close to his ear, your voice low and sharp.

Jaemin burst out laughing, nearly toppling over. Haechan was cackling so hard he had to hold his stomach, while Chenle simply gave you a slow clap.

“Okay, okay! I get it!” Jeno said, his voice muffled as he tried to wiggle out of your hold. “You’re gonna mess up my hair!”

“Good,” you said, finally letting him go.

He turned to face you, his cheeks flushed and his hair slightly mussed. “I didn’t know it meant that much to you.”

“Well, now you do,” you said, crossing your arms.

Jeno reached for your hand again, this time gripping it firmly when you tried to pull away. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone earnest. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. My hoodies are yours, okay? Only yours.”

“Damn right,” you muttered, though the corners of your lips twitched upward.

Arin, oblivious to the drama, returned the hoodie with a sheepish smile. “Thanks again, Jeno. I’m fine now.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Jeno said, though he didn’t even glance her way. His full attention was on you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Forgive me?”

You sighed, finally relenting. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “And you’re scary when you’re jealous.”

“You haven’t seen scary yet,” you teased, though you couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto your face.

As the group dissolved into more laughter, Chenle leaned over and whispered, “That was better than any K-drama.”

“Shut up, Chenle,” you said, though you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

[chlix]

to do what i can do

pairing: seungmin x f!reader

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6.1k

warnings: insecurity, light angst, exactly three (3) uses of "y/n"

synopsis: after a conversation with hyunjin's girlfriend, you grow worried that you aren't putting enough work and attention into your relationship. seungmin dissuades you of this idea immediately.

a/n: literally never done this before so sorry if this formatting isn't standard. also ignore any spelling errors pls <3

Seungmin kisses you goodbye every morning. It’s like clockwork: he puts on his shoes, pours his coffee in a mug, kisses you goodbye, and is out the door. Both of you are routine-oriented people. You like schedules and organized silverware drawers. Ever since you first got together, Seungmin has been kissing you goodbye whenever you part ways, and nearly a year later that hasn’t changed. It’s sweet that he always remembers, and the fact that it’s practiced doesn’t make it feel any less sincere.

This morning is more of the same. You get up before him, as always, and put the coffee on. You check your emails while your breakfast cooks. Seungmin emerges just as the food is done (too late to actually eat it, as always) and goes to get his coat and shoes from the door. He loops back around to put his coffee in the cup you washed the previous night and leans down to where you’re sitting at the table to kiss you lightly on the lips. It’s so rote as to be unnotable, but it makes you smile anyway, your day instantly brighter.

“I love you,” you call after him, as you always do, and Seungmin waves as he leaves, throwing a “Be safe!” over his shoulder.  And then the door closes, and you’re alone.

In a few minutes, you’ll go to work at your office job. Later, you’ll come home and make dinner. At some point in the day, Seungmin will text you to let you know if he’ll be coming home or not, so that you’ll know if you need to make one portion or two. You normally make two anyway, and just leave the second wrapped up in the fridge. If worst comes to worst, you don’t mind eating the leftovers. It’s far more horrible in your mind to not have food ready for him when he is home. It’s not that Seungmin expects food from you. He’s expressed multiple times that he can buy food on his way home. But you like cooking for him, and lately you don’t get much chance because he’s so busy. You want things to be perfect when he’s home because the time you get together is precious. You’re not obsessive about it, or anything. You’re not “playing housewife” as your friends sometimes say. It’s not a crime to want to take care of your boyfriend.

Right now is a bit of a hectic period, and you haven’t seen him much for a while. You were surprised he even had the time to come home the previous night, although of course you were grateful. When he does come home, he gives you his undivided attention, like you’re the only person on earth. It makes the wait worth it. And he kisses you goodbye every morning because he loves you, and you can feel it on your lips all day, and it assuages the loneliness you might otherwise feel.

Today you have lunch with Ahrin, Hyunjin’s girlfriend. You have good relationships with the partners of all the boys, but you’re a bit closer to Ahrin, maybe because you two are so similar. Ahrin is quieter than the other women, and is more content to observe rather than participate. She’s witty and sharp-tongued, but still kind, and has a gentleness to her that makes her easy to open up to. She calls you up and complains she hasn’t seen you in a while and asks to have a meal with you that afternoon. You haven’t been feeling work very much, and you do miss her, so you agree to take a late lunch and meet her a cafe near your office.

Ahrin is radiant as always, and you make small talk about your families before devolving into complaining about mundanities: annoyances at work and the price of fruit at the supermarket. As you’re speaking, you notice Ahrin is wearing a dainty gold necklace that you don’t recognize, and cut yourself off to ask about it.

“Oh, this? It’s Cartier. Hyunjin bought it for me,” she says, bringing a hand up to touch the small pendant like she’d forgotten she was wearing it. “He’s on this kick about couple’s jewelry.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, and you mean it. It suits Ahrin’s softness and sophistication. He may have bought it because it was Cartier, but he clearly put some thought into it besides the designer label.

“Thank you,” she says, genuinely pleased. “I try to wear something he bought me whenever I go visit him.”

“Are you going to see him today?”

“I just come from there, actually. He took my credit card in his wallet, so I had to go get it back.”

“Oldest trick in the book,” you say.

Ahrin rolls her eyes. “I know. But it’ll work every time. I can’t help that I need it to go about my day.”

She doesn’t sound the least bit bothered. Ahrin and Hyunjin have been together for two years, and it’s a trick he’s pulled ever since they started living together, the “accidentally taking one of Ahrin’s things to work.” You’ve asked her before why she doesn’t confront him about it, but she says that she thinks it’s cute how he keeps coming up with excuses to see her, and anyway, she also likes having excuses to see him.

You also think it’s cute, if in a more wistful way. Seungmin is organized to a T, and he’s never needed you to bring him something he’s forgotten or vice versa. In fact, you can’t remember if you’ve ever visited him at work at all. You don’t think it’s that strange, though. It’s not like he’s made a habit of showing up to your workplace. Also, you likely wouldn’t have the time even if he’d offered. It does dampen your mood a bit though, especially as Seungmin texts you in the middle of your conversation that he in fact, would not be coming home today, meaning you would have to eat dinner alone tonight.

Ahrin notices the dip in your mood as you set your phone back on the table.

“Bad news?” she asks.

You swipe the notification away.

“It’s nothing. Seungmin just texting me about how busy they are.”

Ahrin hums in understanding. “Well, what can you do. At least it’s not as crazy as it was a few months ago.”

“Isn’t it?” You’ve been seeing less of Seungmin than you had in ages, and you’d assumed it was because their schedules had been bordering on unbearable lately. But Ahrin looks confused at your question.

“I don’t think so. Busier than last month, yeah. But they’re not filming anything right now, so the schedule isn’t as rigid. Seungmin hasn’t talked to you about this?”

You feel embarrassed, somehow. “He doesn’t talk about work much when he’s with me. He likes to keep it separate.”

“That makes sense. You should ask him to share his schedule with you, though. What if you need him and you don’t know where he is, or when he’ll answer?”

“I know where he’s at, generally. He tells me if he’s traveling. I just don’t know the minutiae.”

“You’re allowed to know. You should, for your own peace of mind.”

It’s not that it hadn’t occurred to you to ask. Seungmin told you his whereabouts if you questioned him, and he even volunteered information every once in a while, so you hadn’t thought much of it. And you didn’t suspect him of cheating on you ever in a million years. You knew he had other hobbies and friends as well- a whole life outside you that you weren’t privy to and didn’t need to be. But was it possible you were being a bit too aloof about your boyfriends daily habits? Why didn’t he share what he was doing, if he wasn’t at work? Why didn’t you know?

“I’ll ask him,” you say. “You’re right.”

Ahrin smiles encouragingly, and the topic is dropped for other matters. The odd feeling in your stomach doesn’t settle, though, and by the time you’ve finished your day and sat down to eat dinner, you realize you’ve unfortunately lost your appetite.

Seungmin calls you the next day to say he’ll be staying at the dorm for several days, and you tell him okay, thanks for telling me, I love you, goodbye. After you hang up the phone, you berate yourself for not asking more questions. You’re his girlfriend. You should be care that he’s leaving you alone for days at a time, you think as you drive to work. Maybe he’d been waiting for you to ask what he’d be doing or pester him for spoilers about the group’s upcoming plans. Maybe he wanted you to pout and whine about missing him and beg him to come home. You’d never done any of those things before, but maybe you should be. Maybe he’d called you hoping you would do those things and had hung up the phone disappointed.

The central problem of dating an idol is always a scarcity of time. They’re always busy, and because they’re always busy, you as a partner need to have a life outside them that is full and fulfilling, and sometimes those two schedules conflict. You can go long stretches without spending meaningful time together, and it’s hard to cope with, especially when they’re within driving distance of you, but still inaccessible. You know, though, that a scarcity of time does not always mean a scarcity of attention. You’ve seen it in Ahrin and Hyunjin, in the Cartier necklace and the missing credit card, that Hyunjin thinks about Ahrin all the time, and Ahrin knows that he does, is thinking of him just as much if not more. She can languish in the thought that even if Hyunjin is not with her, he desperately wishes he was, and when she wears his necklaces and bracelets and $500 hair clips, Hyunjin knows she is also desperately thinking about him.

You and Seungmin don’t have a system like that. Seungmin isn’t in the habit of buying you expensive gifts, for starters. He’s frugal with his money, hyperaware that one day his youth and fame will fade, and he won’t have such extravagant income. You’re similarly pragmatic, and you’ve never resented him for this. And that’s not to say he never spends money on you. He buys you flowers and takes you on expensive dates. He bought you a new laptop and headphones without you saying anything, and your closet is full of fancy dresses that are each tied to a high class outing you’ve been on. For each one, he’d bought himself a shirt and jacket to match. But those aren’t things you wear every day to show off. They’re for special occasions, specific memories. There’s nothing you wear or carry daily that marks you as ‘his.’

And honestly, you’ve never really thought about yourself that way. You and Seungmin are together, and you live together (by whatever measure your living arrangements currently count as), but you’ve never longed to be “branded” in a way befitting a pair of earrings or an oversized sweater. You wear his clothes at home, but never out. You don’t feel the need to show up to his practices and recording sessions. You’ve never even asked if you were allowed. If Seungmin bought you a Cartier necklace, you aren’t totally sure you would wear it.

It hits you like a freight train when you put it all together: You don’t care enough about Seungmin. You’re comfortable with him, you feel like you love him, but you don’t care about him the way you’re supposed to care about him. You’re not involved enough. But then, the same goes for him too, doesn’t it? He knows what you do for work, but he rarely asks you about anything other than a cursory how was your day? He doesn’t pester you for anything, doesn’t ask you to visit him or stay up for him when he comes home late. Aren’t those things that he should expect from you as a girlfriend? Why doesn’t he care that you’re so obviously neglecting him? When he kisses you goodbye in the morning, is that because he misses you, or is that just a habit formed over these past months, a meaningless part of the morning ritual he couldn’t resist if he tried?

You feel caught in a lurch, unsure what to do now. Seungmin deserves better than you, clearly. He deserves a girlfriend who actually gives a fuck about his life. But maybe, if you start making up for it now, he’ll forgive the past few months of you being so terrible. He’ll realize that you are an attentive girlfriend, and that you do care about him and that you love him, and you can prove it, you swear, it took you a while to realize what was wrong but you’ve got it all straightened out now. 

You can change. You can fix this. You know you can.

-/-

The next time Seungmin comes home, you wake up first the next morning, like always. You go to put the coffee on, and you make breakfast, and you check your emails. Seungmin comes out, walks past you to his shoes and coat, and doubles back to get his morning coffee.

“Busy day today?” you ask.

Seungmin freezes in his movements, caught off guard by your question. He recovers quickly enough, and answers. “Not particularly. Vocal practice, some other things.”

“Oh, good. Do you think you’ll be home today then?”

Seungmin turns to face you, his cup abandoned on the counter, unfilled. “Is everything alright?”

“What?”

“Is something wrong? Do we need to talk?”

Oh god, it’s worse than you thought. Asking if he’s going to be home to eat dinner is enough for him to think something is amiss. Have you truly never asked him that before?

“Everything’s fine. It would just be nice to eat dinner with you, is all.”

Seungmin relaxes. He leans down to kiss you, but it lingers longer than normal, as if he’s savoring the touch, your attention. “I’ll do my best,” he promises. “I love you. Have a nice day.”

You absolutely blossom under his affection, the verbosity atypical for so early in the morning.

“I love you too. Be safe.”

“I always am,” he says, and presses another peck to your lips before pulling away. He finishes pouring his coffee, grabs his coat, and waves as he leaves. You sit at the table, vibrating with satisfaction. You’re doing it, you’re giving him what he needs. Maybe all hope isn’t lost for you two just yet.

Your sky-high mood follows you to work, and the day keeps getting better with the discovery of cupcakes in the break room. One of your coworkers’ kids just had a birthday, and they had way too much food left over. You take one back to your desk to nibble on while you work, and even the mundanity of your daily tasks can’t bring you down from how well this day is turning out. Around midmorning, it occurs to you that this is the perfect opportunity to do something else nice for Seungmin by bringing him cupcakes. They’re not filming, which means they’re not on diets, so he can handle a bit of sugar and frosting, especially if it’s a gift from you. You borrow a container from the staff kitchen to carry some cupcakes and decide to defer your own lunch to deliver them across the city.

When you get to the JYPE building, though, you realize you have no idea what to do. You’re fairly sure you’re allowed access; the other girlfriends pop in and out all the time. But it’s possible no one here recognizes you, since this is the first time you’ve shown your face around here.

Being spontaneous is cute and quirky, but standing around lost and embarrassed grows tiring within seconds. You give up and decide to text Seungmin.

Are you busy?, you send, standing awkwardly by the door and hoping security doesn’t throw you out. Thankfully, he responds quickly.

Not super. Do you need to call?

Actually I’m in the lobby of your building. Can you come down?

Typing, and then a pause. Then more typing. Eventually the message comes through.

Ok.

You can’t decode that at all. It strikes you for the first time that you may be bothering him by driving over here. You did ask if he was busy, though. And it stood to reason that if you had time for a 5-minute phone call, he had time to come downstairs and accept the gift you’d brought him. It isn’t intrusive. This is what people do for each other when they care about each other.

It only takes a few minutes for Seungmin to round the corner into the lobby. His face is creased in concern, even worse than he’d looked this morning, and he’s walking at a brisk pace to stand right in front of you.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

You don’t know how to respond to his intensity, so you just hold out the container towards him. “I brought you cupcakes.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows furrow in utter confusion. “You…made cupcakes?”

“I didn’t make them. A coworker brought them in. But I remember you saying you liked cupcakes, and I had a free minute, so I thought I’d bring them over before they got finished.”

Seungmin accepts the box gingerly, as though it contains a nest of wild hornets, or lit sticks of dynamite. “You drove all the way over here to give this to me?”

Your doubts go from an inkling to a full-on tumult. “Yes, I did. I was just thinking of you…I thought you might like something sweet.”

You don’t mean to look dismayed, but Seungmin must clue-in to the fact that this isn’t the reaction you were hoping for. He shifts the box to one hand and laces your fingers together with his other.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” he says. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to bring me things.”

“It’s not out of my way. I had time.”

“Let me rephrase. You shouldn’t expend your lunch hour to bring me food. When are you going to eat now?”

“I’ll stay an extra half hour. It’s fine.”

Seungmin clearly isn’t satisfied with this. He tugs lightly on your arm, bidding you to follow, and you do, unsure of what else to do.

He takes you up a floor, and down a hallway to what seems to be a regular employee break room, where he gestures for you to sit down at one of the tables. You do, and he walks over to the fridge to get bottled water and brings back one for you, along with napkins and a knife from the drawer next to the fridge.

“If you aren’t going to eat lunch, you might as well share your spoils with me,” Seungmin says. He opens the container and takes out one of the cupcakes (and they are huge, to be honest, you kind of can’t believe they’re from a kid’s birthday party) and cuts it in half.

“Pick a side,” he says, and you do, and he carefully picks it up and lays it on a paper towel before sliding it towards you. He takes the other half, and you pick your desserts apart with your fingers. Seungmin tells an anecdote about Jeongin from their vocal lesson that morning. It’s…nice. You’re just spending time with your boyfriend, a quick stolen minute in the midst of your busy lives. The frosting is sickeningly sweet, and you find yourself reaching for the bottle of water without even thinking of it, and only later preen at the realization that Seungmin knew you would need to wash the artificial taste out and had brought you water preemptively. He knows you well enough to identify if something would suit your palette with only a glance.

Both of you don’t have much time to spare, so after fifteen minutes you wipe off your hands and clean off the table.

“I’ll bring the rest of these back upstairs,” he says. “They won’t last ten minutes once the others see them.”

“That’s fine. That’s what I was hoping for, actually.”

“And here I thought you brought these only for me,” he says, but his lips are curled up, teasing. He kisses you goodbye, like always, lips sugary-sweet and soft as cotton-candy. “Thank you for stopping by. I’ll see you tonight.”

Your heart grows three sizes. You’re on cloud nine. “Anytime,” you say.

That night you try very hard not to be an absolute freak about dinner. You cook nearly every day, so the cooking itself isn’t that special, but for some reason your usual rotation doesn’t feel good enough. Seungmin is coming home for the second day in a row, and you don’t want to reuse ingredients, or phone it in when you’d specifically asked him to come home. At the same time, a five-course meal is definitely doing way too much. You stop by the store on the way home and scan the shelves, before wrestling yourself into a compromise and getting ingredients for a meal you both enjoy, but you’re normally too lazy to bother after a long day at work. It’s nothing fancy, just time-consuming, but you’re in such high spirits that the labor doesn’t even feel harrowing.

Seungmin gets home a few minutes before you’re properly done, with the pot on the stove ticking down steadily as you wash dishes and spoons. Seungmin greets you as he walks in but vanishes quickly down the hall to shower and change into inside clothes. By the time he reappears, you’re all but done, and you’ve never been more satisfied with yourself as you dish the food into two bowls and set them on the table. Sure, maybe it’s “playing housewife” a little bit, but you don’t even care. If playing housewife is this rewarding, you might have to start doing it more often.

Seungmin raises his eyes as the dinner you prepared.

“Didn’t you complain that this is hard to make?” he asks. You shrug.

“Felt like cooking today,” is all you say. “No biggie.”

Seungmin sits down at the table, pushes his plate to the side, and looks directly at you. “Y/n. What’s going on?”

Anxiety shoots through you. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I’m not oblivious. You’ve been acting off all day.”

“Off?”

“Visiting me at the company? Cooking this fancy dinner? It’s not like you at all.”

“That’s not me being ‘off.’ I just missed you, that’s all.”

“Have I not been paying enough attention to you? Is that why?”

“No! I mean, you have. There is no ‘why’. Am I not allowed to miss my boyfriend?”

Seungmin looks distinctly unimpressed. “Nice try. Wanna go again?”

All your good humor from earlier is dissolving into your soup. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not mocking you.”

“I was trying to do something nice for you. I just wanted to spend time with you today. Is that so wrong?”

“It’s not wrong. It’s just unusual for you. When you told me you showed up at the company, I thought something horrible had happened, because you never visited me before.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“What doesn’t?”

“That I never visit.”

“Why would that bother me?”

All your anxieties are simmering near the top, threatening to boil over. “Because the other members’ girlfriends visit all the time. I know they do. They have security clearance and everything. But I never do. I don’t even know where you are most days if I wanted to visit you.”

Seungmin frowns. “You’re busy. You have a job you’re at all day, same as me. Some of the other members’ girlfriends work less or have other things going on.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” you mutter. “Maybe I have too much going on.”

Seungmin looks hesitant at this. “If you feel you need to cut back, I’ll support you.”

“Is that what you want? Do you think I should work less?”

“No, I don’t. That’s not my decision anyway.”

“But I just…” You’re cracking, you know you are, you can hear it in your voice- “I just want to be there for you more. I want to be attentive.”

“You are attentive. You’re there for me all the time.”

“I’m not!” It bursts out of you more violently than even you expected. Seungmin is taken aback, eyes widening as you finally break. “I’m so aloof towards you, it’s awful. I never know where you are, or what you’re doing. I never ask you to come home to me. I don’t stay up for you. I don’t visit you. Other girlfriends have bracelets or necklaces they wear for their boyfriends, and I don’t do any of that. No one would even know we were dating, based on how we are now.” You suck in a breath, reminding yourself to stay calm. “I just don’t even know what you get out of being with me. I don’t do anything I’m supposed to do, and you keep letting me get away with it. And I thought if I changed, and I started trying harder, maybe I could fix it before you realize that I don’t deserve you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, humiliation and sadness making you feel dizzy and hot. Now that you’ve said it all out, it sounds ridiculous. It’s not as if you could fix a behavioral pattern with one good day. If your relationship really is rotten through, all you’ve done is draw attention to the problem and made it even worse. Contrasted with how you acted today, the past eleven months must seem downright hollow.

Seungmin sighs. “Y/n, look at me, please.”

You open your eyes and are horrified to see Seungmin looking absolutely mournful where he sits across the table. He looks so aggrieved, so weighed down, and a horrible rock forms in the pit of your stomach.

“First of all,” he says. “I don’t ever want to hear you say again that you don’t deserve me. It’s not true, and I won’t have you putting yourself down like that. You don’t decide what I deserve, I do. And I’ve decided you’re exactly what I want.”

You blink, confused at the turn of events. It’s a very Seungmin thing to say, yes, but in this situation, you didn’t expect him to double down on it so earnestly.

“Second of all, you’re not aloof towards me. I know you love me, and you care for me in your own ways. I also know you have a life outside of me that keeps you busy. I’m grateful for that. I would feel horrible if you spent a significant amount of your day just waiting around for me when we both know I can’t always be there.”

“That’s different,” you can’t help but interject. “You’re an idol. You can’t help that you’re busy.”

“You can’t help being busy either. Being an idol isn’t any more important than any other job. You have responsibilities too.”

You deflate, sagging in your chair. He takes this as license to continue.

“Third, I didn’t think you were the type to wear jewelry every day. If you want me to get you something, I can do that. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured to wear something just because I bought it and it was expensive. Someday, if we get married, you’ll wear my ring, and that’ll be enough for me.”

He’s right. You don’t usually wear jewelry every day, and you would feel bad about not wearing something he’d specifically bought you as a gift. You’re starting to feel more and more foolish as this conversation continues.

Thankfully, his itemized list ends there, and he leans forward, dark eyes fixed on yours. He doesn’t look angry, or upset, just focused. Leave it to Seungmin to mind-map his way through a relationship crisis.

“Can you tell me what brought this on? It’s unlike you to be insecure. If I’ve done something to make you think you’re not good enough for me, I’d like to know so that I can change my behavior.”

You let out a long breath, giving up the fight in the face of Seungmin’s rationality.

“I had lunch with Ahrin the other day. I was complaining about how you’re so busy these days, I rarely see you. Ahrin said you guys actually haven’t been that busy. It made me realize I don’t actually know your schedule, like what you do all day, much less outside of work. And I also realized part of the reason I haven’t seen you much is because I never ask to see you. You have no reason to spend time with me when it seems like I don’t even want you around.” Your voice trails off as you continue, shame sticking the words in your throat.

Seungmin hums, thinking. He lifts his hand up and stretches it toward you, your sign to extend your own hand so he can lace your fingers together. You oblige, and the contact settles you a bit.

“I have never thought for one second that you didn’t want me around. I don’t take offense to you not knowing my schedule either. I know I don’t talk about work much. It might be a flaw of mine.”

“Hyunjin is always playing these little games with Ahrin to get her to come see him. But I’ve always felt that you’d prefer I stay away when you’re working.”

Seungmin hesitates again. “That might be right. That’s not because I don’t love spending time with you, though. It’s the opposite.”

“I…don’t follow.”

“Whatever you believe, the other members’ partners don’t really come around all that much, but when they do come around, it’s not really a big event. They’re just spectators. Like when Ahrin visits us at practice, it’s easy for Hyunjin to pretend she’s not there and keep working. I couldn’t do that. If you were in the room with me, I don’t think I could be as focused as I normally am. I’d be distracted because all my attention would be on you and how you’re doing. That’s why I’ve never encouraged you to visit.”

A small hysterical part of you wants to twist his words somehow, to start a fight about him calling you a ‘distraction’ and all it implies, but you know what he meant. It’s a fairly big admission he’s given, that he couldn’t keep control of himself if you were in his eyeline. It’s…unexpectedly flattering.

“I fluster you that badly?” you ask, half-teasing, half-curious. But Seungmin answers you dead serious.

“Embarrassingly so. When I went back upstairs with the cupcakes, Minho-hyung didn’t give me a second to breathe before commenting on it.”

You find yourself grinning. “Really?”

“Don’t laugh at me. It’s unkind.”

“I’m not laughing,” you say, even though you definitely are. Seungmin rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat or embarrassment in them.

“You could at least be sorry about it.”

“I’m very sorry that I got you bullied by your bandmates,” you say dutifully. “I promise I will do my best not to place you in such a compromising position again.”

“You can visit me if you want,” Seungmin rebuffs. “I can take a little teasing if you really want to see me. My point is just that you shouldn’t feel like you have to because the other girlfriends do.”

“Okay.” You nod, then venture out into the part of the conversation you’ve been avoiding. “If that’s all true, why do you stay away so often? It’s okay if you just have other things to do, but why do you let me think you’re at work if you aren’t?”

You aren’t sure what he’s going to say to this. You believe in his loyalty, always, and you don’t think he truly intended to lie to you, but you still can’t figure out who’s to blame here, and how this miscommunication has persisted between you for so long.

To your surprise, Seungmin’s ears flare red. His grip tightens on your hand, like he’s fighting himself, but you can tell he answers you honestly when he says,

“I was worried I was imposing on you.”

You blink. “Imposing?”

Seungmin is no longer meeting your eyes, his gaze lowered to the table. “Like I said, I don’t want you to constantly be waiting around for me. I don’t want you to get used to having me around, and then when I go on tour, or get busy with activities, you feel my absence stronger. Then, when I come back, I become an inconvenience as you try to fit me into your life again. It’s hard, and it’s unfair. I thought it would be easier to try to keep the same level of involvement all the time, so that you didn’t miss me too badly when I was gone, and I didn’t annoy you too much when I came back.”

You hardly let him finish his sentence before you say, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You keep your attention from me so that I won’t miss you later? How does that make any sense? I miss you regardless. That’s the point of being in a relationship.”

Seungmin winces, and you decide to dial back your indignance. He’d spoken to you evenly, and you could do the same for him.

“Sorry. I just meant that you shouldn’t keep yourself away from me in an effort to spare my feelings. I know what I signed up for when we started dating. I know some times will be easier than others. I appreciate your efforts to mitigate that, but this isn’t the way. You being gone so often is all the more reason to be overt and intense when we do have time together. It’s fine to not want to spend all your free time with me, but don’t ever think wanting to be around me is imposing, or hurting me in some way, because it’s not.”

Seungmin looks properly chastised. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll be around more.”

“And I’ll ask for you more. We both need to stop holding ourselves and each other back.” You let out a little laugh. “We’re acting like it’s embarrassing to be in love or something.”

“Hyunjin said the same thing to me once.”

“Hyunjin is smart in exactly one area,” you acquiesce. “Ahrin is a lucky girl.”

“Comparison is the thief of joy,” Seungmin mutters. You lean forward over your cold dinner and press a kiss to Seungmin’s cheek.

“I didn’t say she was luckier than me.”

You both grin.

-/-

Next week, Monday. You wake up at your usual time, put on coffee, make breakfast. You clear your entire inbox because fuck the sales department, they can say whatever they need to say in the meeting this afternoon. You set your phone down and enjoy the warmth of the tea you brewed and watch the sun come up outside your living room window.

Seungmin gets up, gets his shoes and coat, and doubles back around.

“Good morning,” you say.

“Good morning.”

“Busy day?”

“Nope. I’m free after lunch.”

“Lucky. I have an awful meeting from two to four.”

“You’ll do fine,” Seungmin says. “Sales isn’t the boss of you.”

“They actually are,” you groan, and Seungmin laughs at your dismay. He kisses you goodbye, tells you to be safe. You tell him you love him. The front door opens and closes.

At around 1pm, your phone buzzes with a text.

Are you busy?

Eh. Why?

I’m in your lobby.

No way.

You grab your security pass and head towards the elevators, watching every floor tick down until it lets you out on the ground floor. Seungmin is sitting in a chair in reception, holding a white cardboard box. When he sees you approach him, he grins and holds it up.

“Got time for cupcakes?”

Your smile is so wide it’s splitting your face in half. “Follow me. The break room is on the fourth floor.”

-/-

“I didn’t even know you knew what building I work in.”

“I looked it up on NAVER.”

“Of course you did.”

“Why reinvent the wheel when someone invented the iPhone, y/n.”

[silkjade]

alhaitham x mermaid!reader

⤀ warnings: fem! reader, no pronouns mentioned a/n: another thing sitting in drafts that I was actually saving for Mermay ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼 next ﾉ series masterlist

He was out at a cove, a little ways off from port ormos, studying newly discovered runes carved along the sea cavern walls. Your song was supposed to lure him to his watery grave, but….

“These earpieces are soundproof.” You’re caught by surprise when he responds in your language. His pronunciation is a little off, but to be fair, merfolk are an ancient race and haven’t been sighted in a very long time. As such, whatever linguistic knowledge that’s been preserved up until now is… distorted at best.

The two of you strike up a deal: you help him perfect the language of your people, and he’ll introduce you to the wonders of the world above. A fair exchange. You agree to meet at this same cove on nights of the full moon, although the interval between these meetings grow increasingly shorter, so much so that you find yourself visiting this human once a week. He’d always arrive just as the sun sets, skipping a chunk of crystal ore out into the sea, indicating his arrival.

“And what did you bring for me today?”

“These are called zaytun peaches.”

“Ooh they’re sweet! And jucier than bubble berries…”

“I wasn’t aware fruits could grow underwater.”

Alhaitham is a scholar with an eager mind, so when things peak his interest, it’s second nature to want to satiate his curiosities. He asks his questions, but never pushes you to answer. With time, you grow comfortable enough around him to openly divulge your life beneath the waves, and it becomes a wonderful exchange of language and culture.

“Would you like to come underwater?”

“I know you didn't like the harra fruit today, but I thought you'd given up trying to drown me. Soundproof earpieces remember?” he says, tapping said headphones.

You roll your eyes, pulling yourself further up out of the water, until your faces are only mere inches apart. That's not what you meant at all.

"They say a mermaid's kiss will give you the ability to breathe underwater...let me show you my world." Your voice, hypnotizingly low and sultry, immediately send alarms ringing in his head. Your fingers brush against his cheek, your touch feather light as you whisper into his naked ear, "Do you trust me?"

In the time Alhaitham had spent with you, he had never forgotten about the dangers of a mermaid's seduction. But at this proximity, with you so close and your voice so enchanting... he feels his head spin, like he's in some sort of trance where it's nigh impossible to deny you anything. As if by instinct, Alhaitham subconsciously reaches for the headphones hanging around his neck— his safety net, his life raft.

You pull away, sinking back into the waters. So he doesn't trust you. It's no surprise due to the nature of your very being, and to hope otherwise would be foolish. Still, its difficult to hide the irritation and hurt that laces your words before you bid him an awkward farewell.

Once you disappear into the sea, Alhaitham lets out a groan, burying his face in his hands. Next time you meet, if you decide to return at all, he'll remember to teach you about the intricacies of human courtship rituals.

a/n2: alhaitham is allergic to rizz ;\ this was supposed to be just a short brainrot but i had so many thoughts about this (and still have more unwritten) anyways i love mermay what a great month to be online, so much pretty art

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

I was wondering if you could do a little drabble where the reader breaks her leg in an accident and Arthur goes to help her by picking her up and taking her home. Please I want Arthur to hold the reader like a princess! 🥺💞

Here you go sweet anon! 🍑

Yes this was supposed to be a drabble but I got a little carried away as always and this ended up being a bit longer than expected. I hope you won't mind!! 🙏

˖✧To pick up a Peach

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Warnings/Tags: Description of a broken leg and physical pain, otherwise this is pure fluff. Arthur being the sweetest gentleman he is in high honor. ✦ Words: 2,4k ✦ a/n: I don't know why but I got carried away with this one and I ended up really loving it. I changed it just a little bit and made Arthur carry you to the doc, cause you know, he wouldn't let you go home without minimum care. He's like that. I made the reader some sort of farmer's daughter AU? Anyway, hope you'll still like it, Anon! Credits. Arthur's pic is mine. Other pics are from Pinterest. Little doodles made by me.

You were screwed.

That’s the thought that was stuck in your mind. Your horse, which the stableman had sworn to you was a gentle and peaceful creature, turned out to be a wild furious animal who was extremely nervous and appeared to have only one idea in mind: go back to where it belonged, the plains of the Heartlands.

You were simply on a ride to Valentine. You would often go there with your sisters on Mondays and Sundays to sell what your family had harvested in your native town, Emerald Ranch, setting up your little stand next to the butcher’s. Usually, these trips were pleasant and you had grown to like them, relieved to see something else than the gloomy and weird atmosphere that had settled in your village.

But your treacherous companion had decided, after an encounter with a snake somewhere near the Twin Stack Pass, that enough was enough. After rearing up as if his life depended on it, he took off at full speed, ejecting you with a crash to the ground, making the wicker basket containing all your precious products fly up in the air like a colorful firework of fruits and vegetables.

An ominous, muffled creak as your body lands.

Stunned, breathless, it took you a few seconds to regain your composure, long gone and galloping off with your horse.

Of course, that had to happen the only time you had decided to ride alone for once.

Your left leg, broken. The fruit of your labors and harvests, your perfect peaches, flawlessly ripe tomatoes and carrots, promising seeds, and beautiful flowers, scattered and smashed on the floor. Your dignity, gone. 

Lying back on the dirt, hair spread like a star around your head, surrounded by an indescribable substance made of crushed fruits and flower petals reduced to a mush, you looked like the religious figure of Bad Luck.

On top of that, being a lonely young woman, unarmed, and hurt in the open clearly wasn’t an ideal situation. Any man with bad intentions could easily do the worst thing to you in your state.

You tried to get back in a sitting position. Every movement was igniting the pain in your broken bone, deep inside your calf, spreading it through your entire body like a burning trail of powder. You let out a short pained grunt, followed by a curse. Slowly tugging your skirt up your knee, you took a worried look at your leg. 

It looked bad.

Painted with deep colored bruises kind of bad. 

The sight of it along with the incessant stabbing pain coming from it made your heart beat faster, and you did your best not to pass out from the nausea that was flying over your head. The panic of not feeling your toes anymore didn't helped at calming your heart rate.

There was no way you could walk back to any town in that state, or contact the rest of your family already waiting for you.

Yes, you were screwed. 

Tilting your head backward, you looked at the sky, in an attempt to prevent your threatening tears from falling, or to throw a desperate call to the Heavens, you didn’t really know it yourself. 

A muffled sound suddenly made its way to your ears. It looked like your involuntary prayer had been answered sooner than you would have expected.

It was the sound of hooves.

You snapped your head in the noise’s direction and noticed an approaching form on the road, raising a cloud of dust in its wake, coming towards you. Your only hope. You were praying, for real this time, that this upcoming stranger was a gentleman and not a bad man.

Praying, praying, praying.

Praying again as the man was at voice’s reach, and as you screamed and begged for help.

“M-Mister!” Your voice sounded even more pitiful than what you had planned, and a bit hoarse from the pain. Your ego protested, but screw it, he probably was your last chance. “Mister, please! I broke my leg! I can’t… I can’t…”

Apparently, shouting didn't seem to help the nausea. The more you were getting air out of your lungs by screaming the more your head was feeling dizzy.

Luckily for you, the lonely rider had heard your desperate breathless words and was heading towards you, stopping his horse in a skillful maneuver before dismounting, his two boots hitting the ground.

“What happen Ma’am, d’ya need some help?” He asked you, voice powerful and worried frown on his face.

“My horse got spooked by a damn snake and he ran away… Making me fall and I… I think my leg broke…” Your tone was pained and way weaker than his as you did your best to explain the situation, a single tear now streaming down your cheek.

The pain, the panic, the frustration from having a month’s worth of work destroyed in just mere seconds… You couldn’t hold it anymore.

Slowly approaching you, the man lowered himself in a crouching position to take a better look at you, and talk to you at the same eye level. His deep blue eyes studied your broken leg, surely not missing the disturbing, alarming color the bruises were taking, your skin an odd mix of purple and green now. It didn’t seem to disgust him though, his face stoic as he scanned your wound.

“Alright Miss jus’... Don’t move too much.” He advised you in a softer tone. You could see he was truly concerned about your state. “What’s with all this mess? You trynna make some soup or what?” He asked in a deep sarcastic tone, as if amused by his own words.

You drily chuckle, which revived the pain you were still feeling in your bone, making you cut your laugh and groan a bit, your own features contracting in a pained expression.

“It is… It was my crop… I was going to sell it in Valentine…” You explained once again, feeling shame and exasperation hitting you. You were feeling so angry from this waste, so angry at yourself to be the only one responsible for it, you couldn’t prevent more tears from falling, trying hard not to let yourself go into sobs.

“Ah, shit… I’m sorry for ya.” He exhaled, contemplating the scattered and mashed jelly-like matter composed of what was once your yield, pieces of peaches and broken carrots lying there, like on a battlefield. His gaze came back to yours, full of compassion and probably pity for your state, before continuing. “Don’t worry Miss. I’mma take you up to the Doc, in Valentine. ‘Was goin’ there anyway.”

You nodded in order to thank him, feeling so relieved life had put him on your way. 

“Okay, I’m gonna help ya get on ma horse. It’s gonna hurt a little but we have to.” He warned you, getting completely down on his knees by your side.

You didn’t dare to move from one inch. He slowly wrapped an arm under your shoulders, his hand grabbing your side. Even more carefully, his other one slipped under your legs, and he gently lifted you up bridal-style, as if you weighed nothing, a fallen leaf in a gentle breeze.

 As if he was carrying injured people all day every day.

Your broken member didn’t like it as much as you did though, and you hissed in pain from feeling your own weight pull on the wound as your leg was hanging in the air. He noticed, and spoke again while getting up, just as easily as if he wasn’t carrying an entire person in his arms right now.

“Gonna be okay Miss, hold on a lil’ longer.”

As if taking his words in a literal way, you encircled his waist with your arms and rested your head on his chest. His work shirt was used and dirty, rough against the skin of your cheek, but right now it just felt heavenly to you compared to the dusty rock of the floor. You sighed, feeling calmer and way better now.

If you had brought up your gaze, you could have seen how a slight blush was spreading on the tan skin of his cheeks the moment he felt you getting comfortable in his arms.

You heard him call for his horse with a short whistle and a sharp noise from his teeth. His mount obeyed right away, getting closer to both of you in a happy trot. You wish your horse could have been as gentle as this one. He looked like a really strong and powerful, but very sweet on the inside animal. A bit like its owner, now that you were thinking about it.

As carefully as if you were made of porcelain, the man in question let go of your legs, and you took support on your valid one. He then picked you up again, by your waist, and lifted you on the saddle, helping you to get settled and as comfortable as possible. His large hands were very soft on you, cautious, caring. You could feel how his touch was light and measured, calculated to make you feel the least pain possible.

“You take the saddle, else your leg would get too bumped during the ride.” He explained before hopping behind you, grabbing the reins by bringing his arms from both sides of you.

He was basically enveloping you, his large frame keeping you warm and steady. Against your shoulders, you could feel his biceps, and thanked the Lord once again this man had good intentions with you because there was no way you could have resisted this mountain of muscles.

The silence fell as your gentle savior spurred his horse into a slow pace, keeping him calm and cold-blooded. You mentally thank him for it, every movement from your leg, even the tiniest one, would ignite the flames of your pain again.

The ride to Valentine was a quiet, peaceful one, just like it was supposed to be from the start. Your eyes kept closing and opening as if you were on the verge of falling asleep, but still needed to be alert until you'd be safe and sound in town. 

You only had exchanged a few words with the man, your names, and where you lived. 

Arthur Morgan didn't look like the kind of man to have the longest conversations but his presence was reassuring nevertheless. His heavy breathing, his body around yours, the calmness of the plains… It was all making your pain less vivid and way more bearable.

Once in Valentine, Arthur rode straight to the Doctor, and got off first, tying his horse's reins around the fence.

“Here we are, Miss. Let's get ya checked up for good, shall we?” He said while standing right next to the saddle, opening his arms to pick you up again, a gentle smile on his face, as if telling you all your worries were behind you now.

If you thought this man was going to let you walk alone to the doc’s office and head off to his own business, you were damn wrong.

Even through your terrible state, a grin curled up your lips and mirrored his own expression. You let your tired and injured body sink into his solid one, and he carried you in his arms once again.

His scent ran through your nose as you breathed, traveling all the way down your veins to your lungs and everywhere in your body, enfolding you and your soul. It was a strong smell, not a delicate one like those gentlemen would carry with their cologne, but you liked it regardless. A mix of leather, sweat, tobacco, and this early dew scent, the one you can smell just before dawn, earthy and herbal, as if he had been sleeping under the stars for months. 

The smell of the outdoors. 

Arthur opened the door with one foot, and entered the Dr Calloway’s office with you in his arms, careful not to let your leg get knocked while walking through the door. The doctor took care of you right away, ordering Arthur to put you on the chair in the little room where patients were treated.

His muscled arms dropped you, his hands gentle and attentive, as slowly as if you were a newborn filly he could hurt or scare away by using too much force. There was such kindness, such gentleness and care in his gesture that it left you feeling all bubbly on the inside.

You kept on looking at him during all the time it took for Dr Calloway to treat you, waiting for him to just go, but he didn’t. He stayed, casually leaning his back against the wall to leave some space for the doctor, his eyes voyaging from your injury to your face, then away from you, as if he was feeling guilty about staring at you like this. It made you giggle.

You paid the doctor, thanked him goodbye, and before you could process it, here you were, freshly gifted with two crutches and a wooden splint around your injury in front of his door. Perfect. For a farmer family, a hurt worker was a curse.

“You gonna be okay now, Miss? D’ya need another ride home?”

Arthur’s deep voice dragged you out of your thoughts. This man was so special. He looked used, strong, and intimidating, but had been nothing but kind and delicate with you. Right now, his deep azure gaze was staring right at yours, making you feel even weaker in the knees than you already were.

“Oh, don’t worry, my family is already here. We have a wagon and all. Besides, you have done plenty for me, Mister Morgan.”

“Ah, don’t ya worry. 'Did what any man would have done seein’ a pretty lil’ lady like ya hurt on the ground.” He answered with a subtle grin.

Before you could realize it, his hand was reaching out for a strand of your hair, and his fingers brushed against it.

You froze, feeling a dark red settling on your cheeks, your eyes looking back at his in surprise and disbelief, searching for an explanation, even if your heart didn't want it. It wanted more of it, no questions asked.

“You hum… You still got some… pieces of peaches or somethin’ in your hair, Miss…” He explained himself, his voice a little less self-assured than before.

You blushed even more. You indeed must looked like a total mess after your accident, and mentally noted to go fix yourself as soon as possible.

“Oh, God I…” You started, feeling embarrassed and flustered, words mixing and blurring in your mind instead of lining up properly. You just sighed, closing your eyes, giggling a little. You then spoke again, keeping your tone as calm as you could. “Thanks again, Mister Morgan.”

“Please, jus’ call me Arthur.”

“Alright, Arthur. Thank you, for everything. I don’t know how I could thank you enough.”

“You know, maybe I could come someday, at your farm I mean, and buy some of your stuff. You could give me a rebate on those, unless everythin’ you sell actually looks like jam…” He added with a mischievous, low chuckle, gaze sparkling.

“Hey! My crops are perfect, Mister. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” You said back in an equally amused tone, a toothy smile completing the picture of your precious blushing face.

“I'm sure I won’t be, lil’ peach.” 

His voice had turned just as soft as his touch had been when carrying you; for Arthur, you really were starting to become his sugary, soft, and delicious favorite fruit.

[cinnbar-bun]

Mihawk Gen NSFW HCs

Rating: NSFW, it's all smut here baby

Headcanons are under the read more.

You can read this on my AO3 here!

A generous, thorough lover, who doesn’t waste any time getting down to business with you. 

Mihawk is incredibly patient and passionate with his touches. It’s intimate, it’s loving, and he uses physical action to express more of what he feels than through his own words. 

Mihawk, first and foremost, is a lover of roleplay. And not just any roleplay. No, no, no- we’ve seen how extra Mihawk is in general, and it is no different in the bedroom. He loves certain “themes” (which you begin to recognize the pattern of after a few ‘sessions’ with him). 

His favorite roleplay scenarios include: 

Injured, wandering swordsman needing a place to stay and heal after a terrible battle, and you happen to find him and take him in (and fuck him). 

Wandering swordsman comes across a dark castle with you trapped inside due to your evil father/lord (and then you fuck). 

Lord of the castle sees you trespassing on his estate and takes you as his prisoner (whom he falls majorly in love with and fucks).

Loyal swordsman/bodyguard falls for his lord despite the different class ranks and society forbidding your love (you two fuck anyways). 

Dark vampire swordsman invites you into castle after you stumble in during a terrible storm (and then he fucks you to remind you to never trust unsuspecting strangers in their dark castles).

This man gets VERY into his scenarios. He’s preparing a script for himself, buying outfits and decor that perfectly match the theme (because how DARE you try to have sex in a room that is NOT accurate to gothic interior design), and lighting different scents and waiting for the perfect weather. 

That doesn’t mean he’ll never have sex otherwise, he’s just a very detail-oriented person who gets really caught up in things like settings and feelings. It makes the sex better when all his senses are filled with what he feels are the “correct” attributes of a scene. It makes him excited that you trust and enjoy playing along into these scenarios with him, and he views it as a bonding activity. 

He wasn’t particularly sexually active with someone before, so when you two get close together, he begins to read plenty of romance novels to get an idea or two for a good way to woo and excite you. This does mean reading plenty of smut. You can tell when he’s reading it by the way his face looks even more serious than usual. It’s very subtle compared to his normal appearance, but when he furrows his brows and nods curiously at different times, he’s almost certainly reading a smutty scene. 

A way you can tell he’s in the mood (beyond him proposing and asking to do a roleplay session with you), is when he kisses your neck more and offers you plates of fresh fruits like apples, pomegranates, figs, or strawberries. 

Speaking of fruits, he’s not averse to food play. It depends on the type of food, generally, but with things like fruits or even honey, he’s absolutely down for it. If you two are really feeling frisky, he might pour wine on you and lick it off. 

Despite his eagerness to cut his enemies down- he absolutely will NOT cut you. To him, as a swordsman, seeing any scars on you would mean he has failed to protect you, and he sees that as a source of shame. It would take a while before he dares bring a knife or sword into the bedroom to use on you. Until then, it might appear as a prop or just be held by your side to get the “thrill” of being cut. 

I also doubt he’d enjoy getting cut either, as a scar is a source of shame on a swordsman. Actual cuts are not something he wants, but he probably would not mind something like hickies or hand/finger prints. 

He does enjoy restraints- whether on you or him. He prefers ropes and leather belts over something like handcuffs. Hell, even your own hands will be good too. 

Mihawk adores your neck and your hands. Pro tip, moisturize your hands a lot and he will spend his time peppering kisses all over your hands. 

He can get sappy as hell during foreplay. He will kiss all over your arms and hands and body. It’s Gomez Addams levels of adoration towards you. 

Tends to whisper affectionate nicknames to you, and occasionally, when he’s really into it, he will whisper beautiful words of praise for you in his language (I personally hc him as Transylvanian so I think he’d speak Romanian, but I know many others believe him to be Spanish or Italian so hey, whatever floats your boat my lovelies <3. You can just imagine). 

Mihawk isn’t loud during bed (but then again, when is he ever?), but he lets out the most beautiful moans and pants ever. When he gets close, his breath picks up and ugh, can you imagine the world’s strongest swordsman just panting in your ear? It’s a sound you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

He is rather possessive but also respectful of your feelings, so he wouldn’t prefer to have public sex or sex with a risk of getting caught. He would not have sex where Perona or Zoro could easily walk in (Perona has made that mistake once and never again), so Mihawk always blocks off a room in the castle specifically for the both of you to indulge in all of your whims together with. Everyone else knows not to step in there for fear of Mihawk’s wrath. 

His aftercare is wonderful, and during this time, he may become more talkative. It’s more so to make sure you were okay and if you enjoyed it or not. He’d carefully tend to you and clean you and the bed up before you to go to sleep or back to work. 

Mihawk likes to have sex with you the night before he leaves to various missions. One reason being that it’s a way for you two to enjoy the intimacy of each other before a long stretch of time where he’s off. Two, he likes seeing the smile on your face and the post-sex afterglow that surrounds you when you begin to fall asleep. It comforts him and gives you a good reminder of him when he’s gone in the morning (not without him leaving you a note saying he’ll seen you soon). 

[rottenpumpkin13]

Do ASGCZ have any secret quirks or things they do that are just bizarre enough that they have to keep a secret from everyone?

Genesis: He's adamantly against dog-earing books, constantly lectures anyone within earshot about the importance of maintaining the integrity of the pages and how folding corners is a sin. Secretly the worst offender, dog-ears his books and then uses a flat iron to smooth out the creases.

Sephiroth: Not sure if it counts, but he once accidentally stole two energy drink cans from the vending machine. He bought one, but the machine didn't accept his coins, the can dropped anyway. He tried shoving the can back in, but instead it triggered the release of another can. He just grabbed both and ran. They sit at the bottom of his desk drawer, and every time he finds them, he's reminded that he's technically leading a life of crime.

Angeal: Got himself into the worst pickle ever. He bought a discount box cake mix one time, made it, and then jokingly told everyone he made it from scratch. They bought it, now he's too deep in the lie to tell them otherwise. He's made this cake for parties, promotions, etc, and every time Sephiroth praises his baking, Angeal cries. Sephiroth just thinks he's emotional about baking.

Cloud: He acts like things don't hurt when they clearly do. It's a habit he picked up when he was a kid, wanting to seem tough. He forgets he's supposed to react to pain. But instead he's perfected this stoic mask, the kind where he stubs his toe or nicks himself with a knife and it's like nothing happened.

Sephiroth, casually stepping on Cloud's foot: Oh, forgive me.

Cloud: Didn't even feel it.

Sephiroth: You're bleeding, and the foot is turning purple. May I take you to Medical?

Cloud: The greatest pains are internal.

Sephiroth: +100 respect

Zack: Is unable to throw away fruit stickers. He can't do it. Something deep within his core doesn't allow him to. The problem is, he's run out of notebooks to stick them in. So now, when he finishes a fruit, he just sticks the label wherever it fits. Walls, shelves, his bedpost. One time he made the mistake or finishing a Banora White and then putting the sticker in Sephiroth's hair. Sephiroth found the sticker and assumed it was Genesis. Sephiroth then terrorized Genesis with a knife.

[cheeekycharchar]

The Forbidden Fruit, Choices and Fear

[A GOOD OMENS META ANALYSIS OF AZIRAPHALE POST S2] I know everyone is still upset about that gut punch of an ending to GO S2.. and many are also extra upset at Aziraphale.. I'm in so much pain over it too but.. I have to rationalize that damned "I forgive you" line that broke all our hearts to comfort me until we get S3.. I basically overanalyze our favorite cocoa loving Angel to explain his reaction to the kiss and why we all need to be a lil kinder to him.

2500 BC in the Land of Uz.. Aziraphale, the Angel of the Eastern Gate, had the fear of God put into him. And this affected the rest of his immortal life up until that kiss.

Angels, after the Fall and the great war between Heaven and Hell, had the fear of the Almighty's wrath put into them. They all fell in line and stayed in line. Or else they'd end up like their fallen brethren.. or worse. But there was one lil Angel that had since toed that line..

"Didn't you have a flaming sword? Yeah, it was flaming like anything." "…Gaveitaway.." "You what?" "I gave it away!" As far as we've seen, this is the first time Aziraphale did something "bad". And he's already feeling the pressure. The guilt. The fear. He didn't follow the rules. He didn't do exactly as he was told. And suddenly, here's a Demon slithering up next to him and making him doubt his choice even more. The same Demon that snuck past the guardians of Eden and tempted the first human's into eating the apple, breaking the rules and getting them kicked out of paradise on Earth.

"Bit of an over reaction if you ask me. First offence and everything. I can't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway. "Well, it must be bad.. [..] Otherwise.. you wouldn't have tempted them into it." "Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a 'Don't Touch' sign. Makes you wonder what God's really planning." "Best not to speculate. It's all part of the Great Plan. It's not for us to understand. It's ineffable. It is beyond understand and incapable of being put into words."

Already the seeds of doubt are tinkering in his mind. Stay in line. No more questioning the Almighty's plans. That's what got all the bad Angels thrown out of Heaven and then Adam and Eve exiled too.

"I do hope I didn't do the wrong thing." "Oh, you're an angel. I don't think you can do the wrong thing." "Oh, thank you. It's been bothering me." "I've been worrying, too. What if I did the right thing with the whole 'eat the apple' business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing. It'd be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one." *chuckles* "..No. It wouldn't be funny at all!"

And then we get to season two's opening reveal. Crowley and Aziraphale had actually met before the wall of Eden.

"But that's idiocy!" {…} "It's not our job to advise the Almighty on the details of creation." "Well, then whose job is it?" {…} "Well, if I was the one running it all, I'd like it if someone asked questions. Fresh point of view."

And thanks to Aziraphale mentioning the Great Plan to Angel Crowley.. it put seeds of doubt into his mind. Making him question the Almighty's plans.

".. I'd hate to see you getting into any trouble." "Thanks for your help. And thanks for your advice. I wouldn't worry though. How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?"

And then 10 million Angels fell. Kicked out of Heaven and marked as evil, unforgivable, and without God's love for eternity. Then we get the flashback to the story of a a prosperous man of outstanding piety named Job and how his life was destroyed because of a bet between God and Satan to test his faith even in adversity.

"What did he [Job] do? "Job? Nothing. Job's the nicest man in the world. That's why he's so perfect for the bet. You see, God was saying how righteous Job was and how much Job loved God. And Satan pointed out-- that maybe that was just 'cause God's been so nice to him. ..God's letting Satan destroy everything Job has. And then we'll see."

Now remember, the great flood wasn't too long ago. Where the Almighty wiped out nearly all of the human race with a big storm cause they were tetchy aka simply irritable, bad-tempered and annoyed. So this time, Aziraphale actually questions Heaven about this bet when he finds out that Job's children will be killed.

"Trust in God's plan, Aziraphale. Always." "Of course. So, once Job's trials are over, everything is restored to him?" "Even better than that. God will reward him with twice as much as he had before." {…} "I think they quite like the old ones [Job's children].. And if.. we kill them-" "-Aziraphale… we are the good guys. We're not killing anyone. What we are doing is simply not stopping hell. What they do is up to them."

His faith is wavering. He can hardly believe that Heaven would actually destroy a good man's family without truly understanding the fragility and consequences of human life/death; all to test him on a bet.

"Are we sure that Sitis wants to give birth four more times?"

Furthermore, they would be forcing Job's wife to give birth 7 more times despite Aziraphale's warning of them loving their original 3 children and that Sitis may not actually want to give birth to more children at her age. Hence taking away her choice. But thankfully, good ol' Crowley is the worst demon ever and is secretly protecting Job's children and goats. Something they're keeping between the two of them. And then during this deception… Crowley tempts Aziraphale with his first bite of food.

"Have an ox rib." "Are you trying to tempt me?" "Not at all. Angels can't be tempted, can you?" "Certainly not." "Well, there you are then. You're free to try the food."

A temptation he quickly falls into. A choice to eat the food and enjoy it to gluttony. Another sin under his belt. In the end, Virtuous Job passed his test but had the shit reward in return. Except Crowley and Aziraphale secretly saved the children.. which lead to Aziraphale lying straight to Heaven.. again.

And this is where he finally falls apart.

"I'm ready to go." "Go where?" "To Hell." {….} "But you have to. I'm like you now.. A demon.." "You think you're a demon?" "I'm a fallen angel! I lied.. To thwart the will of God." "Well yeah, you did, but I'm not gonna tell anybody. ..Are you?" *shakes head no* "No. Then nothing has to change, does it?" "…But what am I?" "You're just an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can." "That sounds um.." "Lonely?" "Yeah. But you said it wasn't." "I'm a demon. I lied."

As Crowley always tells him- Demons lie. And Aziraphale lied. Again. And now they're keeping this huge secret between the two of them. To never be spoken of or else possibly face the wrath of God. THIS scene right in this minisode here is SUCH an important part of Aziraphale's character and his future choices. And that's what it's all about, isn't it? Choices? The ability to choose between good and evil.

"Look, I am good. You, I'm afraid, are evil. But people get a choice. You know, they cannot be truly holy unless they also get the opportunity to be wicked." "Yeah, that only works if you start everyone off equal. You can't start someone off like that and expect her to do as well as someone born in a castle." "Ah, but no, no. That's the good bit. The lower you start, the more opportunities you have."

What we learn from this wee Scottish body snatching story is that something can be seen as evil but could actually be a good deed from a different perspective. And that Aziraphale truly believed that the lower you start, the more opportunities you could have. But he also believes in divine punishment. Punishment that can be dealt at any time for any thing. Big or small. From a few questions that make you lose God's love to selling corpses for survival money and accidentally getting your best friend killed or just having too much faith in God could destroy everything in your life for a bet. All of which he has witnessed with someone good (Crowley, Job, Elspeth, etc) losing everything that's important to them in the most horribly way. But Aziraphale remembers the hard lessons he learned; of inequality and responsibility of your actions and the choices you make.

Someone born into poverty doesn't get as much out of life as someone born into a rich lifestyle. Or.. a lowly snake and a lowly principality falling in love and being forgiven may not be as easily dismissed as a Duke of Hell and Archangel finding love in one another and simply being allowed to run away to the stars together without any punishment. It's all of these moments, these lessons that Aziraphale learns throughout the years that change his view on life but he still remembers the wrath of God throughout existence. Something as little as a question could get you kicked out of Heaven, eating an apple could get you banished from paradise or you could be the most faithful perfect and loved person and still have your entire life destroyed over a bet. What does he know most about the Almighty? They're "tetchy" and unpredictable.

"Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate. Where is the flaming sword I gave you, Aziraphale, to guard the Gate of Eden?"

He then conceals the truth to God themselves of the choice he made to give humanity a fighting chance of survival by giving his holy sword away. And is left alone without another word. Forced to walk on egg shells for the rest of his existence out of fear.

"So, giving the mortals a flaming sword. How did that work out for you?" "The Almighty has never actually mentioned it again.." "Probably a good thing."

That fear of the unknown consequences to his past actions.. his lies.. for good or for bad.. he could fall at any moment or lose everything he holds precious (aka his Angel-ness and Crowley).

"I'm not an idiot, Crowley. Do you know what trouble I'd be in if.. if they knew I'd been fraternizing? It's completely out of the question." "Fraternizing?!" "Well, whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further."

So what does he always do? Deflects.. to protect himself. To protect Crowley. Not saying the real truth out loud. Keeping the reality of their relationship an unsaid secret like always.

But sometimes, actions speak louder than words.

"Should I say thank you?" "Better not."

Yet again, he breaks the rules. Doesn't even want to hear a thank you. Again, it must all go unsaid.

"You go too fast for me."

Crowley has always been one step ahead of him. Asking questions, falling, breaking the rules, etc. Aziraphale isn't ready yet. He's not ready to lose everything he holds dear to him by admitting out loud all of his sinful choices or else face the punishment he's been fearing for thousands of years.

"Go off together?" "How long have we been friends? Six thousand years."

Aziraphale starts panicking here. Crowley is saying too much out loud. Deny deny deny.

"Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don't even like you."

This bandstand breakup was literally Aziraphale freaking out about doing too many bad things dealing with the whole anti-Christ situation and Crowley getting too close to saying what they truly are to each other. But the fear is too much and he lies again. But this time to himself. Aziraphale has only ever wanted to do the good thing. To make the correct choices. To be on the right side. But he's always faltered. Made choices that he was sure were the bad ones. Lied on occasion. Kept secrets from Heaven and God. Given into temptations. And has always had this fear of God's Almighty wrath hanging over his head for millennia. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. At any moment, everything will be taken away. But what could be the last straw? The straw that finally breaks the camel's back? To garner God's attention and punishment. It has to be something big. The biggest and most important part of his life. Something that matters to him more than anything in the world. His relationship with the Demon, Crowley. But he's learned. If you don't say it out loud.. if you keep it to yourself. Then you won't be punished. It's worked out for him so far. So why should he think otherwise? And then in the end of S2E6, Metatron gives him the opportunity to make a change to the Heavenly system. His chance to restore his best friend to his former holy glory. A chance to relieve all the suffering he's seen throughout history. A chance to make a difference. Despite all his secret sins, he's being given an unbelievable opportunity- one that proves that maybe he isn't as bad as he always thought he was. He's actually seen as worthy. But then Crowley gets angry about all this. He's against it all. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want to be an Angel again. He doesn't want to return to Heaven. He just wants to be with Aziraphale. And he finally says their best kept, unsaid secret out loud. With a love confession and a passionate kiss.

"You idiot. We could have been… us."

Aziraphale wants this more than anything but every instinct inside of him is screaming to stop it, to not let anyone see, to not let anyone know the truth. This final temptation. His one and true forbidden fruit that is the Demon Crowley.. and it's the one he knows he must resist at all costs.

The fear is overpowering. And the only words that come from his lips…

"I forgive you."

I forgive you for letting our unsaid secret out. I forgive you for trying to tempt me. I forgive you for refusing to join me in Heaven as a renewed Angel. But can he ever truly forgive himself for the choice he just made? Remember, in the end, Aziraphale is just afraid. Afraid to lose everything. Afraid to lose Crowley. Fear of punishment can be traumatizing after all. And it will all be fixed in S3. ;) HAVE FAITH IN GAIMAN!

..Sorry this was so long and drawn out but… I NEED SEASON 3 ALREADY.. (everyone! keep re-watching GO2 on Prime! and no more threats to the creators plz ^-^) Honestly, this was very cathartic to write and help me come to terms with the most heart wrenching painful TV kiss of all time D: But I need to see how their story unfolds. I need to see Aziraphale allow himself to make the choice to be with Crowley without fear of punishment. I NEED MY INEFFIBLE HUSBANDS. TOGETHER. T^T

PS. Literally as I was finishing writing this, I saw Neil Gaiman himself say this on his Tumblr, "But the story of Job is pretty central to the whole Good Omens conversation, including Aziraphale's bit of it." OMG I KNEW IT lololol

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Could you do the reaction of yanderes hashiras when they see the male reader vomiting in disgust/rejection after the hashiras kissed him?

Rejecting The Hashira’s Kiss | Yandere Kimetsu no Yaiba X Male Reader

Whether it was a misread moment or just someone having the audacity to put their lips against yours; they are met with a solid rejection. Even if you refuse them they have no plans to stop their pursuit. All this is just a minor obstacle…yep…just..a little pothole in the road of your love:

Rengoku Kyojuro

He doesn’t ask 

He just goes right in 

Catching you off guard as he firmly kisses your unmoving lips

“BLEGH! Ew what’s your problem?! Kyojuro!?”

“I DID IT FOR GOOD FORTUNE!”

“Good Fortune my foot! Don’t go kissing people who don’t want to be kissed!”

He’s not discouraged at all 

in fact, this only spurs him to try harder to gain your affection

Or hopefully shooing of any one else who’s interested

He doesn’t bother licking his lips but I certainly see him putting his lips up to different things to…compare

“THIS MELON IS COLD NOT AT ALL LIKE (Y/N)’S LIPS. WHICH ARE WARM! AND SOFT! AND IRRESISTABLE!”

“Sir, are you going to pay for the fruit or not?”

Shinobu Kocho

Is probably tending to you after a mission

And she just can’t help herself 

You were just looking so cute with your broken arms

So she just went for it 

“Ew um can you not.”

She stares blankly at you 

Before doing it again

“What are you going to do? Stop me?”

She’s going to spend the rest of your stay showing you how little you can do in comparison to her

And how powerless you are to defy her medicinal ‘ailments’

Leaving you bedridden for however long she pleases

Seating herself on your waist too weak to buck her off

“Don’t think for a moment you can stop me, you are mine and I’ll have what I want of you when I want it.” 

Uzui Tengen

Flamboyant as ever he’s not one to hide his emotions

Or what he wishes to do 

So when he goes for the kiss he kisses deep

Completely disregarding the world’s take on social customs

“I’ll be flamboyantly missing you on my mission, farewell my gem.”

The kiss is deep and while you may pull away he’s keeping a firm hold on your waist

Letting his fingers graze against your butt

When you pull away to spit Tengen makes a note of it

And will dive back into capturing your lips

“Don’t let any of me my sparkling saliva out of your mouth, otherwise I’ll have to punish you~!”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

It takes a lot to hype himself up to do this

Despite being as prickly as he is 

he blushes and gets week in the knees around you

So when he moves fast to kiss you he’s embarrassed when your lips curl in disgust

“Ewww…that was so gross.”

He’s so hurt 

But that sadness morphs to anger 

And when demons don’t cut it 

He’s fighting you 

“WHEN SOMEONE GIVES YOU A KISS, YOU KISS THEM BACK!”

Mitsuri Kanroji

Love is her element 

So of course, she’s going to kiss you as soon as she feels like the mood’s been set

When you reject her, she is reminded of all the times such a thing has happened before

“Oh…you didn’t like that…huh?”

She’s hurt so so hurt

But her tears are so pretty

So perfect you’ll cave

That is if her guard snake doesn’t come for you first

“Y-you’re s-sorry..hm..i-i’ll definitely feel better if you give me a kiss though…please?”

Obanai Iguro 

He’s hesitant to even come near you 

Often preferring to watch you from afar

He usually thinks he’s lesser than you

A monster in every right that is protecting his beauty in the shadows

So he’ll wait until your sleeping or so high on medicine that you can’t recognize him

“Y-yuck..”

“...I am sorry.”

So crestfallen he probably won’t talk to you out of embarrassment despite you’re actual cluelessness

“Kabumaru love is cruel..isn’t it?”

Giyuu Tomioka

Nobody likes him anyway

And when he’s shoulders deep in his obsession for you he stops caring

He no longer lets being likable by anyone stop him from what he wants

“-ick! Eww, I can’t believe you–”

“I can hardly resist you (Y/n), even if you hate me.”

Nothing’s off the table 

But he pretty much is willing to do whatever it takes

He’s witnessed so many die at the hands of demons

He doesn’t care how you feel 

That will not be your fate

“It doesn’t matter what you think of me. I’m not letting you free.”

Gyomei Himejima

He can’t see your beauty which he cries about often

But thanks to his lack of sight you let him feel your face

“If only for my mind’s eye, may I?”

“Yeah Gyomei no problem.”

It’s his dirty little pleasure

Curious about your figure 

He holds you steady holding your shoulders

And he accidentally let’s his lips brush against your own

He gets the message when you pull away

He knows it’s probably out of disgust, but he can delude himself into thinking it was out of embarrassment

And that let’s him smile in his lonesome

“My apologies was that your lips?”

Muichiro Tokito

He thinks being the young kid he is, you won’t mind

When he jumps up to give you a kiss 

And when you recoil asking him what that was about

He’ll wistfully sigh because you didn’t react the way he wantedyou to

“Don’t friends kiss each other before they leave.”

He feigns ignorance as he mulls upon your rejection

He figures he’s got time to convince you he’s worthy of your kisses

And then he forgets 

Aiming for a kiss again with some other excuse to pursue his little crush on you

“I think of you like a brother…don’t family kiss each other?”

[autoauthor]

Android AU

There's a brand of personal assistant androids, "The Uchiha" which is wildly popular.

They have perfect memory, advanced image processing and recognition, and are also aesthetically pleasing. They can learn the needs and preferences of the people around them and shape themselves accordingly.

They can be set up to display so much personality that you could almost mistake them for a human.

Hashirama was recently gifted a top of the line model by a business partner and his productivity has been through the roof. Madara anticipates his moods and structures things so getting work done is no longer a chore. He also takes care of a lot of the busywork so that Hashirama only really needs to sign some documents at the end of the day (No need to check what he's signing. Madara would never steer him wrong.)

Tobirama has always been skeptical of the androids. He thinks they're pointless if one can manage their own time and also pose a huge security risk.

But Hashirama gifts him one anyways, with the agreement being that he'll try it for a month, and if he doesn't find it helpful, it will be repurposed.

Enter: Izuna

He needles Tobirama to eat on time. When he's particularly busy he ends up hand-feeding him sliced fruit.

He also turns off all the lights and screens when he deems Tobirama has to break for sleep.

Surprisingly to Tobirama, his productivity does improve, even with all the meddling. Izuna is a wonderful assistant in his research and takes care of the chores which would otherwise distract him.

With Izuna doing the shopping and pinging Madara directly when Tobirama needs something from Hashirama, there's no reason for him to go out anymore.

His only company becomes Izuna (And, of course, Madara assures Hashirama that his brother's needs are being met and there's no need to go personally).

He begins relying on izuna for everything:

He doesn't need a clock - Izuna can tell him the time.

No need to keep track of the date - Izuna can do that too.

Izuna will select and ship gifts on birthdays and other holidays, so there's no need for him to go out of his way to attend events.

All he has to do is his experiments and Izuna will take care of everything else...

If he didn't know any better, he would think that Izuna genuinely enjoys his company. They get along so well now that he's not dead-set against allowing the android to stay. Their conversations are engaging and distracting.

Izuna's been so responsible with his banking information, it wouldn't be a bad idea to give him more clearance, right? It does get annoying having to confirm every time Izuna wants to log his collaboration on a project.

Or if he wants to access some of Tobirama's more classified files for reference.

[flutterby-bog]

Some additional headcanon notes nobody asked for, but this time in an overanalyzed format:

Scars

He's got a few scars on his face and a slightly crooked jaw from when it got broken when Bog was still a teen. The same group of goblins that did this had shattered his mother's horns in an attempt at taking the throne by force. These scars and battle damage are all that remain of those goblins.

Height

It's subtle, but Bog's torso segments can extend and retract due to a vestigial adaptation which insects use for breathing. Since he does not have an insectoid respiratory system this has only ever been used for changing his height for any reason. As demonstrated below:

A tall Bog is a confident Bog. When he's insecure he will shrink (either by hunching or drawing himself inward). The difference changes his height substantially. Even at his shortest, at least while standing upright, Bog still towers over Fairies.

Respiratory System

Bog has a large pair of fairy-like lungs inside his chest cavity, perfect for flying with such a heavily weighted body and belting out extended notes for long periods of time. His chest has additional segments that evolved over several molts to allow for efficient contraction/expansion of said lungs.

Vascular System

Has red blood, and a similar pulse to a Fairy, though the pulse is slower and a little louder. His normal level of blood pressure also sits higher than a fairy's. This leads to occasionally related headaches but otherwise does not seem to affect Bog's health.

Skeletal and Muscular System

Has a fusion of both internal and external skeletal systems throughout his body with exception of his torso, which is primarily exoskeleton, and his head, neck, hands, and feet, which lack exoskeletal plating.

His muscles do exist, but they are mostly on the inside of the exoskeletal parts. They are only visible in exposed areas like the underside of his forearms, where his legs connect to his torso, and his neck.

Along his lower legs and his jaw Bog has spurs of bone that sticks out. For insectoids these spines function as tactile receptors and additional grip. For Bog, these are just sensitive and drive Marianne wild for some reason he can't exactly fathom.

Motor Control

Bog has a lot more voluntary control over his body than a Fairy does. His feet are basically another pair of hands with an extended heel and are only slightly less dexterous than his hands. If he wanted to play the piano with his feet, he could easily... If he ever wanted to learn piano, anyway.

He also has individual control over his wings and various segments of his body, especially the ones that are along his shoulders that look like natural pauldrons. Bog likes to flex those in particular to make himself look more intimidating.

Sight

Bog's able to see more in the violet and UV spectrum than a Fairy can. Also exceptional night vision. Take Marianne's wings for example...

Normal Fairy Vision sees visible light.

Bog's Vision - This is what he was seeing the whole time. Well, at night anyway. When the sun came up he got the UV spectrum on her wings too and well, he was already a goner anyway.

Smell

That big nose of his isn't just for show. He's got a powerful sense of smell, which is why he will habitually breathe through his mouth sometimes or he just would get overwhelmed with the amount of scents nearby. Especially if he has to visit the Fairy Kingdom in Spring. Way too many flowers and perfumes.

Diet

Pretty much the same diet as a fairy except he eats meat in addition to the fruits and plants that a fairy can ingest. Does not enjoy overly sweet flavors like honey as much as Marianne does. Prefers spicy. The exception is tea. He very much enjoys tea.

Insectoid Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Grooming. He'll dust off his wings frequently by running his arm against them.

Damaged wings. His wings are permanently damaged from being attacked. He will never get new ones.

Molts. He molts far less now but when he was younger he would frequently molt.

Puberty. Did not always have wings. Did not have a cocoon stage but over a period of several molts started growing his wings.

Betrayed emotions. If you know how to read his body language, you can look past the grumpy face. When he's nervous, his wings will pulse in successively. When uncomfortable/embarrassed/anxious he will get very fidgety. When angry, involuntarily rattles (ch-ch-ch-ch noise) his wings and shoulder segments. His expression might look "angry" when he's actually not. Sometimes it's just a mask (unless he's rattling then for peat's sake, Thang, get out of the way! You should know better by now...)

Jumpy. Loud noises/vibrations/quick movements will startle Bog, causing him to involuntarily flinch/jump fairly easily. Beware his fast reflexes, though. Just because you make him jump doesn't mean you got the jump on him.

Goblin Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Dominant posturing. Goblins in general have a very strict social pecking order. The strongest lead and just because Bog's father was King of the Dark Forest doesn't mean he got the throne by birthright. In the Dark Forest you have to earn the respect of your people. And that means if a goblin wanted to usurp Bog, they could definitely try. It wouldn't end well for them, though.

Oh, somewhat related to the above, but Marianne's sucker punch may have initially ticked him off, because technically that was a challenge. His initial move was going for a big "F-you" with his staff, but you know why he went back a second time? To show off. Because he found it hot.

Protective drive. Goblins are pack creatures and fiercely loyal, and this includes Bog even in a position of leadership. Sure he might smack Thang around because the little moron irritated him, but the moment someone from the outside starts smacking Thang around it's over for them. Bog's little put-put swing on Thang is nothing compared to the heavy golf swing he'll do on the idiot who tries to mess with his goblins. (The mushrooms got the full golf swing but trust, they are fine. Bog knows what will/wont hurt someone.)

Fairy Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Singing/Music Magic. Fairies have magic that can turn any stick, light source, or noise into music while they are in the vicinity. Bog prefers a different kind of music than most fairies seem to enjoy, but he still possesses this magic nonetheless. Goblins do not usually sing, but they'll play instruments or do some back-up vocals for the fun of it.

Heart on the sleeve. This is a weakness Bog actively goes out of his way to suppress, but he really is a romantic deep down, as most Fairies have a tendency to be. Sure-sure he says he hates love, but then has a soft spot for Dawn's boutonniere gift that he can't quite explain. It's the fairy in you, Bog. It's okay.

Blooming Magic. Bog can touch a fern and make it unfurl, same as Marianne can. He can also make sure venus fly traps get the nutrients they need even if he snaps them shut just to walk on them for absolutely no reason other than showing off for Marianne. The magic fairies use to bloom flowers basically is just giving the plant nutrients it needs and speeding up the blooming process.

[nerdyagere]

Regressor!Law has no fics and almost no posts huh... ready to step in as the CEO of Regressor!Law dw guys (/j)

Here are my current thoughts though:

- He's a very quiet boy and prefers quiet/low noise environments, mainly because when he grew up with Cora he would often use his devil fruit to drown out loud noises, especially at night, and Law generally has sensitive ears anyway but usually ignores his discomfort, when he's regressed its a lot harder to push that off

- Oh boy he's a crier, his childhood is filled to the brim with grief and tragedy, not only that but he definitely pushes off regression as often as he can so when he finally drops, it's a big release of built up emotion all at once, good thing he has his crew for comfort! Especially Bepo, Penguin and Shachi, they've been around the longest

On really bad days he'll end up a loud crier too, hes usually stifling his sobs but sometimes its just too much, it's a big build up of emotion he can't help himself, and it only makes him feel so much worse about it, thankfully Bepo almost always comes running and his fur is perfect for not only comfort but muffling noise

Only issue with Bepo is that he'll also start crying because Law's crying, which makes Law feel bad so Penguin and Shachi are always there as extra support (Shachi's the best at making him giggle and Penguin makes some awesome tea)

- He's really sensory focused, he loves stuffies (but god he'll never ask for them, he can't get himself to) and he'll almost always change into a hoodie or something comfy when regressed, feels too tight and scratchy otherwise

If he doesn't like the feel of something, he'll make it known real fast, which ends with him being a picky eater because some textures are gross!

- He's a tired boy, see those eyebags he has normally? Yeah they feel even heavier when he's teeny, instead of playing and doing whatever else kids will do he'd much rather curl up with Bepo or someone else and take a nap

(He can get a bit picky about germs and generally feels embarrassed sucking on his fingers but as he gets closer and closer to sleep, you'll start to see his thumb slip closer and closer to his lips, half the time it just lays there and the other half it'll slip into his mouth once he knocks out)

---

So many thoughts I love him so much... I give him a big kiss on the forehead... (he scrunches his face up and kicks me until I fall over)

[mrsmikaelsxn]

Revealed Feelings

masterlist

pairing: sirius black x female reader

warnings: insecurity, kissing, fluff, smallest amount of angst?

summary: your boyfriend broke up with you and you go to your best friend sirius, who ends up admitting his feelings for you

a/n: i recently finished reading shadow and bone and ben barnes was in my head whenever the darkling was in a part of the book, anyway now i started six of crows

song: reflections - the neighbourhood

"I'm sorry, Y/n," your now ex-boyfriend says.

You hold back your tears, not wanting to cry in front of him. "I'm sorry too, for all the girls who think you're going to be a good boyfriend," you look at him before turning around and walk away.

You hear him calling after you but you ignore him as you wipe the tears off your face with your sleeve. When you get in you see it's empty, probably because it's so late at night.

You grab your favorite book off the shelf and go sit on one of the couches. Not a minute later you feel your book being grabbed and your feet being lifted onto someone's lap. You look up and see your best friend grinning at you.

You ask yourself why he would be in the library, but then you realized he most likely used the Marauders Map to find you.

The grin on his face is quickly replaced with a worried frown when he sees you have been crying. "Why are you crying, love?"

You let out a huff, "It's nothing. Really," you weakly smile at him.

"The tears on your beautiful face tell me otherwise," he runs his fingers up and down your leg.

"It's just- my stupid boy- ex-boyfriend is a git," you tell him.

His eyes widen, "Ex-boyfriend?" If it were not a bad time, Sirius could have smiled. "What happened?"

"Too much stuff to say. But he broke up with me," you look at your lap. "I don't know. I mean, I know I didn't do anything wrong, but sometimes I feel like I'm just not... well, good enough," the words taste bitter on your tongue. You felt disgusted for letting a trashy guy make you feel that way about yourself.

Sirius lifts your legs off his lap and moves right next to you. He puts his hand under your chin and makes you look at him. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again," he whispers. "You are the most intelligent, sweet, and perfect person I've met." Sirius runs his other thumb over your cheek to wipe the tear.

You blush and avert your eyes, but he taps a finger on your jaw, getting you to look back at him. "You are too good for someone like him. In fact, you're too good for everyone. A-and I..." Sirius lets out a breath. "This is probably a bad time to say this, but... I love you - romantically."

You smile at him. As much as you want to say it to him, it doesn't feel right to say it right after the breakup.

"You don't have to say it back. But I want you to know that I love you, more than I've ever loved anything," he looks at you. His eyes are so mesmerizing.

He eyes drop to your lips after your teeth tug on the bottom one. He takes his thumb and slides it on your bottom lip, pulling it from your teeth. He glances up at you and says, "If you keep doing that I don't know if I can keep myself from kissing you."

You think for a moment, "What if I don't want you to?"

His wide eyes shoot up to yours, looking at you intensely, trying to find any sign of you lying. You give him the slightest nod and he wastes no time to bring his lips to yours.

His feels like he's dreaming. Your soft, warm lips are like the sweetest fruit on his mouth. He smiles in the kiss and you smile too.

He pulls back and your eyes flutter open. His lips brush against yours as he speaks, "Whenever you're ready, would you go out with me?"

"I would love nothing more," you whisper and pull him towards you again.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #20] - Park Jimin... Again

warnings: ohh this one hurts my heart! drinking, drunk hook-up, fingering, oral (m receiving), both parties are fully consenting but the OC is having a bit of a hard time mentally (head vs heart kind thing!), it makes me really sad for her reading it back :( anyways, one of the biggest B birds is tackled!!!! kinda!!! the smut isn't he he smutty smut!! more so mechanical! controversial opinion but one of my fave starluvrs chapters!!

soundtrack: seesaw - bts

wc: 6.8k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Hey," Jeongguk says quietly as he comes to stand beside you. You're standing behind the front desk at your work, watching on with subtle pride as Tae's event kicks into gear. Chatter pollutes the air, Tae's chosen choice of jazz music softly humming beneath the conversation.

Jeongguk's dressed well. More formal than you've ever seen him. A dark, silky shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, unbuttoned just enough to give you vivid flashbacks of your hand around his throat, nails scratching ever so gently at his skin. His usual silver chain sits prettily in place, but a second necklace hangs a little lower. As always, his hair is tousled in such a way it screams 'i woke up like this' - but you've seen him in the mornings. Know that he will have spent a solid half an hour perfecting the look.

On his feet are his trusty Chuck Taylors. Makes you laugh when you look down and see them next to your sparkly heels. You nudge against his shoes with your own. He does it back. 

If you were to glance in the mirror in the far corner of the room, you'd notice how good you look together. Your dress is tight - a well-structured bodice with a low back and a straight skirt that finishes midway down your thighs - but chiffon billows around your arms. A subtle shimmer runs through the threads of the otherwise black fabric, and Jeongguk thinks it's fitting. Doesn't mention it, though.

Instead, he gently strokes the top of your back where your shoulder blades are far too tense. You're more poised than usual. It's stress, he thinks.

He'd be right in thinking that - but you smile regardless. Won't let anything dampen how well Tae's show is going.

Lights dim, the focus is all on the art pieces. Free champagne (which is really just prosecco but you're hoping no one will notice) is flowing, and appetisers are being eaten. The deli cafe a few floors below had agreed to do the catering, and you're thankful that they agreed to do it for a discount rate. You're barely breaking even with the launch event, but you hope that it will prove to be fruitful for Tae and the other artists in the future.

"Hey," you whisper right back, knocking your shoulder against him tenderly. "You good?"

He nods and hums a pretty little purr of confirmation. "You?"

You do the same back. It's not for a lack of wanting to engage in conversation, it's just that you know your social battery is gonna be worn down to the metal casing by the end of the evening, and so you're preserving your resources. 

Jeongguk is aware of this. He always clocks it whenever you reached social capacity in the club - you'll sway instead of dance, and drunkenly walk away from people, favouring the bar instead of the dancefloor. He knows you've maybe got a solid six hours in you, but anything after that? He's not so sure.

"The place looks great," he tells you - and it really does.

For the launch night, you've optimised space and minimised the number of easels that are out. Furniture has been rearranged to create a natural flow for attendees to walk through, in order for each artist to have their work fully admired. 

Tae's collection is the focal point, of course, but it's done in such a subtle way that most won't notice. The design of it all is smart - helped by Jimin's expertise in interior staging, brought to life by the brawn of Jeongguk and how he's able to move even the heaviest furniture with ease, and finished off with Tae's carefully crafted artwork.

They make for a great team. 

Yoongi's custom-built frames and display units are perfect for the space, and Namjoon is by the entrance greeting critics he knows from other papers. Tae couldn't have surrounded himself with better people.

You think it's deserved. His work is gorgeous. If you had a spare penny, you'd invest in some. Know that he's destined for greatness, and that this is just the start of his professional career. If anything, you feel lucky to be a part of it all, no matter how small. 

But see that's the thing - Taehyung always had these resources around him. Had it not been for you pulling them all together and actually using them, he never would have done. Not to the best of his ability, at least. You're just as important to this as the rest of them are. 

Jeongguk couldn't be prouder - of you, of Tae, of what you've achieved. It's early and the night is young, but things are heading in the right direction. People are filtering in gradually. Half a dozen people have come off the street just to see what's going on.

"I think it's incredible, Byeol," Jeongguk says softly. "All of this... I just. Wow. Amazing."

"Stop," you laugh quietly. "Was a team effort."

He shakes his head. Thinks you're by far the most important piece of the puzzle.

"Yeah, well," he shrugs. "What's a team without a leader?"

You glance over at him, a little bemused by his appreciation. 

He looks down at you and smiles, lip ring flipping ever so slightly in that way you adore so much. In the dull light behind the desk, a small speck of glitter twinkles on his shoulder.

"Here," you say as you reach over to pick it away, before dusting it off your fingers. "I fear I've cursed you with glitter."

Jeongguk shakes his head. Tells you he doesn't mind. He kind of likes the sparkles. Is still finding tiny reminders of you in his sheets. Makes him smile every time. 

When he was sleeping with Hayun, it would be her lipstick that would stain his skin. His mugs, his sheets, his shirts, too. 

Part of him wonders what permanence Jiyeong will hold. 

Part of him kind of doesn't wanna find out.

But speak of the Devil and he doth appear - or think of Jiyeong, and sure enough, there she is by the entrance, speaking with Hoseok, who is handling entry. 

She's dressed well - a navy blue dress hugs her enviable figure, which you know she's worked damn hard to achieve. Her hair is down, and her make-up is minimal; a natural beauty. Not a speck of glitter in sight.

"Ah, it does appear your princess has arrived, Prince Charming," you tease him with a little more pomp and poise than is needed, just to echo your point. 

"Fuck off," he laughs  - but heads on his way regardless.

You watch on as Jeongguk greets her, a hand in his pocket while the other scratches at the back of his head. He laughs, looks to the floor, then back up at her. When he smiles, his lip ring does the thing . 

You look away. Find Tae in the crowd. Head for him instead.

Your palms feel a little clammy, and your head doesn't feel like it's screwed on properly, but there's no feasible reason to feel such a way. Belated nerves, maybe? It's a big night. Tae has a lot riding on it. Yeah. That must be it.

As you approach, with an extra champagne flute in hand to top him up, he beams at you. 

Smile wide, Taehyung is every bit the schmoozer. He's been talking the ears off a local critic for the past ten minutes, and they've laughed at every joke. 

It probably helps that he's dressed like the boy of everyone's fantasies; ivory shirt and dark slacks, lockets around his neck and dark hair pushed back to frame his portrait-worthy face. In a room full of priceless art, Kim Taehyung could be considered a masterpiece himself.

The thought glitters in your mind, illuminating the fact that you think this could apply to Jeongguk, too. You twist ever so slightly to look at him, but stop yourself. Your nosey tendencies can wait. 

For now, Tae is babbling on about your contribution to the show, and you're far better off focusing on him. He's without an agent, so you're playing the role for now.

You don't really know what it all entails, but you've read a wikihow page and watched a couple of youtube videos. Know enough to get by. It's just to stop investors from thinking they can take advantage of Tae. You're protection, in a way, which is laughable. 

"You've an eye for curation," a critic tells you, after Tae finishes bragging about your dedication to the show - but you shake your head.

"It's all Taehyung's genius," you smile. "He's an artist through and through, and it's his concepts we've brought to life. I'm merely a facilitator of his vision."

It's all so pompous. You hate the bullshit chatter, but know it's needed. So does Tae. You've never seen him so composed. He doesn't even falter when Danbi shows up half an hour later. 

Though he does get a little giggly when she approaches him to gush about how beautiful his work is. He grins - and grins, and grins, and grins - and tells her that it's nothing. She tells him he's remarkable, and her words replay in his head for the rest of the night.

Kind of like how Jeongguk's hand on your back, the intrusive scent of his aftershave, and the thought of his lip ring doing the thing whenever he nibbles down on it, plagues yours. It's bizarre. 

Realistically, you know it's because you're nervous, and have always sought comfort in him. If he were by your side, maybe you'd worry less about Tae impressing the critics. Maybe he'd joke with you about that one rogue piece of art neither of you really like. 

Instead, he stands with Jiyeong, engaged in conversation with the Mins. If you were to be looking in his direction, you'd notice Seoyeon trying to catch your eye. 'Are you okay?' her nuanced gaze would ask, and you'd smile. Nod your head. Assure her that you're grand.

You refuse to let yourself linger. It's not healthy. Jeongguk is your friend. Dependency isn't cute on anyone. 

But Jiyeong looks cute on his arm, and Jeongguk looks cute when he explains different art facts he's learnt from you to her. The recycled knowledge is wasted on a mind like Jiyeong's. Her interests lie elsewhere. It's not her kind of thing - but Jeongguk is her kind of man, so she nods along and is ever so pleasant. 

When Nabi arrives, you're pleased to see her act just as frosty towards Jiyeong as she had towards you.

"Don't mind her," Jimin grins beside you as you watch the interaction with great curiosity. "Nabi is... Well, she's Nabi."

You smile. Jimin looks dashing as ever. Is wearing a thin knitted sweater with a pair of tight jeans hugging his toned legs. Chelsea boots accent his look, and you find yourself smiling at the predictability of him. His style differs from that of his friends, but you find that you quite like it.

His hair is perfectly permed to fall back off his face, showing off his dark eyes and cute little cheeks. He's paradoxical. Sweet and spicy all in one bite.

"She always like this?" You ask, not really caring if Jimin knows you don't feel so fondly towards her.

"Uh-huh," he nods. "She comes across as rude, but honestly I think she's just shy."

"Shy?" You sneer - but catch the unpleasant look on your face and try to soften it. The stress has made you a little snappy, and you don't like it. 

"Shy," he nods again with a laugh. Finds your uncharacteristically sour face rather funny. "She's hot though, so everyone thinks she's being a dick. She'll warm up. She always does - you really think Seoyeon would be friends with her if she didn't?"

He's got a good point. Seoyeon is potentially the sweetest person you've ever met. You can't imagine her being friends with assholes - but then again, even assholes need friends. Seoyeon would always try and see the good in people, if she could. 

"She scares me," you tell him. He hands you his champagne flute. It's half empty, but he thinks you need a drink. He's right.

"You scare her, probably. You're some random girl showing up all buddy-buddy with her oldest friends without warning," he says, trying to put it into perspective. "She gets back from visiting family abroad and BOOM . There's some girl riding shotgun in Jeongguk's car and helping with Tae's career in a way she never could. It's intimidating. She doesn't know her place anymore."

When he says it like that, you cringe. Feel guilty for being such a harsh judge towards her. Sure, Nabi had been rude, but you can't go through life expecting everyone to act in the same way you would. It's differences that make us interesting, after all.

"How long had been gone?" You ask quietly, knowing it's really none of your business.

"Six months," Jimin says. "Her grandparents live in Scotland. It's where she's been. You should ask her, yourself. Might be a good chance to get to know her."

You nod. Fold your arms across your chest. Decide you know far too much about this poor girl's personal life already. Anything else you learn, you would like it to be directly from her.

"Would she like to come out with us?" You offer. "After the show?"

Jimin smiles. "Probably. I'll ask."

When she glances over to you a little while later, Jimin clearly mentioning the invite, you smile. You think she smiles back, but it's hard to tell - though you can clearly see her nod. 

You sigh a shallow breath of relief and are so focused on the interaction that you almost don't notice Jeongguk coming to stand beside you. 

"Clock's not struck midnight yet, Charming," you hum when you smell his aftershave. "Where's your girl?"

He nudges his shoulder against yours and takes your champagne flute from your hand - your fifth of the night and counting - before knocking it all back in one swig. 

"Couldn't stay. She's meeting friends, so we'll probably see her out tonight - if that's okay?"

"Yeah, sure," you say without hesitation. "Of course that's fine. It was really nice of her to come along."

Jeongguk nods. "Yeah. I think she enjoyed it."

You nod, too. It's a little awkward. Neither of you know how to navigate conversations about other people. You're coy; don't wanna ask too much. 

"That's good," you smile. "Fancy another drink?"

"Please."

One drink turns into three, which turns into six. By the time the show has dwindled down to just the usual suspects, and Tae is popping a champagne bottle in celebration of an exhibition gone well, you're ready to hit the clubs. 

Everyone is in good spirits. 

There's not a single face without a smile as you head downtown, not to Dionysus, but to a bar just across the road. The boys are regulars here just as much, but it's a quieter vibe - small rooms that allow for a more private setting. 

They instantly head towards one of the back coves. The room is tiny. Cramped. Dark. Stinks of beer and cigarette smoke. There are black sofas lining the walls, and you dread to think of what horrors they've seen as you sink down into one beside Jeongguk. 

Not much thought is given to your seating arrangement. His legs are stretched out, knees wide apart, one hand over his crotch, the other tucked behind you. Legs pulled up to your chest, your feet are on the sofa, shoes on the floor. One of your arms wraps around your knees, hugging them into you. Your other hand mindlessly rests on his thigh. 

It's dangerously close to his hand. So close that he reaches out with his fingers. They delicately toy with yours. You think very little of it. Just finds comfort in it. So does he. 

No one notices.

You're wedged between Jeongguk and Danbi, who also has an incredibly giddy Taehyung next to her.

Or at least she does, until he hops up to grab beer pong cups from the bar. He returns with everything he needs for the game, but leaves again, only to return with a tray of shots, too.

It's just sourz. Has nothing on purple starfuckers - but it serves a purpose. Is exactly what you need as you stand at one end of the beer pong table. 

Nabi is on the other end, Jimin by her side.

Tae got distracted by Danbi, well, existing. Put the cups down and haven't thought about them since. The game is yours now. 

It's nice seeing Nabi actually smile. Has you supposing that Jimin was right, after all. She cheers when anyone gets shots in, even if it means she has to drink. A good sport. Just wants everyone to have fun. Knows that she sometimes can rub people up the wrong way, so appreciates the fact you made sure she was invited.

She always would have been invited. Taehyung had already mentioned it to her - but the fact that you made Jimin check? She appreciates it. Probably won't tell you so directly, but hopes that you'll see she's trying.

And you do. You're trying, too. It's always weird when someone new enters a dynamic. It's why you're trying to be mindful of Jiyeong, and excuse away Jeongguk for not being totally focused on the evening. 

He's torn between his friends and making sure he replies to her drunk messages quickly enough. It doesn't help that he's also drunk and really can't be fucked with being on his phone in a dark room. It's embarrassing. He's here with friends. Doesn't wanna be glued to a screen.

His phone is facedown by the sofa when he comes to stand behind you, while you gear up for your next shot. You're currently a point up, and only have to get three more cups out.

"Easy does it," Jeongguk husks just loud enough for you to hear. If his voice wasn't enough to distract you, his hand on your hip might just be. It's disguised by the shadows of the dark room, but the sensation burns so brightly you're surprised no one else notices. 

"I am easy," you tell him, not realising how bad that sounds until it's out of your mouth. The glitter on your cheeks catches in the dim fairy lights as you giggle at yourself. 

Jeongguk just smirks. Shakes his head.

"No, you're not."

"Well, what am I then?" you flirt a little. " Hard ?"

Oh God, he's smirking again. 

There's a mirror on the far wall behind Nabi and Jimin. You hate it. 

Hate how you never used to notice mirrors before Jeongguk came into your life, and hate how you noticed every single one of them now. 

Hate how good Jeongguk looks, dark hair waving divinely around his features. His broad shoulders are hidden by his shirt, but he's loosened his buttons to frame his collar bones in silk. Sleeves rolled up, forearms on show, he's a menace. 

The kind of guy your mother warned you about, cosplaying as the boy next door. Trouble. Sin. Temptation. 

And yet he's just so pretty - doe-eyed and dewy-nosed - that he's impossible to resist.

"Maybe," he sings, taking a swig of his drink before holding it to your lips. You let him tilt it. Drink it down. Tastes like shit, but you don't care. Are too enthralled by the flirt. 

"Nah," you laugh softly as you lick the liquor from your lips. "I'm not hard."

Jeongguk's had too much to drink. He knows better than to reply in the way he wants to. Knows he shouldn't grip your waist and pull you back so that your ass is rested against his crotch. 

He knows, he knows, he knows. 

"Funny," he husks. "You might not be, but me? Well..."

And yet his grip does tighten. He closes the gap. Makes your breath hitch.

"Haven't got all day Disco Ball!" Jimin calls over, blissfully unaware of what's going on in the dark.

Jeongguk loosens his grip. Takes a step back. Walks around to the side of the table and slumps down into the sofa beside Namjoon. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see them whispering to each other, but decide to ignore it.

Instead, you line up your shot. Focus. Narrow your eyes and ignore the heckles Jimin is throwing in your direction. Anything to put you off your game. Nabi slaps at his shoulder and tells him to cut it out. 

And so you smile at her. Mouth the words 'thank you' in her direction. 

Jimin just leans on the table. Tells you that he gets a free shot if you take any longer.

"That's bullshit and you know it," Jeongguk calls over, just to let you all know he's still invested.

Of course he is. He wants you to win. 

Just didn't wanna take things too far.

"You've got this, B!"

And you do .

The shot is smooth. Sharp. The tiny white ball knocks against the lip of the most distant cup and falls directly into the small pool of beer it's holding. 

Jimin stares at it in disbelief.

"What?" You grin, as Jeongguk cheers you on and Namjoon laughs at Jimin's poor defeated face. "Drink up, Park. Haven't got all day."

The rest of the game continues much like that. Jeongguk sits on the sidelines and lets you take the reins. Doesn't interfere. Just watches on, with a curious sense of pride and something he can't quite place. Just notices that his jaw gets a little tense whenever your start joking around with Jimin.

It's nothing a fresh shot doesn't solve. The liquor eases his jaw. Makes him forget the uncomfortable feeling that comes with watching your glitter sparkle in someone else's eyes.

He brushes the feeling to the side. Ignores it. 

But when you've been gone for ten minutes, and he realises he doesn't know where Jimin is either, he pauses. Doesn't want another shot cause he feels a little sick. 

Decides the bathroom is the best place for him. It's a bog standard toilet - no gender separation of the stalls. Just a door into a room with a sink in it, and another door that leads to the actual toilet. 

"Shit, sorry," Jeongguk mumbles as he opens the door, realising someone's stood by the sink.

"Hey," you chime pleasantly. "It's cool. Come in. No one's in there."

You've just been touching up your makeup. Have no idea where Jimin is. You've not seen him. Assume he's flirting with some random by the bar. Seems like him.

And yet Jeongguk's drunk tongue decides that he'd quite like to just make sure you haven't seen Jimin. It's stupid. He's got no reason to care. Doesn't care. Is just a little too tipsy for his own good.

"If I didn't know any better," Jeongguk says quietly, coming to stand behind you. "I'd say you've been flirting with Jimin."

The bathroom is cramped, graffiti covering the walls. There's no soap and the hand dryer is broken. It's seen better days. Seen a lot of sin. You glance up at him as you wash your hands the best you can. The position is all too familiar. 

Mirrors and Jeongguk? 

Yeah. A view you know well. 

You smirk. Raise your brows. "So what if I have been?"

He shrugs. Looks at your hair, and starts to toy with it. Scoops it together to push it all over a single shoulder. 

He leaves your neck exposed, and bites down on his lips to stop himself from doing things he knows he shouldn't. A tiny waft of your perfume intrudes on his senses. God . He really does fucking like your perfume. 

"Just curious," he says. "That's all."

You think that will be the end of his interrogation. 

Think that Jeongguk is just throwing questions into the void, but that your lack of a clear answer will deter him. 

It does. Only for a moment, though. He's still stroking at your hair. Doesn't look at you. Just your damn hair. 

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, he asks, "Are you gonna fuck him again?"

You say nothing, just continue washing your hands as you think about what the fuck to say back. You've not been planning on it, but the question sounds a bit like an accusation. Sounds like Jeongguk is probing you. Sounds unlike him. Sounds like he wants a fight.

Shutting the tap off, you rest your palms on the edge of the basin and look at his reflection. You're annoyed to find him still watching his own hands as they stroke through your hair.

"Why?" You question. He's never been one to cast judgement over your choices. Never. You're pissed that it seems like he's doing it now. "Should I fuck him again?"

Jeongguk's the one who falters now. 

Only for a split second, but long enough for you to know he's running hurdles in his brain. 

He doesn't know why he started the conversation, and doesn't know where the fuck he hopes it ends - he just knows he can't seem to stop it.

The dingy light flickers ever so gently, like morse code. Dash, dot... Dash, dash, dash. 

Indifference is feigned well as he shrugs. "If you want."

And you're not sure why, but you ask, "Do you want me to?"

When he looks up and catches your gaze in the aged, desilvered mirror ahead of you both, he's hard to read. 

His stare is hard, but his features are soft. Cheeks a little pink. Lips pretty and pouty like they are always are. 

"Wasn't that the whole point of the birds?" He asks. "We fuck about, get you comfortable with intimacy... you have better sex?"

You scoff. Shake your head as you look down to where your hands grip the porcelain basin. There are water droplets still on your skin. Sort of look like tears, you think.

"Mhmm," you finally say as your eyes dart up again, with a nod and a smile so fake that even the alcohol can't convince Jeongguk it's genuine. "I'm sure Jimin will be thrilled to have your leftovers."

"What?" he asks, a little confused. 

Running your hands through your hair, you disrupt the preening he's been doing and let your hair messily fall into a more natural state. His hands drop from their position by your shoulders. Distance is created. 

"Surely it's easier to start off with someone you already know?" He continues. "And the fuck are you on about? Leftovers? You know I hate it when you say shit like that, Byeol. It's not like that."

In Jeongguk's mind, it's really not that dissimilar to your setting him up with Jiyeong. You had started him off easy. Someone he knows won't reject him. 

Interesting how he's already convinced there'll be a next; that Jiyeong is a start, not an end. 

Longevity isn't something that he sees in her. 

A certain guilt lies within him whenever they're together because of this, but he thinks perhaps he's writing it off too soon. Maybe it's his brain self-sabotaging like it always does.

"So what's different?" you say quietly, and turn to face him. 

In the mirror, the open back of your dress has your spine on full display, and Jeongguk's reminded of how he traced down it in his kitchen; you bent over his counter, threats of fucking Jimin again acting as foreplay. 

He's only got himself to blame. 

"How will fucking Jimin now be any different to the last time?"

Jeongguk shrugs. Starts toying with your hair again. You wish he would stop. 

And yet you don't make him. He's gentle as he tucks the hair over your ear, mindful of your piercings. 

"You know the house layout, now," he smirks, trying to lighten the mood. He really doesn't want to argue with you. "You won't trip up on your way out."

"Shut the fuck up," you smile, not wanting to find humour in his words. "Who knows? Maybe I'll be able to stay the night, now."

He nods. Purses his lips. Looks in your eyes as he whispers, "I'll be so proud of you if you do."

You think he means it. 

So does he.

It's not something he's tried with you. Not a bird that's been completed - but one of the ones that means the most, he thinks.

It's sitting on his desk at home. 

Had fallen after you'd agreed to stop doing the birds for the time being. 

"You would?" You whisper back, and ignore the way his thumb is stroking your hip. Pretend like he isn't so close you can practically taste his drink of choice. 

"I would," he says back so quietly it's barely even a breath. The way he nods his head forces his nose to nudge ever so gently against yours. It's nothing new. Nothing that hasn't been done before. "You've done so well, Byeol. Faced so many fears." 

Haven't kissed you, though, you think - and it takes everything in you not to close the gap.

"It's still scary," you say, a hand on his chest, the other resting on the crook of his neck. 

If anyone were to walk in right now, there'd be a million questions asked  - and yet neither of you questions the familiarity of your embrace. 

Intimacy has been fostered between the pair of you. Exactly what the birds were trying to prevent. You were supposed to face your fears; untie the acts from any romantic feelings.

It's why you tell yourself this is normal. 

It's why you're utterly convinced that this is just a byproduct of the birds, and that it's not actually real. 

"I used to be scared of the dark," he tells you with a shy smile, looking down as he laughs ever so gently. You laugh, too. It's cute. 

He withdraws a little. Lets you go. Rests his back against the far wall and drinks in the sight of you. 

Your lips are blushed. Pouty. Kiss deprived. Glitter shimmers by your eyes and he's so glad of how predictable you always are. Sees stars even on the cloudiest of nights with you. 

Jeongguk just runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. 

"Still don't like it much," he continues. "Spook myself out sometimes. There's a corner of my room that's a little darker than the rest of the place and... yeah. It freaks me out. But you know what?"

"What?" you enthuse, the smile on your lips definitely the result of a few too many drinks. It matches his.

He reaches over to the light switch. Turns it off. Stumbles a little from his lost balance, and regains it by reaching out for you. You steady him - and you're right back where you started, far too close. 

"I'm not scared of it anymore," he whispers. "I don't like it much, and I prefer having a little light to guide me - but I'm not scared ."

"And this is relevant... how?" You giggle, as your hands hold onto the front of his shirt.

It's at this point Jeongguk knows he fucked, for Jeongguk's utterly convinced if he doesn't kiss you, he'll die.

He wants to press his lips down on yours as you giggle. Wants to taste the alcohol on your tongue. Wants to feel your teeth bite down on his bottom lip. Oh, god , he wants it . Wants you . Just once. Just so he knows what it's like.

He knows you kiss. Saw Jimin kiss you that very first night. Sure, you deflected it - but that initial contact? The way your lips looked as they pressed down into someone else's? 

God, he just wants to know. Has to know.

Never been into voyeurism, but the more he thinks about you with someone else, the more he knows he'd gladly watch. 

Perhaps 'gladly' is the wrong word. He'd fuckin' hate it - but he'd take it just to be blessed with a visual of you doing his favourite thing in the world.

But then he feels guilty, again. 

He knows he's not strictly off the market, and that he is still single, but he's always been a one-girl kinda guy. Never fucked around with more than one at any one given time. 

Would feel fucking awful if things with Jiyeong progressed, knowing that he'd gotten far too close for comfort with you in the early days.

He wants you in his life. 

If he fucks around with you now, then it writes off any chance of that when he and Jiyeong become official. 

So he pulls away from you again, and reaches for the light. Can't find it. Gives up. Cracks the door ajar a little. The light that pours in is dusty. Smoke filled. The particles dance in the air; filth in the purity of the one thing that keeps you breathing. His foot holds the door open. He bathes in the dingy lighting of the bar, his features masked by shadows. 

"It's okay that you still don't like intimacy, B," he tells you. "What matters is that you still try. Even without me. Even if it scares you. You just gotta try. Just gotta keep trying."

You reach for the door and pull it further open. Let the light pour in. 

"Gotta keep trying," you nod.  "I should probably-"

"Yeah, yeah, no, of course," Jeongguk nods as you gesture to the door. "Go. Sorry for walking in on you like that."

"It's no bother," you tell him with a small smile. 

And you really do mean it. Jeongguk never bothers you. You're always pleased to have his company around.

You're less pleased to realise how fucking wet you are as you walk back to the group. Been in his proximity for all of five minutes and you're a state . Maybe he's got a point. Maybe you do need to get laid.

When Jeongguk rejoins the group, he doesn't look at you. Picks up his jacket, and mumbles something to Jimin. A laugh is shared, before Jeongguk pats his back and heads towards the door without even glancing in your direction. 

No explanation. 

He's just gone.

"Hey Jimin?" You call over, too drunk to care for playing it cool. "Where'd Gguk go?"

"Jiyeong," he simply says not thinking much of it - and why would he? 

From the corner of the group, Yoongi pays attention to the way your shoulders drop a little bit. He's not stupid. 

Knows which direction the bathroom is in. 

Knows there must have been some overlap. 

Knows you've been off talking with Jeongguk. 

Doesn't think it would be anything more than a conversation, but think it doesn't matter. As always, Yoongi is right.

Jeongguk had sought you out. Had wanted to speak with you privately. You'd returned with a pleasant smile on your face - once of which faded almost instantly once Jiyeong's name was mentioned. 

Yoongi says nothing. It's not his place to interfere - though he does text Seoyeon almost instantly to let her know that there's trouble in paradise. 

She's by the bar with Nabi getting another round. Glances over immediately. Frowns when she notices Jeongguk's absence. Sighs when she sees the look on your face.

"Kids," Yoongi mutters under his breath, shaking his head, before knocking down the rest of his whisky. He actually thinks having his own kids would be less stressful than keeping an eye on you all.

You know you shouldn't, but as you finish off your drink, you start feeling petty. Vindictive . 

Jeongguk's out with Jiyeong doing fuck knows what. Is fuck knows where. You shouldn't be angry, but you're a little too drunk for your own good. Can't help it.

Maybe you will fuck Jimin. 

Maybe you'll fuck him, and realise that sex really is just sex - even the intimate parts of it. Maybe you'll let Jimin make you cum. Maybe you'll let him kiss you. Maybe you'll stay the night, and maybe Jeongguk will have to watch the next morning as you emerge from Jimin's room instead of his.

Maybe he'll have to watch Jimin reap the fruits of his labour, just like you know Jiyeong is reaping the fruits of yours.

But this was always the deal. Always the case. 

It isn't Jeongguk's fault. Isn't Jiyeong's. Isn't yours, either. 

"Hey," Jimin grins, holding out his drink for you to take a sip. You gladly oblige. "Too pretty to be this mopey. Let's dance."

"Jimin," you pout and whine, really not feeling it. It's one thing to consider fucking Jimin, but a whole different thing to actually act on it.

"Don't gimmie that face," he teases. There's a glint in his eye; mischief . You recognise it. Have seen it before. Have leant into it. Have pushed it away. 

You're not sure what you'll do with it tonight. 

When you take Jeongguk out of the equation, you probably wouldn't give it a second thought. You know Jimin. Have fooled around with him before. Know you'll be safe. Know it will satisfy a hunger.

And so you take his hand, and let him drag you to the dancefloor. 

Just like you let his hands wander. Let his teeth become reacquainted with your neck. His lips are soft. Warm. His hands, too. And his voice, when he says "should we just cut to the chase?"

You laugh. Nod. There's no point in playing coy; not when he knows what he wants, and assumes you want it, too. He doesn't get rejected too often. In fact, the last girl who did? Was you.

He doesn't even try to kiss you. Remembers how little you seemed to be into it the last time, completely unaware of the fact you love it. 

At least you won't have to deal with Jeongguk, and how whiney he is about always wanting to ki-

Nope . 

Once you realise you're thinking about him, you stop. 

This? Now?

This is the first test of the birds. Jeongguk helped you. For this very purpose. He shouldn't hinder you. Not now.

Just like you're sure he's not thinking about you while he's with Jiyeong, you tell yourself you can't think about him, either. 

Funny, really. 

Jeongguk's across town embroiled in an argument. Can't stop thinking about you, 'cause Jiyeong's insisting on hashing it out with him as to why she gets such weird vibes from the pair of you both. 

Jimin also gets those vibes, but is a boy, and is stupid. Pays no attention to it.

And why would he? 

Not even half an hour later, you're in his bedroom. 

He's the one reclining onto his elbows, legs spread, knees hooked over the end of his bed as you shake your dress off. 

You think of the birds. Know that nakedness is one of them. The last time you fucked Jimin, you'd been fully clothed. 

This time, you won't be. 

It makes you nervous. He can't tell. Not with the way you hold yourself as you slip out of the fabric and let it crumple on his floor. 

"You hard?" you ask quietly. The lighting is dim, and it's hard to tell beneath his dark jeans. He palms at himself and smirks.

"Getting there. Wanna see?"

You nod. Watch with bated breath as Jimin undoes his trousers. Pushes them down a little. Lets his white briefs show you exactly how hard he is. 

He's definitely firm, but not quite there yet. Needs more than just a half-naked girl. Seen so many of them in his lifetime that he needs something a little more interesting to really get him excited. 

"Play with yourself," you tell him. The positioning - you standing in front of him, in control - has him eager. 

He remembers how difficult you can be all in the name of a good fuck. Knows he's in for a treat - and so does as he's told. Pulls his cock free. Strokes it. Lets his head fall back for a few pumps, then meets your eyes again as he jerks himself off.

You smirk, now. "Cute."

"Cute?" He laughs a little in disbelief, so you just nod. 

There's an air about you. An arrogance. It's the attitude he usually gives women. Quite likes it when it's given back to him. 

"Cute," you nod with a sickly sweet smile, as you get to your knees. Hands on his thighs, you stroke tenderly. His grip on his cock tightens as his hips push up into his hand. 

"Look at you," you continue teasing. "All needy and playing with yourself because you just can't wait to fuck me. It's really cute."

He slows down, as if he wants to defy you, but you just smirk. 

"Did I say stop?"

He laughs. Shakes his head. Continues.

"You just wanna watch?" He asks, a little bemused.

"Mhmm," you hum pleasantly. There's a power trip that comes with watching a man wank over you. It's safe. His problem, not yours.

The proximity of his cock to your face does make it hard to resist. You haven't given head in so long. One of your favourite acts, you've never had issues with it, which is why it was never included in bird-related endeavours - and blessed, fortunate Jimin is gonna be the one to receive your pent-up need for a cock in your mouth.

Not yet, though. You'll let him suffer a little longer, first.

You're quite enjoying it, regardless. Jimin's hands are pretty in a way that Jeongguk's aren't; dainty and petite. Well proportioned, and perfectly kept. What he may lack in length, you know he'll make up for in skill.

Gets you thinking about your birds. Gets you thinking that you need to put them into practice. 

You get to your feet and Jimin just watches. Says nothing. You're not entirely steady on your feet thanks to the alcohol, but it doesn't matter. You're not standing for long. 

Straddling his lap, Jimin nods. Doesn't make a fucking noise. Not even a hum. He's too busy making sure he doesn't wank himself off too well. Would be embarrassing if he came early.

You reach for his hand. Stop him. Guide him to your underwear, instead.

He needs no instruction. Just says, "take your bra off."

And so you do. Another fear set free by Jeongguk. You're doing it. You're really fucking doing it. 

The birds? They fucking work . 

You find the annoyance you had with Jeongguk, and this whole new reality you're both now living in, melting away.

Perhaps it was jealousy, but not of Jiyeong; jealousy of Jeongguk, and the fact that he was actually making developments in his life thanks to the birds. 

Now, you are, too. 

You laugh a little. Jimin thinks you're just giggling because he's pushing your underwear to the side. Must be ticklish or something. 

He's sat up straight, a hand on his cock, the other stroking over your pussy. Wetter than he expects, he knows you're game to fuck, and is pleased. Had no doubt you would be, but it's always a nice ego boost. Alcohol can fuck with things, making it a little more challenging.

Sure, Jeongguk might have gotten you wet earlier, but it's Jimin who's gotten you this far. 

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. 

Jimin , who sinks a finger into you. Jimin , who reads your body as you gasp and adjust to his touch. Jimin , who latches his plump lips around your nipple as he begins to fuck his finger into you.

"Shit," you husk a little breathlessly, which earns a hum of satisfaction from Jimin. His lips are still wrapped around your nipple, sucking tenderly. 

He stops only briefly to tease you. "See how much nicer it is when you just do what I tell you to do?"

You laugh, but quickly find yourself moaning again when he pushes a second finger into you. One of your hands is on his shoulder, but the other drops to his wrist and stops him from playing with himself. 

"You wanna try?" He flirts. "Wanna see how hard I am for you, huh?"

You nod. "Please."

He guides your hand to his cock. Tilts his head back as you wrap your fingers around his shaft. 

"Shit."

His throat looks gorgeous in this light; thick and tense as he swallows. The sensation of your hand is nothing compared to your pussy, but fuck. He likes it. Likes it so much. 

"Faster."

You oblige. Wank him off so well he falters for a second or so, torso tense, finger buried in your pussy. He snaps out of it, and adjusts himself. Grips your waist. Fucks his fingers into you so fast there's absolutely zero chance of you staying quiet.

Your breathing gets deeper. So do his fingers. The sound, the feel, it's fucking euphoric - but it scares you. Scares you so much.

Just gotta keep trying.

Jeongguk's words echo in your mind. The only way to get over a fear is to confront it. You know this. You've proven it to yourself before. There's no need to be scared.

Your breathing gets heavier. Jimin mistakes it for pleasure. Doesn't realise you're panicking.

"Wait, wait," you say a little breathlessly.

"You alright?" He asks, stopping as soon as you say so, but not really thinking much of it. Assumes you were too close. Figures you wanna make it last - which would be fine by him. 

You nod. Swallow back a harsh breath. 

"Yeah, yeah," you say as you pull away from him, and get to the floor between his legs. Again, there's no opposition from Jimin. You're both probably a little too drunk to be making sensible choices, and in the morning, it'll be a miracle if you even remember. 

For the time being, all you can focus on is making sure he doesn't know you were on the edge of a freakout. The last thing you want is to have to explain yourself - and how can you do that with a cock in your mouth?

You stroke him gently in your palm, admiring his cock. It's just as pretty as he is. Slightly curved, and a little more flushed in colour than you thought it would be. Half a dozen small, dark veins run up the underside of his shaft. 

Makes you think of Jeongguk, and the single, thick vein that runs up his. Curious how different they are. Jimin is smaller than Jeongguk, granted, but you don't really mind. Will be far easier to take in your mouth.

And as you pepper kisses up his cock, you know that it's exactly what you want to do. He grunts when your tongue licks against it. Pushes his hips up. Edges his trousers off. 

You follow the instructions of his body language and get them around his ankles, before adjusting your position. 

Tongue flat against him, you lick a stripe up his cock, and swirl around his dark head. He curses. Lets his back fall to his mattress. Lifts his hips. Wants more. 

You kitten lick around his tip, just to him get a little moany, then press wet kisses against him. Ignoring his pleas for more, you take it at your own pace. Wank him off as your tongue gets acquainted with his balls. 

Jimin makes sure to let you know just how much likes that. Is so moany.

His hands tangle in your hair. He's gentle but a little rough when he needs to be. Pulls you a little further up. 

"Suck it."

Teasing a little more, you smirk. Spit. The way he moans is unholy. 

"Shit."

You're void of thoughts as you wrap your lips around his shaft, taking his length inside your mouth. Your tongue is wet, mouth hot, just how he likes it. He sounds like heaven, and yet you refuse to listen. Don't want anything intruding. Don't wanna hear him say your name, and get a complex over the fact Jeongguk never calls you by name.

Don't wanna think about the fact you can't say 'chess'. Don't wanna think about how soft Jeongguk is with you. Don't wanna think about him, or his eyes, or the forbidden kisses he presses against your skin. 

"That's it. Yeah," Jimin sighs into rhythm you're setting. "That's it. Oh shit, yeah."

Too caught up in an internal battle of the mind, you hadn't noticed your pace increase. Depth, too. He's hitting the back of your throat. Making your eyes water. Creating the lewdest sounds - and he fucking loves it. Wet, sloppy? Ugh . For a man as pristine as Jimin is, he sure loves it filthy. 

"Shit. Take my cock so well, don't you? God. Mouth is just as good as your pussy. Yeah, like that. Like that. Oh, fuck."

Jimin's body writhes on top of his sheets, face contorted from the sheer pleasure of your mouth around his cock. Doesn't give a fuck about sex. Wants his cum down your throat. His hands bunch in your hair, as his hips pick up a little momentum. The noises you're making double. Treble. So do his. 

"Gonna cum," he rasps. Hisses as he leans his head into his shoulder and bites down on his own skin just to soften his moans. Doesn't help. "Gonna fuckin' cum."

He curses. Whines. Writhes. Stalls his hips, but keeps your head pressed down right to the base of his cock as he begins to shudder beneath you. His balls are tight as they release, his cock already at the back of your throat as he pours his cum down it. The spurts are short, sharp. Hot. Sordid. 

And once they're done? He laughs like a fucking angel. Makes you smile. Feels like a job well done. 

"Shit," he murmurs. 

Eyes closed, he stays in the exact same position as his chest heaves, a small trail of evidence leaking onto his abdomen.  He's breathless as he tries to speak. 

"Sorry. That was... Just... gimmie a minute. Shit. You good?"

"Good," you nod, sitting back on your heels. 

You know Jimin. Have been here before. You know this is where the night ends. Know that he'll be out cold within five minutes. 

"C'mon," you tap his knee. "Bed. Don't wanna fall asleep like this."

He nods. "Yeah, yeah. Just... a minute."

"No," you laugh, moving his ankles to take his trousers off fully, before getting to your feet. "Get into bed, you mess."

"Already in bed," he says, still grinning from his orgasm. 

"You know what I mean."

"You gonna join? I'll make it up to you in the morning."

You don't reply. Just head to the kitchen to get him some water. Glance at the door to see if Jeongguk's shoes are there, but there's no evidence of his Chuck Taylors. You purse your lips and nod. Sigh so deeply it feels like you've not taken a breath for days.

The clock on the oven reads 04:32. It doesn't take a genius to work out where he is.

He's where he should be , your mind berates you. Wouldn't be there had it not been for you.

And so when you return to Jimin's room, pleased to find him tucked up into bed now, you crawl in beside him. 

Sure, you failed at one thing already tonight, but sharing a bed is something you never do. You never stay the night. You never wake up with the people you fuck about with. It's too intimate. 

The prospect of Jimin actually making it up to you in the morning? It terrifies you.

Just gotta keep trying.

You can never succeed if you don't.

"Welcome," Jimin mumbles, ready to say goodbye to the world for a few hours. 

He reaches out to check the distance between you both. You're a little further than he'd like, but isn't gonna pull you closer. Is too tired. He enjoys that you're still wearing just your underwear. Will make it easier in the morning for a lazy hangover fuck.

"Thanks for having me," you whisper back in good humour.

Yet when Jimin does drift off, all you can do is lie on your back and stare at the ceiling, hands flat against your stomach. There's no clock in his room, so all you hear is silence. It's maddening. The darkness consumes you. Reminds you of Jeongguk. His childhood fear. Makes you all the more aware of your own fears.

You can feel your chest begin to heave again. Jimin doesn't stir. If you just pretend like you're fine, you'll be fine. Just pretend. Just keep trying. Ignore the warmth of his body, and your eyes as tears begin to prick at them. Ignore, dismiss, forget. You don't have to let this fear get the better of you.

But the pressure is too heavy and you can feel the weight of it imploding on your chest. His duvet feels like an iron blanket, and you need to get out before it suffocates you entirely. 

Slow as you do so, in a bid not to wake him, you slip out from his bed. 

Jimin wouldn't have stirred either way. He's always out like a light after nights out. 

The fear manifests in so many different ways, though. Feels like you're scared of everything . Of leaving, of getting caught, of having to answer for yourself. 

You know, deep down, in your heart of hearts, that Jimin could not care less if you leave or stay. You know there are no consequences to this. You know this.

And still, you're silent as you tiptoe around his bed, and slip back into your dress. You don't worry about your bra - will just tuck it into your coat pocket. You know it's hooked over the arm of the sofa, so you waste no time. 

Just need to get out. Need to get away. Get away from the guilt that you feel, and from the residual ache in your chest. It's been there all evening. You think if you get fresh air, get out of the apartment, that it will ease. 

But as you're sneaking out of Jimin's room, feet bare, bra in hand, Jeongguk is sneaking back home. 

He's quiet as a mouse, but your eyes are on the door the second he clicks it open. You say nothing. Think that maybe he'll go straight into his room without glancing into the living area - but he's fucking parched and needs water before he can even think about sleeping. Half thinks he might hop straight into the shower. 

Stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. The only light in the room is coming from the hob light left on in the kitchen. Your glitter catches in it. So do your tears.

"Hey," he whispers so quietly it sort of croaks out of his throat. 

There's an air of caution about him, fearful of coming too close. The look on your face... he knows it. Doesn't like it. Doesn't know what the fuck to do. Just knows that as you start to sob, he sees red.

"Hey, hey, hey," he coos as he tosses his phone and wallet on the sofa and rushes towards you. Put his palms on the sides of your arms and bows his neck to look you in the eye. His face is warped with concern as you struggle to get your breathing straight. 

"What's up? Hey?" he coos again, stroking up your arms. The chiffon of your dress bunches beneath his hands, and he detests it. Feels like it's grating off a layer of his skin. Funny. He'd liked it earlier. Hates it now. Wishes your skin was bare. "B?"

You just shake your head. Can't form words. Are so disappointed in yourself. So furious that you just can't just be fucking normal. All you can do is try and sniff back your tears, but it's redundant.

"What is it?" Jeongguk looks at you with crazed eyes, dark and foreboding, desperate to see inside your mind. He's only seen you like this once - after Seokjin had fucked you over the last time - and so his mind jumps. He stands up straighter. Looks over your shoulder to the room you've just left. "Where is he? What the fuck did he do?!"

The rage that swells inside Jeongguks chest is lethal. He has to loosen his grip on you because he can't stop himself from balling his fists up.

"No, no, no!" You panic, grabbing onto him before he can lunge for Jimin's room. He almost shakes you off. Almost doesn't wanna listen. Almost lets the fury get the better of him - but then your voice shakes and he knows that he needs to pay attention to you. "Gguk, no. Please. Wasn't him. Was me ."

He doesn't understand what the fuck is going on. Is still drunk. Swallows back his rage, and looks down at you. Tilts your head up with his forefinger. Gets a read on your eyes. 

You're covered in glitter, even despite your wet cheeks. You look so fucking sad, yet painfully beautiful. Jeongguk can't understand what the fuck is going on with his head. 

He knows he's pissed off. 

Knows that if Jimin came out of his room he'd probably smack him regardless of whatever's happened. 

Knows he's drunk, so knows he'd regret it in the morning. 

Knows he hates how fucking upset you look. 

Knows he hates how much he wants to kiss you, still. 

Knows that it's the last thing he can do. Hates that, too.

"The fuck happened, B?" He whispers, and lets his thumb wipe at your cheek. Doesn't care that he'll end up covered in glitter. "Hey?"

You just shake your head. Sob again because it's all so pathetic. 

"I can't do it. I thought that I could, and I tried, and I thought it would be fine but I just-" you laugh pitifully. Shrug. Sob harder when Jeongguk pulls you into his chest for a hug.

His shirt muffles the short, sharp breaths you take for air, his strong arms tight around your shoulders.

"This shit isn't linear, B," he whispers, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head. "This shit's complicated. We're not gonna get it right every time."

He says all the right things, and it just makes it even worse. He is getting it right. He is facing his fears in a way that feels linear. Feels like he's doing okay, while you're stuck in this state of limbo.

"C'mon," he says, pulling away from you and reaching over for your coat from the sofa. Holds out his hand. Waits for you to take it. When you do, he holds it just as tightly as he had hugged you. Leads you out of the sitting area, and towards his room.

And you just go. No hesitation. 

The truth of the matter is that you would follow Jeongguk into darkness - even if he was scared. You trust him. Trust that you're safe with him. 

There's nothing you can say, nothing you can do that will make him run for the hills. See, Jeongguk cares in a way that doesn't feel entirely normal. Would bend over backwards for you even if it broke his back. 

You'd never ask him to, but you'd never need to. He'd just simply do it.

He's never discussed it with anyone. Never explained the way he feels so inclined to keep you sparkling. Just does it as if it's his life's quest. Thinks that maybe he was an astronomer in a past life or something.

But he's drunk, and these thoughts are all frivolous. He won't remember any of them in the morning. 

As you enter the room, you immediately notice a bird on his bed. Jeongguk drops your hand. Picks it up. Doesn't look at it, not even to assess who it belongs to. Just tosses it to a small pile on his desk. 

There are three of them, now. All unchecked, because he's supposed to be being 'good'. 

He took things too far in the bathroom of the club earlier. Was too flirty. Felt guilty. It's why he left so abruptly - but was met with an argument almost as soon as he made it to the club Jiyeong was in. Had to defend your friendship, and felt like a piece of shit doing so. 

Felt shitty for the way he'd been with you; felt shitty for both of the girls he wronged in the process; felt shitty for the attack on his character. 

Yeah, he knew he fucked up - but Jiyeong didn't know that. After a few drinks, she decided that she wanted to fight and apparently he was the easiest target. Lucky for her, she found his weak spot pretty early on: you . 

Jeongguk doesn't say anything. Doesn't know what to say. Pulls a shirt from the clothes rail, and tosses it on his bed. 

"Here. Get changed. I'm just gonna grab some water. Want some?"

You shake your head. Tell him it's fine. 

He brings a pint glass regardless. Knows you'll need some. 

You're stood by his window, watching the early morning traffic make its way through town. It's still dark outside, and it's quiet, so there's not much to look at - but in all honesty, you're trying to avoid looking at Jeongguk. Don't wanna leave, but know you really shouldn't stay, either. 

Lungs still stuttering a little in your chest, you dab at your cheeks with the back of your hand. Feel quite embarrassed about it all. 

His shirt fits you like a dress, and your actual dress is folded over his desk chair. You've stolen the hairband of yours that had been left on his bedside table a few weeks ago and have put your hair up into a bun. Loose strands wisp around your neck, and it just reminds him of the bathroom, and how close he was to just fucking everything up. 

"Hey," he says softly, and waits for you to turn and face him before he continues. 

Your mascara is all smudged, and your cheeks are rosy, but the small smile you present him is sweet. Fake as fuck, and he knows it, but he appreciates you're trying not to look sad. Still doesn't know what went wrong, but he's not gonna force it out of you. 

"Bathroom. Teeth, then bed. Okay?"

You nod. 

Assume he means alone, but say nothing as he follows you to the bathroom. Rummages in the cupboard for the packet of spare toothbrushes, and is silent as he passes you the toothpaste. 

It's curious how at ease you both seem to be as you brush your teeth together, avoiding eye contact in the mirror ahead of you. 

He finishes first, but it's only because you get in this weird competition mode whenever you brush your teeth around other people. Never wanna be the first to wash it all away. 

Jeongguk doesn't care. He's drunk, and he wants to fuckin' sleep. Still, he waits for you by the door of the bathroom. Turns the light off, and rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you through the apartment. 

You set about throwing a couple of pillows off his bed and onto the floor - but he just follows their trajectory and picks them up. Tosses them back on his bed. 

"Not yet. In," he nods to his bed. "You're gonna talk to me first. Then you can make your little nest, okay? Gotta talk first."

You don't understand why. Figure you can talk from your blanket haven on his floor - but he wants quiet. Doesn't wanna have strain his fuckin' ears trying to hear you. God, his mood is foul . 

And yet he's so gentle. So soft in how he directs you. Calm, and comforting in the way he gets into his bed beside you. Doesn't give a shit about what you may or may not have done across the hallway in Jimin's room as he pulls you in for a hug. Couldn't care less. 

All he cares about is the fact that you were in fucking tears when he arrived home. His pride? Nothing compared to how protective he feels over you. 

"There's nothing really to talk about," you say before he can get any questions in. His nose nestles into your hair. You tighten your grip around his slim waist. He's warm to the touch, and it soothes the chill notion of failure that resides in your heart.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Just had too much to drink," you deflect. It's not entirely a lie. Not entirely the truth either, but that's neither here nor there.

"I've seen you drunk more times than I can remember," he whispers. "You're not a crier. Not really."

Not like Jiyeong is. God. So many tears. So many tears over fucking nothing. 

Perhaps it's shitty of him to think so. Perhaps it's shitty of him to view your tears as more worthy than hers. 

"Was the rum," you whisper with a little humour. "Never normally drink rum."

"Bullshit, Byeol," he says. Hugs you even tighter. "What are we gonna do with you, huh?"

You shrug. Laugh. Hold back a sob.

"Hey," he coos. "C'mon. You don't need to cry. It's okay."

"I don't even know why I am," you half laugh but it's cut off but your throat choking on yet another sob. It's fucking mortifying by this point. 

"I just," you sniff. "Just don't think I'm ready, yet. No one's fault."

Jeongguk says nothing. Holds his tongue. The anger he felt earlier returns, but it's directed at no one but himself. He's the one who told you to hook up with Jimin. He's the one who said you'd be fine. It's his fault.

If you knew he thought this, you'd be just as annoyed as he is.

You're a big girl. You make your own decisions. You make your own mistakes.

"I shouldn't have pushed you," he whispers. You can hear the thud, thud, thud of his heart in his chest. It's soft. The scent of his aftershave acts like a sleep remedy. May as well be lavender. Has you forgetting your woes.

"You were trying to be a good friend," you shake your head against his chest. The movement lets his nose nestle even further into your hair. 

"I should have stayed."

Again, you protest. "You've got a life to live, Koo. Can't always be checking up on me."

You pause. Think he's about to respond, so get a final word in. "You should have said goodbye, though. That was rude."

"I know it was," he admits. It had been deliberate. Hates that he left, now. Maybe if he had stayed, you wouldn't have ended your night in tears. "I'm sorry."

"Please don't say sorry," you mumble quietly. 

"But I am."

"But you needn't be."

"Doesn't matter. Still am."

"Gguk," you sigh, and push yourself against his chest so you can look at him. He just shakes his head. Pulls you back in.

"It's late, B," he murmurs drowzily. Really does not have the energy to bicker with you. The sun's gonna rise soon. "Let's forget it, okay? Talk about it in the morning."

And so you just nod. Tell him okay. Indulge in the feeling of safety that Jeongguk offers you in the refuge of his arms for a little while longer. Just for a second or so. 

Somewhere between the crying and the comfort found in your friend, your brain gets things a little muddled. Tells you that it'll be okay if you close your eyes for a moment. Not for long. Just long enough to feel better. 

Thing is, you've both had too much to drink. Are both tired. Are both perfectly content as your legs curl up, and your feet rest against his thighs. Pay it no mind when his legs part for yours to tangle with his. 

In fact, you both pretend to be asleep so that you don't have to address the fact that Jeongguk's got a fucking semi again. Just can't bloody help himself.

Except it only takes just a matter of minutes for make-believe to turn into reality. 

Jeongguk sleeps. 

So do you. 

It's easy. Not a single tear. Your heart rate is perfectly normal. In fact, it stays at a calm level through the night, as if you've been lulled into sleep by you're very own metronome. 

In a way, you have been - it's just the beating of Jeongguk's heart, and the warmth of his body that have you pacified. 

On his desk lies a slipshod bird with your handwriting scrawled inside it. As the sun rises, it watches on. Is pleased. The words inscribed in its wings are rendered useless, for you're already doing it. 

You're sharing a bed. Sure maybe it's not as conventional or straight forward as it should be, but since when have any of the birds been entirely normal? 

It's apt. Just right. As it should be.

You wake first. 

Stare at the birds. 

Try not to think too hard about, well, anything from the night before.

When Jeongguk wakes, he does the exact same thing. Is pleased you haven't left. 

You can do it.

No words are spoken. No small talk exchanged. No admittance of failure from either of you. No cheer of success. Just the heavy silence of confusion. 

He'll chalk it up to the comedown of an adrenaline rush. Had spent a good couple of hours fighting with a girl who he barely fucking knows, trying to reassure her that you're nothing to worry about.

As he realises he's holding your hand beneath the duvet, he becomes aware that maybe he'd been lying the entire time. 

Not intentionally. God, it's all so fucked.

Jeongguk doesn't want to be a liar.

But he also doesn't want to stop holding your hand.

"I should go," you tell him, and he knows you're right. Knows if Jimin has woken up to find no trace of you, but your shoes by the sofa, you're both fucked. Have no idea how he'd explain it away. 

His chest tightens. Face contorts. Thinking about Jimin makes him feel hot beneath his skin. Irate. 

This is not fucking normal. 

"Let me check the coast is clear, first," he says, slipping out of the duvet and into the cold, harsh reality of day. 

Jeongguk's always enjoyed how much a cocoon his room becomes with you in it; a sanctuary, in a way. Somewhere to seek refuge. 

Feels claustrophobic, now. You both have a vague awareness of how uncomfortable it's become. 

"Out like a light," Jeongguk says as he returns. You're back in your party dress, his shirt hung up again on his clothing rail. "I can call a cab-"

"No," you shake your head. "It's cool. I need to be off."

The goodbye is awkward. Neither of you know what the fuck to do. You take the stairs, because the elevator will make you feel queasy, and order your own taxi instead. Just wanna be out of Jeongguk's hair. Out of their apartment block. 

"The fuck are you doing?" Jeongguk hisses at himself in the mirror. Rubs his hand over his face, and pushes it back into his hair. Shakes his head. Softly taps the wall with a closed fist. "This is not who you fuckin' are. Shit ."

All he knows is that you're gone, and he hates it even more than he hates knowing he wrecked everything the night before. 

Jiyeong's fucking mental after a few drinks, he thinks, which doesn't bode well for the future of their relationship. He knows it dead in the water. Was fucked the second she started saying shit about you that he was never gonna let fly. Was doubly fucked when he arrived home and found you in a sorry fuckin' state, and decided that you meant more to him than she did.

Of course you do, though. You're friends . 

Friends who fall asleep with their legs tangled together, and wake up holding hands. 

He's had a friend like that before. 

Ended in tears, granted, but he still considers her his best friend.

Know he can't let it happen again .

Yet he finds himself pulling a pair of shoes over his heels and ignoring a sleepy Jimin wandering into the sitting room, as he charges out of the apartment door. Presses the elevator button, but doesn't wanna wait for it. 

It's on the ground floor, according the the small screen above it. He assumes you've just reached it. So, instead, he hurtles down the stairs. Runs so fucking fast he's practically flying and is in the lobby within a matter of minutes.

Just in time to watch you get in a taxi, and head back home.

"Fuck," he shouts, now as the cab disappears around the corner. Lets his head hang back, crown resting between his shoulder blades. 

" Fuck." 

He regains his posture, and kicks out at the decorative pillar, before crouching to floor. What a sorry state he's in. Doesn't even know why. Didn't have a plan for what he'd say if he caught up with you. Has no idea why he was so hellbent on keeping you close. 

"Fuck!"

The elevator dings. Jeongguk stands. Looks over towards it. There's no one in there - but there is a box of recycling that he recognises from his apartment, that Jimin must have put there in the hopes that Jeongguk would take it to the trash pile by the entryway. 

He sighs. Shakes his head. Grabs the recycling, and puts it in the designated area - then sulks all the way up to his floor. 

When he returns, Jimin's eating a bowl of dry cornflakes. "The fuck was that about?"

Jeongguk says nothing. Slams his bedroom door shut. Faceplants his bed. Smells your perfume. Yells into his duvet.

This is not good. 

In fact, this is very very bad. 

Catastrophic, some would say. 

It's the product of his own bad decisions, and that's what pisses him off the most. 

What pisses him off even more?

The teeny tiny origami bird that decides now is the perfect time to fall. It lands on his head and bounces down to curve of his spine. Resides there happily. Really fuckin' pisses Jeongguk off.

"Oh, get fucked," he whines into his sheets. Reaches around for it. Opens it up. Reads it. Scowls. ' Admit your feelings'.   He screws it up. Chucks it across his bedroom floor. Feels bad immediately. It's one of his, which lessens the guilt, but doesn't alleviate it entirely. 

"So," Jimin comes to stand by Jeongguk's door as he crunches down on his cornflakes. "The fuck is going on with you?"

"Nothing," Jeongguk huffs into his duvet. 

"Alright," Jimin smirks. 

He's known Jeongguk long enough to know behaviours like this are never normal. He's composed to a fault at all times, even when he's annoyed. 

This? Yeah, this is giving Hayun-induced-meltdown-era energy. 

There's one significant change, though. One that Jimin finds all rather amusing. 

"Let me rephrase," he taunts his friend. Fucking idiot. It's so obvious, now. Jimin's amazed he didn't realise sooner. "What's Disco Ball's bra doing over the back of your chair?"

Jeongguk's blood runs cold. 

"Fuck."

[wiyldefire]

Medeia's backstory!!

Medeia is a human* artificer for the SciFi campaign I'm playing in. Asa is my friend's character.

Warnings (please tell me if i need to put others): Hospitals, terminal illness, death, general body horror, loss of humanity (sort of), amputation (consensual, self-inflicted)

Medeia is not their original name. They don’t remember what it is, though. A lot of the early memories are fuzzy compared to the “new” ones. She thinks she deleted it on purpose, but, naturally, doesn’t remember. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. That was then. Now she is Medeia.

-

A long time ago her little sister was sick. She was sick and all the doctors and all the nurses and all the scientists couldn’t help. They told the person who would become Medeia and her family that her little sister was going to die. She was going to die and there was nothing that could be done. 

Medeia didn’t want that. She wanted a solution. She needed one. Her baby sister can’t just die on her like that. That isn’t fair. 

“Life isn’t fair.”

“Bullshit.”

“Medeia, there’s nothing we can do anymore.”

-

Medeia works with metal. She doesn’t know how to work with flesh. Flesh is worked in estimations, in averages, in samples and slides and with precision that is both more accurate than an obsidian blade through leather and less exact than a bomb shattering earth.

Metal is exact. Metal fits together bit by bit the same way every time. Metal can be worked to exactly what you want it to be. She knows metal.

-

She’s allowed to bring her sister any food she wants as long as the nurses are informed. She never asks for much. She doesn’t want to be a burden, with how hard the family has to work to support her already.

Medeia brings her her favourites anyway. Every day, just after dinner, a dessert. Peach tarts, pies, even just the fruit. Anything to make her feel better. She deserves it. She has been through so much. The monitors and tubes feed into and out of her body, keeping her alive, keeping her well for a little longer. She isn’t ready to go yet. 

The problem is the flesh. It doesn’t sustain itself. It can keep itself maintained for a while, but not long enough. Eventually, it will fail. It cannot be replaced like mechanical parts. It dies and that’s that.

Sometimes the nurses let Medeia bring her sister out to the field beside the hospital. They always sit on the same bench, right beside the path. It gives them a perfect view of most of the field, blanketed with dandelions and grass, dotted with poplar trees and juniper bushes. 

-

“Medeia?”

“Yeah?”

“You know everything’s going to be okay, right?”

Medeia doesn’t answer. Her sister keeps working on the flower crown in her hands.

“Medeia.”

“You’re dying.”

She sighs.

“Yeah. But it’s going to be okay. You’ll be okay.”

“But you won’t.”

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

“It’s not fair.”

They pause. Her sister places the crown on her own head. It’s a golden-yellow halo that just brings dread for what is to come. 

“No. But that’s not the important thing right now.”

Medeia just looks at her sister. She is dealing with everything so much better than her.

They never do agree on what is important. 

Problems have solutions. Otherwise they aren’t problems, but flaws. Flesh is the problem. Medeia spends days on days  reading ad nauseum about the human body and how it works. Makes acquaintances with the medical students studying her sister and gets recommended books to read, as well as places to borrow them. She contacts her old professors to ask for their permission to access the library. 

-

“Medeia, please stop. There’s nothing you can do to help.”

“Not strictly true.”

“So you just plan on becoming a medical professional on your own, then?”

She finally looks up to meet her father’s eyes. The hostility is sudden but not surprising. 

“And what do you think I should do instead?” She shuts the textbook she was reading with a calmness she is surprised still exists.

“I don’t fucking know. Take apart the TV. Rewire the lights. Build a radio. I don’t care.”

“And how would any of that help?”

“It doesn’t. That’s the point. You need to stop trying to help. Do something normal for you.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He glares at her for a moment. His anger does not last. He is not mad at her, nor she at him. They are tired and sad and they know this. They are grieving. 

“I don’t want to lose both of you.”

“...you won’t. I promise.”

He does have a point. Medeia knows metal. She has worked with it her whole life. It is familiar.

-

She changes her focus to her old notebooks. Like doesn’t cure like. A problem with the flesh cannot be fixed with a solution born of flesh. Metal is not flesh. Metal doesn’t decay. It can be replaced.

She keeps the textbooks. They can still help. It needs to be similar enough, after all. Joints moving in the same ways. Model it after where the muscles attach to bone. The circulatory system is the perfect starting point for how to get fluid to and from everywhere in the body.

How do you power something like that? It should be impossible-

-

Her parents stop focusing on Medeia. She has gone back to her normal work, with a new interest, even. Good. They would not approve. They would likely not allow the project to continue.

Looking back, Medeia is surprised they didn’t make the connection. She always pushed too far. Always took the hard way out just to prove she could. 

To be fair, she doesn’t know how she made the connection herself. How does one come up with such an idea in the first place? 

-

“Hey.”

“Hi. Just a smoothie today.”

“Awh. What, don’t even have the time to bake me a pie or something?” She takes the cup in shaky hands with a smile that feels wholly out of place amid the beeping and whirring. 

“I know, sorry.”

“I’m teasing. I’m grateful.” She pats beside her on the bed for Medeia to sit. “How was your day?”

“Good. My new project is going well.”

“You gonna tell me what that is?” The cup is placed beside the flower crown. It’s wilted. Medeia briefly considers throwing it out.

“Not yet.”

“Eventually?”

“Of course.”

-

She needs to make sure it works. Not all at once, just something small. It can’t fail. It needs to be perfect. A prototype isn’t good enough.

She takes her left pinky first. 

The preparation itself is easier than she thought. She has plenty of blades in her workshed, and she knows how to remove the safeguards. They’re sharp. They’ll do the job well. String for a tourniquet borrowed from the kitchen. The replacement sitting nearby, with all the tools necessary prepared around it. 

The pain, though, can not be adequately prepared for. Acetaminophen and ibuprofen won’t help in the moment, but she takes them for after anyway. Breathe through it. Get it over with.

She wasn’t prepared for the blood. She was prepared for blood in general, maybe, but not how much there was. In her memories it coats every surface of the shed, but logically she knows that’s unrealistic. 

The rest of that evening is a blur. The next day she wakes up early and cleans the workshed of any trace of last night’s events. The finger is buried deep in the back garden. It’s not a sustainable solution. She is far too tired to think of a better one.

She misses being tired. It was a relief at first, to never have to stop or slow down, but she has learned since that those things kept her grounded. She rarely touches the bed in her room at Asa’s house. A shame, really. It’s very comfortable.

The next day is unremarkable. She brings her sister a tart. Her hand hurts. There is no visible difference. It’s a miracle, really. She and her sister go out and her sister makes another flower crown. When they get back they throw away the old one. It’s somehow more painful than burying the old finger.

-

Months go by. Her sister’s condition worsens. Medeia loses more of herself. She’s removed a lot of the memories of doing so. The dandelions turn white, then die, then the field is blanketed with leaves, and eventually they stop leaving the building. No one notices the changes. They’re focused on her sister. Good.

-

“I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to leave the building by springtime.”

Medeia looks up from her book. “No?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I know you liked going out with me.”

“I do, but I care about you more.” Her left arm aches with phantom pain. She stretches it out, or does as close as she can to mimic the motion.

The memory cuts off there. Medeia knows they fought, but that’s it. It sits painfully out of reach.

She doesn’t want to remember.

-

She isn’t working fast enough. She knew she was against the clock from the start but she never allowed herself to consider the possibility that she might lose. She can’t lose. There is too much on the line. 

She is off-balance. Her family notices her stumble occasionally but they don’t ask. Or at least Medeia doesn’t remember them asking. Her arm is heavy and she still needs to build dexterity in order to replace the other one.

The other arm is already built. That’s not the problem. Limbs are easy. She needs to move forward.

-

Spring finally arives. As expected, her sister isn’t allowed to leave the hospital anymore. It’s too big of a risk. Medeia is still allowed to bring in food. Some days it goes uneaten. They don’t talk about the coming future.

-

“You remember the problem of Theseus’ Ship?”

“...yes.”

“Okay.” She won’t meet Medeia’s eyes. Does she know? Is that why they fought? Or was there some other conversation she forgot?

“...you know I care about you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

-

There’s a large gap. A fissure in Medeia’s mind that separates now and before. She knows that during this time she continues her routines of daily visits and of periodical replacement. There are vague flashes of mechanical parts, glowing white crystals, power sources-

She makes progress. That’s the important part.

-

Medeia is standing in front of a coffin. Her sister’s body is laid down on soft, white fabric, dressed in her favourite skirt and a sky-blue dress shirt Medeia has never seen before. Her skin is brushed with colour it hasn’t seen in almost a year. Medeia places a flower crown on her sister’s head. It’s poorly made, hands out of practice, muscle memory stripped away in favour of a potential solution to a problem that can’t be fixed anymore.

It’s just a few seconds. Almost nothing, but it marks the start of the end of the fissure. It’s something to hold on to, painful as it is.

-

She isn’t finished with her project yet. She is close, though. So close.

-

Medeia wakes up. No. She is made aware. She is aware of every sound, every bit of light, every brush of fabric against her skin (not skin anymore, though). She tries to stand. Data pours in, telling them exactly which joints are moving, how fast, the angles of everything.

They go limp, falling back onto the table. They are aware of every bit of wood pressing into them at various points, slivers burying their way into their not-flesh, but the sensation of pain never arrives, simply the awareness of an injury. It’s nauseating.

She shuts back down for now.

-

It takes them days to work herself up to sitting on the table. Moving is overwhelming, especially if it involves turning their head. Vestibular input is a lot.

No one comes to check on them. Maybe they don’t even know they’re there. It’s a relief either way. The few times an ambulance drives by Medeia wishes desperately they could still cry it’s so much. They know exactly how loud it is, the pitch of the siren, the exact colour of the light.

-

Acclimation is slow. They don’t pay attention to those memories often. The boredom was so strong it was painful, and even if it didn’t hurt, it would still be boring.

-

They don’t return back to their normal life after that. They don’t think they can. They sell their house and most of what’s inside. Letters are spent explaining that they’re going to spend their time “Finding myself”.

They’ve already lost themself. The point of no return is far beyond the horizon line. They need to get away. The heavy footsteps, the lack of need to eat, drink, or sleep, the occasional jerky movement when a gear catches or power surges or whatever goes wrong this time can only be waved away so much.

She buys an old, second hand van from some eccentric man who claims to be a poet and a songwriter, with eight broken watches on his left wrist. When Medeia asks why, he attempts to (and succeeds at) selling them one. It is frozen at five until midnight. 

They drive off east.

-

At some point it all melds together. 

It doesn’t, really, her memories are strictly catalogued and sorted in such a way that she can only note how similar two places are in certain aspects on a cognitive level. There is no warmth of resonance when she thinks of home when walking down urban streets, no happiness to be felt in forests like the ones she played in as a child. 

But she pretends it does, because it’s funny to her. 

-

She watches humanity progress. Watches it start wars, cure diseases, invent worse ones.

One day the humans reach the stars, and are welcomed with open arms.

-

Time stops being important. She has so much of it, after all, so what does it matter?

Humans stop looking like humans. They become more other. Different. Medeia starts to get looked at weirdly.

No one fully smiles anymore. Baring one's teeth is a threat, after all.

-

She spends her time in places where humans are less common. That way her oddities can be interpreted by other species as just another way humans are weird, and the few she does encounter are grateful enough for the familiarity they’re willing to ignore the uncanniness of how she is.

It can only work for so long.

-

At some point people stop believing she’s fully human. There’s some irony in there, a joke about a relic of the past being so well preserved it’s thought to be an imitation. She doesn’t give it much thought. She has no one to tell the joke to anyway.

She’s fairly certain she’s the last person in existence to speak English.

-

Asa stares at them for several very long seconds, putting the plate down from his attempted biting. He has an almost vacant stare as he processes exactly what Medeia has asked him. 

“Well, I mean, if his ship works better, who cares if it’s the same ship?” The focus returns to his eyes. He laughs for a few moments before running a hand to fix the fur around his horns. “What do you think?”

Medeia pretends to think for a few moments. “I think that as long as it’s a ship and it belongs to Theseus, it’s the Ship of Theseus. I don’t see why the original materials matter.”

Asa looks relieved at her answer. He drums his fingers on the wooden table before picking up the dishes to clean.

Medeia smiles at him with a wide mouth. He doesn’t flinch at their teeth. He never flinches.

There is something wrong with him that is also wrong with her, and she intends on finding out what.