#editing because I spelled her name wrong
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Repent now, repent now! Remember this body is not your home; No pleasure in the sea, No wound is as sharp as the will of God.
— REPENT NOW CONFESS NOW, Lingua Ignota
INPRNT
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Here I am being the bearer of good news to tell you Chapter 28 of A King’s Burden by the amazing amazing @thedarknone has updated! GO CHECK IT OUT IF YOU HAVEN’T! Huge thanks for giving me the opportunity to work on this commission, such a pleasant experience and I can’t wait to work with you again :DD
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#Honestly took me a bit long for a b&w piece to finish because nitpicking got me again#after the 1000th time taking random photos of me kneeling and staring into the void I was just like#fuck it we ball and went with instincts lol#but hey no regrets that’s where things start to be fun and I get to try a lot of new things here#AND AGAIN THANK YOU FOR INTRODUCING ME TO LINGUA IGNOTA this is a piece heavily inspired by arguably all of her songs#and especially I who bend the tall grasses#MY TLK FELLOWS CHECK HER WORKS OUT IF YOU HAVENT I BEG OF YOU#the last kingdom#tlk alfred#alfred x uhtred#for reasons#king alfred#alfred the great#alhtred#hikaru tlk#hikaruchen#edit: JUST REALISED I FUCKING SPELLED THE FIC’S NAME WRONG WTF IM SORRY It was 2:30AM when I posted and i was too sleepy i guess#hikaru commission
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one of the biggest lies the fandom will tell you is that alfred pennyworth is a good man.
he’s horrible. people just don’t realize he’s horrible because they’re all too focus on the superheros.
not many people in the fandom know this, but alfred literally has a daughter. her name is julia. why does no one know about julia? BECAUSE HE ABANDONED HER. it’s canon that he chose the waynes over his OWN CHILD. when she’s introduced in the comics she hates her dad because he abandoned her in england to raise a child that wasn’t even his.
the infamous jason “a good soldier” memorial? yeah, alfred did that. bruce wanted it taken down. alfred also left jason’s destroyed robin suit on display.
alfred is the reason tim is robin. dick and bruce are trapped by two-face and alfred just… gives tim a robin costume and sends him on his way. no formal training. no anything.
ever blame dick for damian becoming robin? wrong. it was alfred. dick was against it. alfred is the first one to give damian the robin costume, like he did to tim years before. dick did eventually choose damian as his robin, but that was while damian was ALREADY ROBIN. (he even tells tim that he doesn’t pick tim to be his robin because he considers tim to be an equal, not a sidekick, but i digress)
when bane breaks bruce’s back, alfred literally packs up and leaves. he travels. he just drops everything and goes to explore the world, until dick eventually hunts him back down.
it’s also a common theme that alfred couldn’t find the right balance between being a father figure and a butler, so he was constantly enabling bruce growing up (and still does) because technically bruce was his boss… even though he had custody of him.
edit: actually technically (in some runs) bruce’s uncle has custody of him but literally makes being absent an olympic sport But you get what i mean
edit two: fixed the spelling mistakes that text to speech tiktok made me aware of. u guys are fake for not telling me. anyways fuck ai content farm accs
#everytime an angst fic is actually just something alfred did#i die a little#that man is making children save his son#batman#dc#dcu#robin#dc comics#tim drake#jason todd#dick grayson#bruce wayne#alfred pennyworth
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designs for a zine piece! enjoy some background story my illustration never needed under the read more (fair warning I did NOT edit this at all):
newbie mage apprentices Sam and Tucker who became friends bc they're kinda… the ones at the bottom of their class and struggle the most, for different reasons. they become besties over time and practice together!
except one night, something goes terribly wrong. they spent the last few nights preparing for a project, a bigger spell that needs an intricate circle with precise measurements to work. but when they try to activate it, well…
oops. they summoned a demon.
which is, for one, extremely illegal. only certified demonologists are allowed to summon demons because they're so dangerous. anything less than a perfect binding circle and thoroughly researched info on the demon, including their true name, is even remotely safe.
but, weirdly enough… the demon seems just as surprised as they are. as Sam and Tuck frantically try to figure out how to dispel the demon, they realize–oh god, did their circle actually sufficiently bind the demon? it can't leave. they watch the demon tentatively poke it's claws into the air around the boundary, and watch it fizzle, retreating back with a strained hiss.
okay. okay, they can do this. without death looming over their heads, they can figure out how to send the demon back. it's cool, it's fine. except while they leaf through their books, they notice the demon watching them. it looks kind of… curious. timid. interested in what they're doing. it catches them noticing his staring, and it. apologizes? it seems flustered?
weird, okay. they keep looking, and the demon starts talking. at first, little comments to itself. mumbles that soon get just loud enough to hear. little “ooh, is that a telescope?" and “is that what fire looks like up here?" and “that must be for making charcoal…”
Sam is the one brave enough to be like "are all demons as chatty as you??” and the demon gets flustered again, apologizing. says he's just never been topside before, he's only read about humans in tomes. oh wow is that the moon outside? it really IS blue up here! is it always blue? what are you doing up? I thought humans slept at night?
Sam and Tuck can't help getting pulled in with the demon's genuine curiosity. they're wary though, since they know demons can be clever, conniving. there's a number of ways a demon can get the upper hand on a summoner who has them bound. if he gets their full names, gets them to smudge and break the circle… there could also be ways they aren't aware of. so they consider their words carefully, but engage in some chatter while they research.
it's almost morning by the time they find a way to send the demon back–but as they prepare the spell, the demon says WAIT WAIT and they stop, uncertain. the demon starts stammering out how this is weird but like… he really had fun tonight. he doesn't get to just hang out much, especially with anyone his age.
Tuck is like “how do you know our ages??" and the demon points out "oh, you said something about Paulie’s 18th birthday party, so I thought…” and they're both like oh shit we didn't even notice we did that?
“Paulina" Sam corrects in her dumbfounded stupor.
“Right, Paulina!" the demon snaps his fingers, but quickly loses his confidence when Sam and Tuck continue to stare at him like they're not sure what's going on. he coughs and fidgets and says “um, well, I was just wondering, I guess… if you wanted to summon me another time, I wouldn't mind. you see those circles there? yeah, that's what summoned me. the candles helped too I think. oh, it doesn't need all those runes though, probably don't want to redraw all those.”
Sam and Tuck are practically gawking, but… for some reason, this demon looks so sincere. so much like them, awkward and lonely and genuinely curious.
it's a bad idea. a terrible one, even. the demon probably noticed they're newbies and not demonologists. it could be hoping they make an error in their circle, or mess up a candle, or reveal their names on accident.
But, well. They're stupid. they're also eager for anything to help them in school, and too empathetic for their own good. they send the demon off with a yeah, no. they then think about it for a week, and end up summoning the demon against their better judgment.
the demon is shocked and so happy, they can't help but be a little endeared. they lay down some ground rules, take care to be as safe as possible… and soon, this demon that introduces himself as “Phantom" becomes a nightly visitor. they talk about their worlds, find out they share a lot of common interests, and help each other in their studies. which, hello, demons also study? bro are you serious??
they play games, laugh till their ribs hurt, and open up to each other on a far deeper level than anyone expected. over time, Phantom becomes a true friend.
Sam and Tuck quietly begin to lament the fact Phantom is stuck in that damn circle. they want to take him places, let him see the human world he seems so interested in. they want to paint his stupid claws and noogie him between his dumb horns and hug him.
but it's an astronomical risk. it's legal for a demonologist with a proper permit, but it's still considered a grave taboo to grant access to a demon outside a circle. there's just too much at risk. demons can be dangerous enough to lay waste to entire towns, take multiple teams of military-rank mages to take down.
they wouldn't risk it… if they hadn't snuck into the library’s restricted section and copy a page from a demonologist book that gives them good framework for a contract. they make some edits to it though, giving Phantom at least a little wiggle room to protect himself if need be. and allow him use of transformation magic so he can hide somehow. but they spend weeks making sure they have airtight wording to ensure Phantom can't cause anyone or anything any substantial harm.
when they finally bring the contract to Phantom, he's stunned. he cries. nothing needs to be said, they all know the gravity of their proposal. even if they ask for proof of Phantom's trust in turn, first. they ask for his full name, so they can bind him. just temporarily. but in that moment, they'll have full control over him. they could instead tell Phantom to serve them, force him to obey their every order. even if it's just for a moment, giving them his full name with the proper circle and incantation, is putting his life in their hands.
Phantom, with tears still in his eyes, smiles warmly and nods. with only a breath to steel himself, he gives them his full name. Daniel James Fenton.
magic sparks in the circle, and Sam and Tuck finish the incantation. ethereal chains sprout up to wrap around Phantom's arms and legs, which makes him jump–but the unwavering trust in his eyes makes the two humans choke up.
they release the binding. all that's left is to break the containment barrier in the circle, so Phantom can walk free.
“Uh, about that…” Phantom laughs sheepishly… then proceeds to step outside of the circle, merely wincing when the barrier zaps around him.
Sam and Tucker gawk. Phantom scratches his neck. “Y-yeah, so… your barrier circle was already broken that first night. It's, uh… right over there. You missed a spot.”
abject horror overcomes them because this entire time Phantom's been visiting, he could have broken out? EASILY?? THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD.
Tucker falls to his knees, but soon starts to laugh. it's kind of hysterical at first but slowly, he and Sam are genuinely laughing. they're so STUPID, and Phantom is the most un-demonlike demon they've ever HEARD of. Phantom is still flustered, stammering out apologies because he wasn't trying to deceive them or anything! he just didn't want to scare them! without a proper containment circle they technically couldn't send him back either, so he just… went back using his own magic each time they “dispelled" him.
once they've calmed down, Phantom morphs his body into a human form–which shock Sam and Tuck, because uh, only elite demons are capable of that. they were expecting an animal, or straight up going invisible. Phantom laughs it off, says he just, spent a lot of time practicing bc he's so interested in the human world (not a lie, but). he proceeds to adopt the nickname Danny, and they all have FUN WONDERFUL SHENANIGANS
(and sometime in the near future, when faced with something truly threatening he needs to protect them from, Danny reveals that. well. their contract also had some holes in it. and he's had access to his full demon power this whole time. whoopsie! it's a good thing he genuinely loves them and doesn't want to hurt anyone, or their asses would be SO dead lol)
they're about as normal about his full demon form as you'd expect from me btw:

#danny phantom#dp demon au#everlasting trio#when is it not lmao#zilly art#Tucker: oh I am SO climbing that#Tucker: no I'm serious get me a grappling hook
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Bittersweet || myg (1)
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Other Tags: Grad Student!Yoongi, Undergrad!Reader, Grad Student!Hoseok, Uncle!Namjoon, Doctor!Namjoon, Grad Student!Jimin, Fuckboy!Jungkook, GradStudent!Jungkook, Boss!Seokjin, Yoongi POV Genre: College!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, kinda Student/Teacher but not really, Older!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut Word Count: 19.9k+ Summary: When a cynical graduate student meets an overly enthusiastic undergraduate, the air crackles with tension—though not all of it is good. Warnings: Mean!Yoongi, he's extremely rude, like extremely so, prank gone wrong, bitter grad student to the max, strong language, Jimin is a snitch, possible wrong science information (i'm sorry i'm not perfect), sexual tension, reader faints at the sight of blood, unfunny pranks, Yoongi is jaded, he's a softie once you get to know him, hospital visit, non-descriptive male masterbation, reader has a stutter when nervous, Yoongi just being in denial for almost 20k words, kissing at work, almost caught, Jealous!Yoongi, i'm sorry but this JK is kind of a slime ball, Reader knows what she's doing, they're adorable, lots of bickering, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Another old draft I found buried in my Google Docs! I didn't need to change too much, and it's very loosely edited, so please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. This was rather long (and I don't know why I never posted it), so it had to be split into two parts because of Tumblr's new rules. Thanks for reading!
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Subject: Undergrad Mentoring From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 6:18 AM To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu
Yoongi,
I’m forwarding an email from a brilliant undergraduate. Have you thought about mentoring a student? I really think you should.
— Jin
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From: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 2:08 AM To: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org Subject: Undergraduate Research
Dear Professor Kim,
My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a junior in the School of Arts and Sciences, majoring in microbiology. I’m incredibly interested in undergraduate research, particularly in your fascinating work on Helicobacter pylori and its connection to stomach cancer.
Although I don’t have prior research experience, I’m hardworking and responsible, and I would appreciate the chance to join your team. Please let me know if you have space available in your lab.
Attached are my CV and transcript.
Thank you!
Y/N Y/L/N
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Dr. Seokjin Kim Member, Division of Basic Sciences Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center 1100 Fairview Avenue North Seattle, WA 98109-1024
I stared at Jin's email, the words bouncing around in my head. No previous research experience? Oh great! Just fucking great!
As the clock hit noon, I trudged into the break room, where the fluorescent lights buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. It was my little escape, my sanctuary from the suffocating hallways of academia. Hoseok, the only graduate student I considered a friend, was already inhaling his lunch.
I plopped my Tupperware into the microwave, the day’s weight pressing down on me like a thick fog. “Jin wants me to take on an undergrad,” I grumbled, feeling the words stick in my throat.
“Seriously?” Hoseok asked, mouth half-full. He didn’t even bother to swallow before adding, “Have them do the dishes.”
“Oh man, this is going to suck,” I muttered, stirring my mac and cheese with the enthusiasm of a person headed to their execution. “I have to train her, and she has zero lab experience. I don’t have time for this crap.”
The microwave beeped, its harsh sound grating against my nerves. I pulled out my steaming food, the steam rising ominously. “I tried to get out of it, but Jin insisted it’s ‘all part of the training.’” I mimicked his voice, nasal and overdramatic. Hoseok chuckled, nearly choking on his food.
I dug into my lunch, my mind racing. “She’s probably some pre-med trying to pad her CV. Calling our research ‘fascinating’ like she even knows what we do here—just another cookie-cutter student firing off a hundred emails.”
“Maybe she’s cute?” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. My single status was a constant source of irritation for him. He meant well, but his attempts at matchmaking were like trying to fix a flat tire with a spoon.
“I already did my required TA-ing last year, and it nearly gave me an ulcer. I thought I was done with whiny undergrads! This really sucks!” The words burst out, hot and angry. The idea of babysitting a clueless student gnawed at me like a persistent itch.
I focused on my research, hoping it would be my ticket out of this academic purgatory. Mentoring an undergrad was the last thing I needed—a distraction threatening to derail my meticulously planned escape.
After lunch, I headed to the incubator to check on my cultures, the familiar hum a small comfort amidst the chaos. Then I settled at my desk, drafting a reluctant email to the undergrad, my words dripping with begrudging obligation.
From: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 1:05 PM To: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu
Come to the lab on Monday between 8 AM and 7 PM. Bring your schedule.
Yoongi Min PhD Candidate Kim Lab Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center 1100 Fairview Avenue North Seattle, WA 98109-1024
This was going to suck.
“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi Min?” A stranger’s voice cut through the quiet of the lab, and I felt my focus waver. I was knee-deep in DNA sequencing data, desperately searching for a start codon when the interruption struck like nails on a chalkboard.
“That’s him over there,” Jimin, my lab mate, replied. I didn’t need to look up; I knew he was pointing at me.
“CTT ATC GTG ACT…” I murmured; eyes glued to the screen. The code demanded my attention.
A shadow crept closer, invading my peripheral vision. I ignored it, hyper-fixated on the screen.
“Hi, I’m Y/N,” the shadow solidified into the undergrad I’d been dreading. I continued to stare at the screen, unwilling to break my concentration.
“Did you bring your schedule?” My voice was clipped, an attempt to maintain my rhythm.
CGC CTC CGT ATG… There it was! I highlighted the start codon, feeling a small sense of victory amidst the irritation. Finally, I turned to face her. She held a crumpled piece of paper in trembling hands.
The crackling noise of the paper grated on my nerves, and I snatched it from her. A quick scan revealed she had a limited availability. Tuesdays and Thursdays it was.
“Do you want one or two credits?” I asked, filling out her form with practiced efficiency.
“Oh… um… t-two,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Oh great, a stammerer. I disliked her already. My frustration bubbled beneath the surface.
“That’s ten hours a week,” I said, scribbling on the form. “Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, maybe some Wednesday mornings.” I thrust the completed form back at her and turned back to my computer.
“See you tomorrow,” I dismissed her with a wave, eager to end the interaction. Her stammering was already wearing on my patience.
When I returned from lunch, she was perched at my bench. A laugh escaped me at the sight of her attire.
“What the hell is that?” I pointed at her lab coat, which was covered in hand-drawn bacteria.
She jumped, eyes wide. “My la-la-lab coat?” she stuttered.
Oh great, she’s a fucking idiot.
I took a deep breath, scanning her outfit for safety violations. At least she wore closed shoes and jeans, but her long hair hung loose.
“You should tie your hair up. You’ll be working near the flame.”
She pulled a hairband from her wrist and started tying her hair back. As I walked past, I noticed the back of her lab coat had “Bacteria Rule” scrawled in huge letters.
Bacteria Rule? Is she serious? I wanted to stab my eyes out with the pen in my hand. Who wastes time drawing on a lab coat? Nobody in their right mind, that’s for sure.
Something was off about her—I was certain of it. Concerned about her competence, I decided she couldn’t be trusted with any real work. Instead, I assigned her mundane chores, the kind even a high schooler could handle. It might not have been what Jin envisioned, but it was the only way.
God, I’m already dreading this. Can it be Friday already?
Hoseok and I lounged in the break room, our feet propped up on the coffee table, Tupperwares in our laps. The lack of a proper dining table didn’t bother us; it still beat eating at our desks.
“How’s it going with the undergrad?” Hoseok asked, mouth full.
“I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with her,” I said, dead serious.
Hoseok laughed, even though I wasn’t joking.
“All she does is nod at what I say,” I elaborated. “Like one of those bobblehead dolls.” I stretched my neck and bobbed my head for effect. “Except she has bangs flopping all over her face when she nods frantically at everything I say.”
Hoseok snorted but kept eating.
“And she stutters! Well, when she speaks, that is. She doesn’t speak much. I kind of like that about her.”
Hoseok chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in love, bro.”
“Fuck you, Hoseok,” I shot back, uninterested. I already knew where this was heading.
“Is she cute?” Hoseok asked, glancing at me with a smirk.
“She’s a baby.”
“Is she a cute baby?”
“Hoseok, she’s… she’s a zygote.”
“Well, maybe with this zygote, you’ll learn how to be human again.” He turned his attention back to his food.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on. You’re not exactly social, bro. All you do is lab stuff and occasionally hang out with me and Serena.”
“What are you talking about? I am social.” My tone came out whiny, betraying my disbelief.
“Oh, really?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, gesturing to my Tupperware. “So social that you prefer to eat alone in the lab over joining us in the break room?”
“Do you even hear yourself? You’re such a dork. I eat in here because the lab is a mess, not because I’m antisocial.” I shrugged, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping into my cheeks.
“Whatever you say, Yoongi,” he laughed, clearly unconvinced.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about this right now. Instead, I grabbed my backpack, bracing myself for the next round of research duties.
After a few weeks of working together, I had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that the undergrad was following instructions better than I’d expected. If I could just ignore her ridiculous lab coat and the way those bangs flopped annoyingly over her forehead, she wouldn’t be half bad. The real annoyance, though, was her constant presence invading my space. But honestly, it could be worse; at least she wasn’t stammering nonstop. Most of the time, she barely spoke, and mercifully, she didn’t ask a ton of questions.
As I walked back from lunch with Hoseok, I was surprised to realize I didn’t dread the thought of the undergrad being in the lab when I arrived. Maybe having her shadow me wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.
Of course, the moment that thought crossed my mind, I jinxed myself. Stepping into the lab, I found her cleaning my bench, and a wave of irritation crashed over me.
“What the heck are you doing?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.
She flinched, turning slowly to face me, her gloved hands still gripping an ethanol squeeze bottle. “I-I just thought I’d clean up a bit,” she stammered.
“Did you touch my samples?” I shot back, a surge of panic coursing through me.
“Which samples?”
“Those!” I pointed at the upside-down tubes that had been perfectly positioned when I left, now carelessly shoved to the side.
“I-I just mov—”
“Did you touch my RNA samples?” Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air—an annoyingly stupid fish. “Do you know how labile RNA is?”
“L-la-labile?”
“Yes! Unstable—easily degradable. The main point here: you don’t touch my RNA samples!”
“I-I used gloves… I’m sorry,” she mumbled, tears shimmering in her eyes.
If she started crying, I was really going to lose it.
I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose to calm the storm brewing inside me. Slipping on my own gloves, I gently set my samples back in their rightful place, praying I hadn’t lost a week’s worth of work.
I could hear her sniffling next to me, and I groaned out loud. “Why don’t you and your la-la-lab coat coat go find something useful to do?”
I listened as she shuffled away, clearly eager to escape my sight. I should have known better than to think this arrangement would work out.
From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org Sent: Monday, February 14, 2024, 6:27 AM To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu
Yoongi,
Part of the undergrad training involves more than just doing chores. Cleaning dishes, stacking pipette tips, and capping tubes do not count as experiments.
I expect your undergrad to have enough experimental data to give a presentation at the end of the semester.
Jin
What the hell? Did she tell him I’m only having her do chores?
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Jin was right, though. All she’d done these past few weeks were chores. Aside from that little incident with my RNA samples, she hadn’t completely messed up yet. Maybe I should cut her some slack and give her a real project. She might learn something—or at the very least, realize how frustrating science could be and decide to give up on it sooner rather than later.
Oh God, how was she going to give a presentation if she couldn’t even say one coherent sentence without stuttering?
This would be an embarrassment, not just for her but for me too. If she messed up, she’d make me look bad.
Decision made. I needed to lighten up a bit and actually try to teach her something.
On Thursday, the undergrad was busy with her chores when I approached her, project sheet in hand.
She looked at it, her eyebrows raised. “What is this?”
“Your project for the next few weeks.”
Her face lit up with excitement.
“You didn’t have to go crying to Jin. I was going to give you a project anyway.”
Her smile faltered into a frown. “W-What are you talking about?” She gazed up at me, bewildered, but I waved her off, unwilling to explain further.
“Enough chattering. Those tubes aren’t going to wash themselves.”
Gotcha, undergrad. Your puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.
It was the first week of real work for the undergrad, and I felt a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. My palms were clammy, and my heart raced uncomfortably.
Am I excited about this? Nah… I’m probably just hungry.
“Do you know what PCR is?”
She nodded eagerly, pulling out her notepad, ready to take notes.
I explained how I wanted her to amplify two toxin genes from a set of H. pylori samples that had just arrived that morning from the hospital. Naturally, I only gave her a small subset of the total samples. It was a manageable number—enough for her to play around with, but not so many that I’d be ready to murder her if she messed up.
As usual, the undergrad took notes on everything I said, jotting down even where I pointed out the locations of various equipment. For all I knew, she was sketching a detailed map of the lab in that notepad of hers.
The undergrad sat at the bench, PCR tubes lined up in front of her, the protocol to her left, pipettes to her right, and a rack of reagents looming in the back. I watched her as she stared at everything, nervously picking at the edges of her gloves.
She was going to drive me insane.
“Do you know how to use the pipettes?”
She looked up at me, shaking her head timidly.
“Why didn’t you say so?” My voice came out louder than intended, and she flinched.
We were never going to get anywhere like this.
I took a deep breath and tried again, grabbing one of the micropipettes. “You set the volume here.” I pointed to the rings. “Clockwise to increase, counterclockwise to decrease.”
I demonstrated, twisting the rings as I explained the display window and where to discard the disposable tips when she was done.
After a few trials, the undergrad carefully pipetted into the PCR tubes, preparing the reaction with surprising precision.
She was focused, making sure not to contaminate anything. It was clear she was paying close attention to every detail.
Skilled hands, I noted, feeling a flicker of satisfaction.
Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.
I led the undergrad into the darkroom, where shadows clung to the walls like forgotten secrets, ready to ensnare us. The air was thick with a sharp, chemical tang, buzzing with anticipation as we approached the agarose gel. The PCR products shimmered faintly under the dim light, a hidden treasure waiting to be revealed. Surprisingly, a flicker of excitement sparked within me, a rare departure from my usual brooding.
“The ethidium bromide binds to the DNA,” I explained, my voice echoing softly in the sterile silence. “When we expose it to UV light, it fluoresces an orange color. You’ll see the PCR products light up on the gel.”
She walked beside me, clutching the gel like a sacred relic, her wide eyes absorbing every word. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind, likely wishing she had her notepad to document my brilliance, as if capturing my words would somehow validate her existence.
As we stepped into the darkroom, she hesitated, like a deer caught in headlights, before gingerly placing the gel inside the UV box. She moved carefully, avoiding the pitfalls of air bubbles that could ruin everything. Either she’d done this before, or she had the sense to read up on it.
Good. I liked a prepared undergrad.
Once she’d set the gel, I instructed her to turn off the lights. The room plunged into darkness, and I leaned in, my heart racing a little faster. Peering into the UV box, I couldn’t help but grin. “Well, look at that. All your reactions worked.”
“Really?” Her voice trembled from the back, laced with a quiver of hope.
“Yeah,” I called back, though the shadows played tricks on me. “Come closer so you can see.”
I waited, but she lingered in the gloom, frozen as if afraid to approach the light. “Come here, I don’t bite,” I coaxed, trying to keep my tone lighthearted.
Finally, she moved, her profile illuminated under the eerie purple glow. Her eyes widened, and a smile broke across her face like dawn piercing through a dark night. I snorted softly, amused by how easily undergrads were impressed.
After she soaked in the spectacle, I showed her how to take a photo of her gel, and we returned to the lab. She began dutifully filling in her lab notebook, and a glimmer of pride swelled within me. That was until I checked her progress later. The notebook was pristine—a meticulous record of her every move since day one. Hope flickered in my chest, only to sputter out when I turned to the last page. There it was, taped prominently: a picture of the gel with “All worked!” scrawled underneath, accompanied by a crude smiley face.
A fucking smiley face.
This undergrad, I thought, definitely had a screw loose.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
“What’s wrong with it?” I glanced down at my sweater, a worn piece of fabric riddled with holes—just like my soul. It was what I had been wearing all day, and it sufficed.
“It has holes in it.”
“And?” I shot back, genuinely baffled. It was just clothing—a shield against the chill of the world.
“Are you making a fashion statement? You do know grunge was over twenty years ago? I know you live in Seattle and all, but I’m not digging the Kurt Cobain look… at all.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. “I’m starting to regret bringing you to this.”
“Relax, it’s just beers with Hobi and Serena,” she said, rolling her eyes like I was some petulant child.
I raked a hand through my hair, but it sprang back defiantly, so I slapped on a beanie to cover the chaos.
“You know, Yoongi, it wouldn’t hurt to wash your hair once in a while. How are you going to meet any cute girls?”
Here we go again.
“Yoonji, would you get off my case? I don’t want to meet anybody.”
Yoonji dropped in at least once a month, a whirlwind of concern and relentless nagging. She never believed me when I claimed to be fine over the phone.
It was endearing, in a way, but mostly a burden I didn’t need. My family was my anchor, yet their relentless need to take care of me felt like shackles.
“Okay, okay... let’s go then.”
“It’s just beers, for crying out loud.”
“I’m telling you to relax.”
In the car, I felt her eyes boring into me. “It’s just... I worry about you.” She brushed her hand along my arm, and I sighed.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, but I could see the disbelief flickering across her face. “Really. I’m just tired of school. I want to start real life already. I’ll be twenty-six this summer, and I’m still stuck in this academic limbo.”
“Hell, I’m twenty-seven!” Hoseok said when we arrived at the bar, lifting his pint in a mock salute. “And look at all the fuck I give!” He downed it with a flourish.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I shot back.
“Hey,” Serena interjected, her tone warning.
“It’s okay…” Hoseok waved dismissively. “He’s just got a bad case of graduate bitterness.”
Graduate bitterness... yes, that was exactly it. A malaise that settled in my bones like a persistent chill. I glanced around, my throat tightening as if the weight of my uncertainty was squeezing the life out of me.
I led the undergrad through the winding corridors of the building, our footsteps echoing like whispers in the shadows. She walked beside me in near silence, her gaze occasionally darting down to her notepad, scribbling furiously as if the ink might escape her. If only she spent as much time observing her surroundings as she did with her frantic notes, she wouldn’t need them to find her way back to the sequencing facility.
There was something peculiar about her. She avoided meeting my eyes, her demeanor skirting the edges of unease, a deep-seated shyness that pricked at my irritation. And Hoseok thinks I’m the antisocial one!
As we turned a corner, I pondered the unspoken rules of social behavior in the lab when we suddenly bumped into Jungkook Wand, another graduate student known for his knack for lurking around.
“Min,” he greeted, his gaze fixated on my undergrad, likely eyeing her in that ridiculous lab coat that looked like it had seen better days. Why she insisted on wearing that tattered garment was beyond me.
“We missed you at happy hour,” he added, his eyes still glued to her, ignoring me completely.
Every Friday, the department hosted a gathering that, while lame, at least offered beer. Last week, Yoonji was visiting, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of dragging her into that debacle.
“Yeah, my cousin was in town,” I managed, trying to shake off the feeling of being an afterthought.
Jungkook’s smile widened as he turned his attention to her. I should probably introduce them, but for the life of me, her name eluded me. Panic set in like a cold sweat.
“Hi,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin that felt a bit too eager.
Shit. What was her name again?
The girl glanced up at me, and a flash of annoyance crossed her features, as if she could read my mind. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice laced with indignation as she extended her hand. The scowl she shot me could peel paint off the walls.
Y/N. The name landed in my mind like a lead weight. How had I forgotten it?
Before I could muster an excuse, Jungkook was launching into conversation, his gaze lingering on her with a familiarity that irked me. I didn’t like Jungkook, nor the way he looked at my undergrad, so I steered her away from him, back toward the safety of the lab.
Now, what was her name again? Damn it.
The following week, I was knee-deep in sequence alignments at my cluttered desk when the fire alarm shrieked, slicing through the stillness like a knife. I turned to find my undergrad, her wide eyes betraying sheer panic.
She thought it was real. In that moment, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind.
“Run, Becca! Run!” I shouted, leaping from my chair.
“What?”
The color drained from her face, and I couldn't help but laugh as confusion and fear played out across her features— priceless. I doubled over, laughter bubbling out like soda from a shaken can.
The alarm blared on, drowning out her startled gasp as she clutched a rack of tubes, trembling. “It’s just a fire drill! Relax!” I finally managed to gasp.
She set the tubes down, took a deep breath, and shot me a glare, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “That was not funny,” she huffed, her voice laced with indignation. “And my name is Y/N!”
With that, she stormed off, leaving me with echoes of my laughter still ringing in my ears.
Oh, being social was unexpectedly entertaining!
The fire alarms continued to test my patience, ringing again and again. Each time, I chuckled at the memory of her startled expression. Now, standing outside for what felt like the fifth time, I glanced sideways at Y/N, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands shoved into her pockets.
“Want to grab some coffee?” I asked, feeling an odd urge to make amends.
She blinked at me, surprise flickering across her face as if she couldn’t believe I was actually talking to her.
The cafeteria at the library was our destination, and we walked in silence, the clouds parting for a moment to let in the faintest hint of sunshine.
As we stood in line, I noticed her tense shoulders. Suddenly, she muttered a string of curses under her breath. Before I could react, her arm was around mine, grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, bewildered.
She maintained her smile but released me, stepping in front. “Say something funny,” she ordered, her voice low and urgent.
“What?”
Then she erupted in laughter, leaving me standing there in utter confusion.
She pressed a hand against my chest, and I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or alarmed. Was this how lab partners acted in her world?
But just as quickly as the laughter came, it faded, and she stepped back, looking sheepish, as if the moment had been a strange dream.
I moved up in line to get my coffee. “Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks,” she replied, shaking her head. I decided to drop the subject entirely.
As we started heading back, she caught up to me, her expression suddenly earnest. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “There’s this guy, Jonah. He won’t take a hint. I thought if he saw me with someone…”
I tuned out her words, her rhythm a blur as I realized just how bizarre everything was.
Could undergrads get any weirder?
Sitting alone on a bench Wednesday afternoon, I savored the solitude when Jungkook appeared, looming over me like a vulture.
“Min,” he said, his tone dripping with false familiarity.
I glared at him, not in the mood for whatever nonsense he was about to spill.
“Where’s that cute little thing you were with?”
“Who?”
“You know, the one in the colorful lab coat.”
Colorful? I snorted, recalling the eyesore she wore.
“She’s not here,” I replied curtly.
“Got her number?”
“Why would I have her number? And why do you want it?”
He raised his eyebrows, a smirk spreading across his face. “You know… you and her…”
I cut him off, anger flaring in my chest. “Me and her what?”
“Is she up for grabs?”
I couldn’t believe he’d come to my lab just to ask about her.
“Jungkook, she’s an undergrad.”
He laughed, completely oblivious. “Dude, have you looked at her? She’s fine.”
“Yeah, and she’s crazy.”
“Even better!” His expression made my stomach churn.
“I don’t have her number, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”
With that, I shoved my earbuds in, blocking him out as he stormed off, his words echoing in my mind.
Fucking creep.
Even though it was Friday—one of those days Y/N usually avoided—the lab felt off-kilter, like an old, rickety house holding its breath. She hovered at my desk while I pulled up the sequencing results on my laptop. Last night, I’d sent her a simple email, expecting a casual response. But her reply had come back faster than a ghost in the night. She wanted to see the data today.
As we sat there, the silence between us thickened, almost palpable. Her face was a mask of concentration, but her expressions kept faltering, crumpling like old paper. Not that I cared too much; she had to learn that research was 90% disappointment wrapped in frustration.
“Why didn’t it work?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness, as if she were mourning a lost hope.
“Maybe you made a mistake?” I suggested, trying to sound casual.
“I was very careful,” she shot back, defensive, her eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pounce.
How typical. Pre-med students always thought they were immune to failure, that the universe owed them success on a silver platter.
“It happens,” I shrugged, trying to dismiss the tension.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her brows knitting together.
“There's a reason it’s called research. If you only had to do it once, it would be called a search.”
“So, what do I do now?”
“You start over.”
“From the beginning?” Her voice trembled, disbelief flickering in her eyes.
“Yeah.”
A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she gazed at her notebook, defeated. Her eyes flitted to the calendar on the wall, and her pencil scratched furiously on the pad. “Can I come tomorrow? I want to have cells growing by Monday.”
Her eagerness surprised me. I added “overachiever” to the growing list of quirks that made Y/N so peculiar.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I teased, raising an eyebrow.
“I know that.”
“Don’t you have a frat party to attend?” I quipped, but her glare silenced me, a reprimand that cut through the lab's sterile air. “Fine, come tomorrow,” I relented, knowing I’d be here anyway. Weekends in the lab were the best; no distractions, just the hum of machinery and the click of keys.
“Awesomesauce!” she chirped, her smile lighting up the dim room. I rolled my eyes, annoyed yet impressed by her determination. Maybe, just maybe, she had what it took for grad school after all.
Saturdays were sacred—my little slice of peace amid the storm of classes and lab reports. After a killer morning workout, I made my way back to the lab, my damp hair fluttering in the cool breeze. Just as I settled into my zone, my phone buzzed with a message that snapped me back to reality.
“Mr. Graduate Student, I’m at the front of the building. Y/N.”
I chuckled, shaking my head at her cheesy attempt at humor. By the time I reached the entrance, I found her wrestling with her hair, tying it up into a high ponytail that looked like it could give anyone a headache just by looking at it. But when she caught sight of me, her face lit up with a grin that could brighten the cloudiest day.
“Very funny,” I replied dryly as I held the door open for her. “It’s Yoongi, remember?”
As we stepped inside, the silence stretched between us, thick and awkward. I considered tossing out a quip about her hairstyle or her lab coat, but then a mischievous prank began to brew in my mind—dark and delightful, like a noxious weed spreading through my thoughts.
“Start your experiment from scratch,” I said, forcing a serious tone. “Could be that my reagents were contaminated.”
Her eyes widened, and I could barely suppress a smirk. It was a complete lie, of course; the old autoclave in the corner was already wheezing like an ancient beast. But picturing her panic was too tempting.
Settling at my bench, I could barely contain my excitement. But instead of the expected rush of alarm, there was a loud crash—glass shattering like a million tiny dreams—and then silence.
What the hell was that?
I found her on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass that sparkled like lost hopes. The autoclave hissed and wheezed, steam curling around us like a ghost. I rushed to her side, trying to stem the leak with my hands.
“What happened?” I asked, crouching beside her. She looked like a wilted flower, her head buried in her knees, eyes squeezed shut.
“Are you okay?” I tried again, dread pooling in my stomach as I saw her trembling hands. Her breath came in quick bursts, and my heart raced.
She mumbled something I couldn’t catch, her palm pressed hard against her leg. “Let me see,” I urged, only to be hit with a wave of horror: a deep gash across her palm, crimson pooling onto the cold tiles.
Oh, no...
Panic surged as I scooped her up, her fragile body slumping against mine. “You’re okay,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow. “It’s okay.”
I hurried her to the sink, the cool water a sharp contrast to the rising heat in the lab. She buried her face in my chest, her panic palpable against my shirt.
“Is there still blood?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
“Mostly gone. But we need to get to the ER,” I insisted, urgency tightening my tone.
She groaned, eyes still shut tight, her composure slipping away.
“Please, open your eyes,” I pleaded, gently lifting her chin. I rubbed my thumb along her cheek, trying to anchor her to reality.
“Can you walk?”
She nodded weakly, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. I swept her back up, panic clawing at my throat.
What have I done? The air felt thick with dread, and I knew I had to get her out of there.
I carried her to my car, the world outside fading into a blur, as if the universe was holding its breath. Carefully, I placed her in the passenger seat, her eyes still shut like she was blocking out the horrors around us. I fastened her seatbelt, feeling the weight of the moment. "Please say something," I urged, glancing at her, desperate for any sign of life.
"I hate blood," she mumbled, voice fragile.
Relief washed over me—she was talking. It struck me as strange that a pre-med student would detest blood. "Are you still dizzy?"
She nodded, and my heart sank at her admission. The crease in her forehead deepened, and I wanted nothing more than to smooth it away.
"We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes," I promised, focusing on the road ahead.
"Would you distract me, so I don’t think about the blood?"
"I don’t know how," I admitted sheepishly.
"Say something funny."
"Funny? Okay. It’s pretty funny that you want to go to med school and you faint at the sight of blood."
"Who says I'm pre-med?" she shot back, and I blinked in surprise.
"You're not?"
"No, and that really wasn’t funny. Talking about blood isn’t going to help me forget about it."
Frustration clawed at me as I struggled for something to say.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Don’t you know any jokes?" There was an edge of frustration in her voice.
"No."
"Everyone knows at least one joke, Yoongi." The way she said my name sent a jolt through me, tightening my stomach with something close to admiration.
Before I knew it, I blurted out the lamest joke I could remember from college. "Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar," I began, watching her lips twitch upward. "One says, ‘I think I've lost an electron.’ The other asks, ‘Are you sure?’ The first replies, ‘Yes. I'm positive.’"
I cringed at how cheesy it was, but when her smile finally broke through, it felt like winning the lottery.
"That was lame," she said, but the glimmer of her smile gave me hope.
At a red light, I risked a glance at her. Her eyes were still closed, but the pale green tint to her skin had faded, replaced by a healthy glow. My heart swelled with relief.
The driver behind me honked impatiently, snapping me back to reality.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, noticing her fingers curling around her injured wrist.
She nodded, a pout forming on her lips that made my heart ache. I nearly missed a stop sign, cursing under my breath.
"God, I’m such a jerk," I muttered, guilt gnawing at me. I had messed up, all in the name of a stupid joke. I racked my brain for something else to say but came up empty.
"I don’t know any more jokes, but I was good at geeky pickup lines back in college," I offered, desperate to lift her spirits. Her smile returned, lighting up the car.
"This better be good," she warned teasingly.
"If I were an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase, so I could unzip your genes."
"Oh my God," she snorted, and I laughed, relieved to see her react. "Did you use that on anybody?"
"Maybe," I hinted, my chest tightening with excitement.
"Did it work?"
"No," I admitted, but I was laughing now, and she was grinning, even with her eyes still closed. I was determined to keep her smiling.
"Oh! Do you like The Police?"
"The police?" She frowned, confusion crossing her features.
"Yeah…"
"As in the profession?"
"No, you dork. The band. Sting's band?"
"Oh, yeah. I guess." She shrugged.
And against my better judgment, I cleared my throat and began singing. "Every bond you break… Every electron you take…"
Finally, her eyes fluttered open, surprise and delight dancing across her face. I couldn’t help but wiggle my eyebrows, and her smile broadened, banishing the shadows of panic. "Oh, can’t you see, you’re covalently bonded to me…" I sang, pouring my energy into the ridiculousness of it. Nothing felt more beautiful than the light in her eyes.
How had I never noticed how amazing her smile was before?
We pulled into the University’s Medical Center in under ten minutes, just like I expected. I parked quickly and rushed around to help her out, but she stumbled out on her own, nearly losing her balance. I caught her just before she could face plant onto the pavement—or worse, land hard on her injured hand.
I could feel irritation bubbling up inside me. Did she really think I wouldn’t help? Sure, I was an idiot sometimes, but I still had a decent sense of gentlemanly instincts.
“Can you walk?” I asked, keeping my hand around her elbow as we approached the entrance.
“I think so,” she replied softly, but I kept my grip steady, guiding her into the emergency room.
Inside, a flicker of relief hit me—the place was nearly empty, and we should get seen fairly quickly. “Hello,” I said to the front desk lady, who was glued to her computer screen. She glanced up, her expression completely bored, and didn’t reply. Instant dislike.
“She cut her hand, and it looks deep,” I said, gesturing toward Y/N beside me.
“Name?” The front desk lady’s question hung in the air like a sword about to drop, and suddenly, I froze.
Goddammit…
She didn’t mean my name. My stomach twisted as I desperately searched my memory. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten her name again.
It starts with a B, doesn’t it? I racked my brain, stalling as the front desk lady’s eyebrows shot up impatiently.
“Y/N Y/L/N,” came the shaky voice next to me, cutting through my fog of embarrassment.
God, I was such an idiot! I wanted to punch myself for being so careless.
I looked at her—Y/N—and even though she shook her head, a grin crept onto the corner of her mouth. Maybe, just maybe, I was forgiven. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… I repeated silently, determined that this time I would remember.
I was convinced that the “doctor” tending to Y/N wasn’t a real doctor—not yet, anyway. He claimed the cut wasn’t deep and that it hadn’t damaged any tendons or nerves. He even said it was clean enough to glue shut, which apparently was a thing now. But my gut twisted with doubt; something about him set off alarms in my head.
Y/N had her eyes squeezed shut, clutching my hand like it was a lifeline while this wannabe physician—Doogie Howser, I mentally dubbed him—cleaned her wound. She perched on the examination table, her injured hand resting on a tray beside her, as I stood behind her, anxiety tightening my chest. In the chaos of her injury and my desperate attempts to care for her, her ponytail had loosened, hanging low at the nape of her neck. A sudden curiosity gripped me: What would her hair look like, cascading down like a waterfall?
“Y/N,” I whispered, leaning closer, needing to say her name again, to engrain it into my memory. “Breathe through your mouth. It’ll help.”
I lingered near her neck, unable to pull away, drawn by something I couldn’t quite name. I tried to find the words to describe her scent—something fresh, like the morning air spilling through an open window—but words failed me. I’d caught a hint of it earlier when I held her close at the sink, but now, in the confined space of the ER, it enveloped me, bringing back echoes of happier times.
Y/N smelled good—no, different. Refreshing, like the world waking up after a long sleep. And I was trapped in this moment, lost in the intoxicating blend of her presence and the sterile smell of antiseptic.
Every time she flinched, my instinct was to lash out at Doogie. I wanted to punch him for every wince that slipped from her lips, but I knew that wouldn’t help; it might just make things worse. I fought against the urge to ask the nurse for someone else to help her, terrified to leave her side. So I stayed, fingers entwined with hers, trying to offer some measure of comfort in the storm of uncertainty.
When Doogie finished and began to bandage her hand, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as she released her grip. I stepped back, taking a breath that felt heavy in my chest. Tension still coiled inside me; I hated that she’d gotten hurt, but a part of me marveled at her resilience. Despite her aversion to blood, she had held herself together with a strength I hadn’t given her credit for. There was more to Y/N than I realized, and that realization struck me hard.
“Listen, I’m really sorry,” I said once we were back in the car, the weight of guilt pressing down on me.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault I’m such a klutz.” She offered a radiant smile that twisted my insides with guilt all over again.
“So, what happened?” I asked tentatively, hoping against hope that this wasn’t really my fault.
“I was carrying a rack of test tubes when that thing started shooting vapor out. I freaked out. I thought it was going to explode! So I dropped the tubes and cut my hand trying to pick them up,” she admitted, embarrassment creeping into her voice as she stared down at her hands.
I should have known...
“Shit…” I thumped my head against the steering wheel, frustration bubbling up inside me.
“Hey, stop.” Her hand reached up to my shoulder, a gentle gesture that only deepened my self-loathing. “You couldn’t possibly have known that thing was going to start leaking, right?” I peeked at her, guilt etched on my face. She scrutinized me, her brow furrowing as realization dawned. “You did know, didn’t you?” Her hand dropped from my shoulder, and I felt the accusation hanging between us like a thick fog.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” I said earnestly, trying to convey the depth of my regret, how much I hated myself for her injury.
“You’re unbelievably cruel!” she shot back, eyebrows knitting together as she glared at me.
She was right, but I felt compelled to explain. “There wasn’t any risk of you getting hurt. The door just leaks a little vapor. I was going to close it after you got scared. It was a stupid joke, Y/N. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”
“Well, excuse me for ruining your prank,” she snapped, rolling her eyes and turning away from me.
Sarcasm. Just lovely.
“I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?” I asked, keeping my gaze on her even though she pointedly avoided me.
“Whatever, Yoongi.” She shrugged, irritation radiating from her as she stared out the window.
I wanted to tell her she was acting like a child, but I held my tongue, knowing that teasing her wouldn’t help my case. Instead, I focused on driving, ruminating on how to make this right again.
How the hell do I fix this?
“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I said to Y/N, trying to sound calm even though a knot twisted in my stomach as I parked in front of the research building.
“This is really not necessary, Yoongi. I’m fine,” she replied, brushing off my concern.
“Y/N, can you please, just for once, not contradict me?” I shot back, frustration bubbling under the surface.
“I never contradict you!” she protested, eyes wide in disbelief.
I fixed her with a glare until the tension between us shifted, and a small smile broke through her pout as I climbed out of the car. Maybe I was getting through to her, even just a little.
I dashed into the lab to grab her bag, but was abruptly halted when I spotted Jimin hunched over her bench. An urge to warn Y/N about the mess brewing in the autoclave room hit me hard.
“Jimin?” I called, feeling an unusual tension in the air as he turned to me, eyes wide like I’d just spoken an alien dialect. We rarely exchanged more than necessary pleasantries. “There’s a big mess in the autoclave room. I’ll be right back to clean it up.”
“And you’re telling me this why?” he shot back, still looking as confused as a cat in a dog park.
“There’s a bunch of glass… I don’t know. My undergrad—she dropped the tubes. I—” The words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, and Jimin continued to stare at me like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Never mind,” I muttered, eager to escape the awkwardness.
“How’s that for a change? First, you have her doing your chores, and now you’re cleaning up after her,” he called after me.
I spun around to glare at him, irritation sparking. Sure, he was right, but I had bigger problems than petty lab gossip. I left him behind, shaking off the encounter.
When I climbed back into the car, Y/N was waiting for me, eyebrow raised, holding a CD case. My stomach dropped as I recognized it—my mom’s treasured Carpenters album.
“Really, Yoongi?” she asked, her smile widening. “The Carpenters? Okay, cool.” She casually tucked the CD case back into the glove box.
She was teasing me—smiling at me. That had to be a good sign, right? Maybe she had forgiven me after all.
I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on her face, how her smile lit up the whole car. It was stunning; how had I never noticed it before? A pang of regret hit me for all the moments I had let slip by.
“Are you okay?” Y/N’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just—uh, how’s your living situation?” I mumbled as I started the car and drove off, reminding myself to keep it together. She’s just an undergrad, I thought, shaking off the flutter in my stomach.
As I parked in front of her building, my chest tightened again. I was still angry—mostly at myself—for letting her get hurt. I wouldn’t feel at ease until she was safely tucked inside her apartment.
“Are you still dizzy?” I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.
“I think I’m all right now,” she replied, a small grin dancing on her lips.
Would it be weird if I walked her to her door? Did guys still do that? It had been ages since I’d been on a date. What was the protocol these days?
What the hell am I thinking? This isn’t a date.
But she didn’t look a hundred percent. Maybe carrying her bag would help. I climbed out of the car, and she shot me a bewildered look as I opened her door.
“I’ll feel better once I know you’re safe inside,” I insisted, my voice firm.
“I’m fine. You don’t hav—”
“Please, humor me,” I interrupted.
Y/N hesitated, then took my hand as she stumbled out of the car. I grabbed her backpack, and we walked inside together, a strange sense of connection warming the air between us.
At her door, she paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. When she turned to look at me, her brown eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite pin down.
“I’ll see you Tuesday then,” I said, handing her the bag.
“Yes. Tuesday.” Her gaze flickered up through her long lashes, and I was momentarily mesmerized. “Not Monday.” A playful grin crept across her face, and I felt my breath catch at the sight of her eyes crinkling with delight. “You know why not Monday?”
I was still entranced by her smile and completely missed the point she was trying to make. “Because rainy days and Mondays always get me down,” she said, and heat rushed to my cheeks.
Great… she’s making fun of me.
I took a deep breath and snorted, forcing myself to look away from her lips. “You’re such a dork, Y/N. How long have you been waiting to say that?”
“Too long.” Her giggle sent my heart racing, a rhythm I couldn't ignore.
“Good night, Y/N,” I replied, managing a smile despite my racing heart.
As I walked back to my car, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and was horrified to find myself grinning like a fool. I frowned and climbed inside, but before I could drive away, I pulled my mom’s CD from the glove box, popped it in, and began to hum along.
Why do birds suddenly appear… every time… you are near?
I slammed on the brakes and hit the eject button.
Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me?
Thankfully, when I returned to the lab, Jimin was gone. I started cleaning up the autoclave room, picking up shards of glass and mopping away the blood from the floor. As I worked, I spotted Y/N’s lab coat next to the sink, and my heart sank. It didn’t look festive anymore; it resembled a tattered Halloween costume.
Shit… She loved that ridiculous thing, and now it was ruined.
Before I knew it, I found myself washing the lab coat. I tried everything, even bleach. When I was done, the blood stains had vanished, but so had the whimsical bacteria drawings she’d painstakingly decorated it with.
Fuck my life...
When Hoseok called, I told him the chances of me making it to Serena’s party were slim. “I’m stuck in the lab and still have a long way to go,” I said, leaving out the details of my time spent doodling on a lab coat that now looked like a toddler’s art project. I also didn’t mention that I was starting Y/N’s experiment along with my own.
After inspecting the now-ruined lab coat, I realized I couldn’t give it back to her. Tossing it felt wrong, though—I’d just spent hours on the damn thing. So, I wrapped it in a plastic bag and tucked it under my desk, trying to forget it existed.
I left the lab after two in the morning, exhausted but restless. My mind buzzed with thoughts, not about experiments this time, but about Y/N—how she had gotten hurt because of me, and yet she hadn’t unleashed her fury. Somehow, she felt bigger than this. Bigger than me.
God, I’ve been such an asshole.
Images of her haunted me throughout the night. The way she smiled at my lame jokes, how she laughed at my terrible rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sung to someone, not since my mom had forced me to sing The Carpenters with her. I turned over in bed, a smile creeping onto my face at the memory.
I didn’t have to be a jerk to Y/N anymore. I didn’t want to be. It wasn’t her fault grad school was a pain. If anything, having her around made it bearable. Maybe I could lighten up a bit… or maybe we could both learn something from this. No, I wanted to be nicer to her. I wanted to see her smile.
I want to make her smile?
First The Carpenters, now this?
When did I turn into such a marshmallow?
Monday night in the dingy gym felt like a scene straight out of a bad movie. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow that did nothing to uplift the atmosphere. Hoseok and I were at the bench press, trading off sets like two battered soldiers in a war that would never be chronicled. I stood behind him, bracing for the weight, but my gaze was pulled away, caught in the orbit of something infinitely more captivating.
There she was—Y/N—effortlessly gliding on the treadmill like she was born to run. Her ponytail swung rhythmically with each stride, a pendulum marking the time as she jogged. My breath hitched, a tightening in my chest as I let my eyes wander down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. And then—oh God—those shorts. Tiny and black, they hugged her body in a way that made my heart race uncontrollably.
The fabric didn’t just cling; it cradled her curves, indenting just enough in the middle to draw the eye downwards. I could almost feel the heat radiating off her skin, my mind spiraling into places I really didn’t want it to go.
“Dude! Hold the bar, would ya?” Hoseok’s voice jolted me from my daze. I blinked hard, shaking off the spell as I refocused on the weights pressing down on him.
“Right, sorry,” I mumbled, fumbling with the bar as I lifted it off him.
Hoseok wiped the sweat from his brow, the glistening drops catching the unforgiving light. I tried desperately to keep my thoughts in check, to suppress the smirk that threatened to creep onto my face, but my eyes betrayed me, fixating once more on Y/N’s ass as it bounced with every determined step on the treadmill.
“What is it?” Hoseok shot me a sideways glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. He knew. Damn him. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”
“Nothing,” I shot back, the word cracking like ice beneath my weight. I raked a hand through my hair, feeling more like a deer caught in headlights than a man. “That’s... um... that’s my undergrad.”
“Your undergrad?” He nearly shouted, and I winced at the volume.
“Shut up!” I hissed, heat creeping up my neck.
“She’s your undergrad?” He lowered his voice, his tone conspiratorial, as if we were discussing some top-secret mission.
“Yes,” I said, willing myself to tear my gaze from Y/N and muster some semblance of composure. “I don’t know why she’s here. This is the first time I’ve seen her in this gym.”
“Are you kidding?” Hoseok replied, incredulous. “She’s here all the time! You’ve just never noticed because you’re practically blind.”
My eyes darted back to her. She was still running, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind me. Could Hoseok really be right? Had I been so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn’t seen her before?
But then again, I didn’t recognize anyone else in this place. I came here every day—every damn day—and not one face looked familiar. Blind. I was completely blind.
And yet, here I was, rooted to the spot, entranced by the hypnotic sway of her hips, the way her legs flexed with each determined stride. It was as if she had cast a spell over me, one I didn’t want to break. But I had to; I was standing there like a moron, the weight of Hoseok’s gaze a smirk stretched across his face as he shifted to take his place on the bench.
“Yoongi!” he called, pulling me from my daydream. “It’s your turn.”
I shook my head as if waking up from a fog and stepped to the bench, but my mind remained tangled in thoughts of what I’d just seen. Y/N’s form, bouncing like it was teasing me, was too much. Too distracting. My body was responding in ways I hadn’t felt in years, and it took every ounce of willpower to focus on lifting weights instead of ogling her.
Then, as if she sensed my eyes on her, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze locking with mine. For a brief moment, the world melted away—the gym, the weight, the noise—all faded into the background as our eyes met. She faltered on the treadmill, her grip tightening on the bars like a lifeline before she recovered just in time.
What was I doing? I didn’t realize I was moving until I stood beside her, the tension thick enough to slice through the air.
“Hi,” I managed, the word slipping out like a confession.
“Hi?” Her smile lit up the stale space between us, brightening everything. “Who are you and what did you do to my bitter grad student?”
“What?” I stammered, disbelief knotting my stomach. “You’ve seen me here before?”
*Her eyes rolled in a way that was both exasperating and endearing. “Yes.”
“Well, I’m saying hi now. So, hi.”
“Hi…” she giggled, and I felt a low groan bubble up from my chest. What was happening? I hated how she made me feel, how she toppled everything I thought I had under control.
“How’s your hand?” I asked, grasping for something to anchor myself in this whirlwind of emotions.
“It’s fine,” she said, lifting her bandaged hand like it was a trophy. But I was lost, mesmerized by the way her lips moved, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and how the sweat glistened on her skin.
I needed to leave before my body betrayed me further. “Um, I should go,” I interrupted, offering a shaky goodbye as I fled, a whirlwind of confusion and unwanted desire crashing over me.
What the hell was happening to me?
I ran home, my legs pumping, heart racing, trying to outrun the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind. It had been four years since Estelle, and the memory felt as distant as a long-forgotten dream. But Y/N was everywhere now, invading my thoughts—her freckles, her laugh, those bangs that had once annoyed me but now framed her face like a masterpiece.
I stormed through my apartment, shedding my sweat-soaked clothes, bewildered by this tempest of feelings. I couldn’t fathom why it had taken me so long to notice her, why she had pierced through the fog of my indifference and settled in my mind like an unwelcome guest.
In the shower, the warm water cascaded over me, soothing yet insufficient to wash away the turmoil. She was a kid, for Christ’s sake! Nineteen? Twenty? Too young, too innocent for someone like me. I banged my head against the tiled wall, cursing my own weakness.
And yet, even as I stood there, I could feel her presence lingering, like a ghost clinging to the edges of my consciousness—a haunting I couldn’t shake. Was I becoming one of those men who pursued young girls, crossing lines drawn in the sand, sliding down that slippery slope of desire? The universe had a wicked sense of humor.
God, I hoped I wouldn’t see her again at the gym. The very thought sent a chill down my spine—a mix of longing and guilt. But there I was, fantasizing about her hands instead of my own.
When did I become such a creep?
I’m in a foul mood. Not a glimmer of sunshine inside me, just the dense fog of irritability that seems to thicken the air around me. Maybe it’s the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders, or maybe it’s just Tuesday. Either way, I know I’ll probably regret having lunch with Hoseok today, but deep down, I’m still holding onto the hope that, by some miracle, he didn’t notice my bizarre behavior at the gym last night.
As I step into the lunchroom, Hoseok’s voice slices through the stillness. “What the heck happened to you yesterday?”
Well, so much for miracles.
“Nothing. Why?” I try to sound casual as I toss my food into the microwave, but my heart races in protest.
“Nothing? You nearly killed me, bolted off to talk to Y/N, and then stormed out. That seems normal to you?” He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.
I shrug, feigning indifference, but my stomach twists.
“We were supposed to have drinks with Serena and her friend with the—” he gestures dramatically, “the big personality.”
“Listen, you and Serena need to stop setting me up with her friends.”
“Why? Did you take a vow of celibacy or something?”
“I’m just not in the mood for this today, Hoseok.” I plop down in a chair, my food forgotten.
“Is it because of Y/N?” he asks, cheeks bulging with half-chewed food.
“No,” I reply, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “And her name is Y/N, by the way.”
“OH. MY. GOSH. It is! You’re totally crushing on her!” Hoseok leaps from his chair, fork aimed at me like a weapon. His eyes widen as if he’s just uncovered a major conspiracy.
“What? NO!”
“Dude, you remembered her name!” He plops back down beside me, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Hoseok, what does that—”
“Oh man. This is too good... like, really, really good.” His grin is the kind that makes me want to punch him—or maybe just smack some sense into him.
“Hoseok, please. Just for one day…” I rub my forehead, trying to ease the confusion tightening my temples. The last thing I need is Hoseok’s theories swirling around my mind like a chaotic storm.
“Okay, okay…” He continues to chew, stealing glances at me every few seconds. “So, when’s Yoonji coming?” he asks, smirking, and I shoot him a glare that could curdle milk.
So what if I remembered her name? It hardly means anything. I’ve been working with her for weeks now. I’m not some clueless idiot; I can remember a name. I don’t care what Hoseok or Yoonji think. This is nothing. This doesn’t mean anything.
Except it does. Because Y/N, not “the girl” or “the undergrad,” is going to be in the lab when I return. And I’m not just aware of it—I’m looking forward to it. I want to see her smile, to hear her laugh.
I want to hear her giggle? Jesus, I need to get a grip on myself.
My bad mood evaporates the moment I spot Y/N at my bench, scribbling away in her notepad. Her hair cascades over her shoulder, wild and free. It should bother me—should send alarm bells ringing—but it doesn’t. It looks soft and inviting, and suddenly, all I want is to run my fingers through it.
Okay… I’ve really lost it now.
And just like that, my bad mood crashes back in.
“I can’t find my lab coat,” she says, tying her hair up with an intensity that almost makes me envious.
I feel a spark of irritation at the safety rules that dictate her hair must be tied back. I find myself imagining the kinds of experiments that would allow her to leave it down, just so I could watch it flow freely.
“Do you know where it could be?” she asks, glancing up at me.
I’ve completely lost track of her words, staring at her blankly.
“My lab coat?” she repeats, tilting her head.
Right… the lab coat.
“Let me get you a new one. That one was all covered in blood.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll wash it.”
“We have lab coats here, Y/N—new ones. I’ll get you one,” I say, moving past her, determination pushing me forward.
She stops me, grabbing my elbow. “Please, can I have my old one back?” Her eyes are wide and earnest, as if I hold the key to some sacred treasure.
A flush of embarrassment rises in me, and instead of confessing, I lie. “I threw it away.”
“What? Why?” Her gaze pierces through my flimsy excuse.
“It was covered in blood!” I bark, frustration bubbling over.
“I could have washed it!” she snaps, defiance igniting her eyes.
“I’m getting you a new one.”
“I don’t want a new one. Is this some cruel joke? Because if it is, I’d really, really like my lab coat back. It means a lot to me.” The shift in her expression from anger to sadness tugs at something deep within me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, like I’ve just crushed her puppy.
Realization washes over me like a cold wave: I’m making her cry. With a deep sigh, I relent. “Okay, I didn’t get rid of it.”
“Oh thank God,” she breathes, closing her eyes in relief.
“But… I tried to wash it, and the bloodstains wouldn’t come out. I thought it would be a good idea to use bleach. And it was. I mean, it got rid of the bloodstains, but it also erased your drawings.”
“Oh no…” Her eyes fly open, panic etching her features.
“I’m sorry. Can I please get you a new one?” I plead, hoping to smooth over this disaster before it spirals further.
“I would really prefer to have my old one back,” she insists, crossing her arms defiantly, her gaze unwavering.
Jesus! Why does she have to be so difficult?
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I groan. She’s staring at me like she’s just won the lottery, and I can’t bring myself to back down. “Fine…” I reach under my desk for the bag containing her lab coat and hand it over, feeling like I’m offering her a corpse.
I should have burned the damn thing.
Her gasp as she pulls the coat from the bag makes my stomach drop.
“Oh my gosh!” She turns it around, inspecting the shapes I drew in a moment of misguided creativity. When she spots my pathetic attempt at rewriting “Bacteria Rule” on the back, she giggles, and I swear my heart stumbles.
How do I keep up with her?
One minute, she’s annoyed; the next, she’s crying; now, she’s laughing. It’s like watching a storm change directions on a whim.
“You… did you do this?” She glances up at me, her eyelashes still damp, and my chest tightens painfully.
“Yeah, it looks even more ridiculous now. Didn’t think that was possible. Would you please let me get you a new one?”
“Oh no. I’m wearing this one,” she chirps, slipping her arms into the sleeves like she’s donning a crown.
“Please say you’re kidding.”
“What? It’s perfect!” she beams, buttoning the coat closed, that radiant smile piercing through my irritation.
Even as she parades around in that god-awful coat, all I can think about is pulling her close and kissing her senseless. It’s ridiculous and utterly baffling, but I can’t shake it.
I really must have lost it now.
The morning air felt heavy, thick with a strange malaise that weighed on me like a thick blanket. "So, what's on the agenda for today, Boss?" Y/N chirped, her pen clicking in a cheerful rhythm as she flipped open her notebook, the sound almost irritatingly upbeat.
"Don’t call me Boss," I grumbled, trying to shake off the oppressive darkness that seemed to cling to me like damp fog.
"Okay, Grumpy. What are we doing today?" Her smile was a bright spark against the backdrop of my brooding mood.
I could tell she was trying to be funny, deliberately poking at my irritation. With an exasperated huff, I shoved the list of activities at her. "Try not to mess up this time, Becca."
She took the list with a theatrical pout, and I stifled a real smile beneath my carefully crafted mask of indifference—a skill I'd perfected over the years.
Her brow furrowed as she scanned the list. "I thought I was starting from scratch."
"You are," I replied, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible.
"But you did all these steps already." She pointed to the initial tasks, her voice laced with disbelief.
"I was bored Saturday," I said, as if boredom were an acceptable excuse for taking the initiative.
Her eyes darted between the list and mine, a spark of awe lighting up her face. "You started my experiment for me?"
The way she looked at me made my skin crawl—a mixture of discomfort and something warmer I didn’t want to acknowledge. I clamped down on my tongue, suppressing the urge to explain myself.
"You better get cracking, Y/L/N. There's a seminar at four I want to attend."
Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer before she shook it off, returning to her notebook. A sense of relief washed over me.
We worked in silence, but I could feel her stealing glances at me like a kid peeking into a haunted house. I knew—I just knew—I had crossed some invisible line. What I felt was tangled, a confusion I was desperate to untangle.
"What’s the seminar about?" she asked, her voice light with curiosity as we carried bottles of growth media to the incubators.
"I don’t know," I said, holding the door for her as we entered the incubator room.
"Then why are you going?" She squatted to stow the bottles inside, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.
"Free food." I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.
"Seriously?" She looked up at me, disbelief written all over her features.
"Y/N… if you go to grad school, you’ll learn to appreciate the majesty of free food."
When she stood up, she released my hand with a huff, her pride surfacing. "When I go to grad school, I’ll enjoy the seminars, even without the free food."
"Right…" I turned away, shaking my head.
"So, can I come?" she asked shyly, her voice nearly drowned out by the hum of the incubators.
"You want to come to the seminar?" I shot her a skeptical glance.
"Hells to the yeah!"
I suppressed a snort, the surprise of her enthusiasm bubbling up inside me. "Why?"
"I might learn something."
"Okay, you can come, but the la-la-lab coat stays."
The thought of her actually being excited about attending a seminar with me sent a strange thrill through my chest, one that both excited and unnerved me.
As we made our way to the seminar, Y/N rattled on about her dreams for grad school, her voice bubbling over with energy. I struggled to interject, her words flowing like a vibrant stream, full of life.
When we reached the seminar room, she shook her head at my heaping plate of food. I settled into my seat, grateful for the chance to hide from the annoyed glances of the people behind us. Y/N plopped down beside me, her nervous energy radiating from her.
"That one with the sweater vest is Prof. Waylon," I said, nodding toward him. "He has a serious case of narcolepsy. Snores through the entire talk but wakes up right on cue to ask the hardest questions."
She giggled, and the sound pierced through the fog that had settled around me.
"And over there, with the red bow tie, is Dr. Amun-Kebi. Brilliant but completely bonkers—he discovered Quorum Sensing, yet can’t make eye contact because he’s too busy staring at the ceiling."
She snorted, laughter bubbling up as she covered her mouth, her joy infectious.
"Then there’s Jin," I continued, "who dresses like he’s going to a board meeting every day. Knows more adjectives than a thesaurus, but his favorite is definitely 'fascinating.'"
I mimicked Jin’s exaggerated tone, and Y/N laughed again, drawing some disapproving throat-clearing from the folks behind us.
"Main point is, Y/N," I said, "science makes you lose your mind. You’ve been warned."
"Oh, I think I can handle it," she replied, winking at me, and my heart twisted painfully in my chest.
As the speaker began, I couldn't help but chuckle when I noticed her furiously scribbling notes as if her life depended on it.
Once the seminar ended, we returned to the lab. Y/N still had work to catch up on after being away for an hour. I’d finished my tasks long ago, but I lingered, a shadow in the corner, unwilling to leave her alone in this sterile, fluorescent-lit space.
She closed her notebook with a satisfying smack and turned to me, her eyes bright. "This is so exciting! I can’t wait to see if it works this time."
"Yeah, you’ll get over it," I said, trying to keep my tone light.
"Have you always been such a grump? Or was there a time when you actually liked what you do?"
Her question hit me like a punch to the gut, catching me off guard. I could feel her gaze piercing through my defenses.
"I like what I do."
"Do you love it?"
Her question hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I found myself lost in a maze of memories, the joy of discovery overshadowed by the weight of expectations. Had there ever been a time when I shared her enthusiasm?
"I don’t really remember," I mumbled, avoiding the truth. "It’s getting late, Y/N. How are you getting home?"
"I’m walking."
"I’m walking too. Let’s go."
Did I used to love what I did? The memory felt elusive, slipping through my fingers like water.
As we walked, Y/N asked, "Why did you decide to go to grad school?"
"Why does anyone?" I shot back, a cryptic smirk teasing my lips.
"To make a difference? To revolutionize the field?"
"Very cute, Y/N."
"It’s not cute. It’s true."
"Is that why you want to go to grad school?"
"Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people. Since medical school is out of the question for me—"
"You’ll get over the smell of blood, Y/N."
"It’s not just that. I get too attached. I’d rather contribute silently from the lab." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Plus, where would medicine be without science? They’d still be pouring hot oil into wounds!"
I chuckled, a genuine laugh bubbling up like warmth breaking through winter’s chill. "You’re funny." The words slipped out before I could think better of it, and before I could process my thoughts, my fingers brushed against her arm, lingering over the fabric of her hoodie.
She halted, her cheeks tinged pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
I froze, my hand dropping to my side, panic racing through me. That had to be inappropriate.
"I’ve been called worse," she joked, her smile radiating a warmth that sent shivers down my spine.
We walked on in silence until we reached her building.
"Do you live on campus too?" she asked, fishing for her keys from her bag.
"No. I live in Portage Bay."
"Oh… we passed that already."
"I know."
Suspicion flared in her gaze as she pieced things together, and I felt the weight of my own guilt creeping up on me. She would realize I was that gross old grad student trying to woo the sweet, naive undergrad—the very person I had mocked in others. The thought made my stomach churn.
"I know what you’re doing," she accused, crossing her arms defensively.
Here it comes…
"You feel guilty because I got hurt," she said, her voice steady. "You feel responsible. But you don’t have to do this."
Is that really what she thought?
"You think I’m walking you home out of guilt?" My voice was harsher than I intended, anger bubbling up inside me.
"I know you are."
"You don’t know anything," I spat, turning away, desperate to escape the rising tide of emotions threatening to drown me.
"Yoongi, wait!" she called after me, dread washing over me.
Keep walking… don’t look back.
I couldn’t believe she thought I was being nice out of guilt. I had done nothing but act like a jerk for too long, and now I was about to lose the only flicker of light stupid, lonely world.
God, she had no clue.
Wednesday morning felt heavy with an unsettling quiet when Y/N arrived at the lab a little earlier than usual. I was already there, lurking like a shadow in the corner, unable to shake off the ghosts of a sleepless night. I busied myself with the equipment, clinging to the hope that keeping my distance would somehow quell the anger simmering beneath my skin.
It was confusing, really. I was furious with her—not just because of the injury that haunted my thoughts like a ghost, but because she had twisted my kindness into something it wasn’t. Sure, I felt like a hollow shell, the guilt gnawing at my insides like a rat in a rotting wall, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy walking her home. Yesterday’s seminar had been a strange kind of fun—the first I’d experienced in what felt like ages.
As I returned to the lab, pretending to check something in my desk drawer, I caught her gaze from across the bench. The way her eyes followed me stirred something deep inside, a mix of frustration and longing I couldn’t quite place. I tried to slip away, but as I turned to leave, her fingers brushed against my elbow.
“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, those puppy-dog eyes piercing through my defenses. Warmth rushed through me, a strange blend of emotions swirling inside. “It was really nice of you to walk with me. Thank you.”
With a timid smile, she released my arm, leaving me reeling, torn between the urge to pull her back and the need to retreat. Just then, I caught sight of Jimin, his piercing blue eyes wide with suspicion from the shadows of the lab. What the hell?
“You’re welcome,” I muttered dryly to Y/N, my voice almost a growl, before storming away, seeking refuge from the chaos in my head.
In the media preparation room, I paced like a caged animal, cracking my knuckles repeatedly to chase away the madness. This was absurd. I was losing it over a girl—an undergrad—who seemed blissfully unaware of the tempest she stirred within me. Deep breaths. Focus. But I knew this strange obsession wasn’t going anywhere.
When I returned to the lab, I found Jungkook leaning casually against my bench, chatting with Y/N. She wore that timid smile again, twisting something inside me. My hands curled into fists, rage and jealousy flaring up like a wildfire.
“I’ll see you Friday,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin as he sauntered past me. Did he just ask her out? The urge to grab him by the ponytail and shove him to the floor was overwhelming. “What did he want?” I spat, unable to contain the fury boiling within.
“Nothing,” she replied innocently, her attention flitting back to her notebook as if she hadn’t just tossed gasoline on my fire.
“Y/N,” I hissed, slicing through the air with my words, demanding her attention. “What did he want?”
“Nothing important,” she clarified, but her eyes locked onto mine, searching. My resolve wavered. What the hell was wrong with me? The desire to pummel Jungkook quickly transformed into an intense longing to press my lips against that bottom lip she kept biting. The confusion swirled around us, thick and suffocating, and I felt trapped.
Just then, Jimin reentered the lab, breaking the spell that had ensnared us. I stepped back, the tension snapping like a brittle twig, and Y/N sighed, disappointment heavy in the air.
“Are you done?” I asked, my voice cold, each word laced with the weight of my internal turmoil. “I need to use the bench.”
Hurt flickered in her eyes before she masked it, and guilt settled in my stomach like a stone. I tried to focus on my work, but her presence lingered, a distraction gnawing at my concentration until she finally left for the day. This is ridiculous! Why did she affect me so much? I couldn’t keep living like this.
Thursday afternoon arrived, and I maneuvered around Y/N like a ghost. I didn’t want to be a jerk, but the thought of her and Jungkook had me seething. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire, irritation coiling tighter with every passing second. I tried to stick to succinct answers and instructions, but the tension thickened around us like fog.
As we received her sequencing results, I could no longer pretend she didn’t exist. She pulled a chair next to me at my desk, her presence suffocatingly close. My fingers twitched on the mouse, nerves sparking as I avoided glancing her way. She tapped her pen rhythmically; each tap a countdown to my sanity.
“Please, stop that,” I groaned, frustration spilling over.
She halted instantly, a sigh escaping her lips, and my heart sank. I hated feeling this way—trapped between annoyance and an attraction that sent shivers down my spine. How was that even possible?
Finally, the software loaded, and I opened her file. Y/N gasped, and I held my breath as she leaned closer, the tension between us palpable.
“Sample 1. Ran well. Sample 2. Ran well… ran well, ran well, ran well…” All fifty samples had run flawlessly. Impressive. I couldn’t recall a time when every single sequencing reaction had succeeded; there was always a failure or two. Y/N was undeniably skilled.
As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck. Her warmth enveloped me, her hair brushing against my face, and the world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating. My body responded in ways I couldn’t understand.
I shot up from my chair, breaking the spell. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks a deep crimson, laughter spilling from her lips. “I’m just so happy! They all worked!”
My heart raced, shock coursing through me as I struggled to regain composure. The pull I felt toward her was almost unbearable, thrumming like an electric wire, demanding release.
“Good job,” I managed, forcing my voice to remain steady. But as she smiled at me, her joy tearing through my carefully constructed barriers, I knew I was in deep trouble. I wanted to hold her again, to kiss her until the world faded away. God, I needed help.
As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck, her warmth enveloping me, her hair brushing against my face. The world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating, my body responding in ways I couldn’t understand.
God, I needed help.
You know those days when nothing seems to go right? When you drag yourself out of bed, and it feels like the universe is playing tricks on you, pushing you back with every step forward? Yeah, today is one of those days. A downright miserable Friday, and I can’t help but feel that the promise of the weekend is just a hollow consolation.
This morning was a disaster. I tossed and turned all night, haunted by thoughts of Y/N. Her smile flickered in my mind like a candle caught in the wind—warm and inviting one moment, then snuffed out the next. The irony is, while I’m relieved I won’t have to face her today, the gnawing uncertainty of whether she’s out with Jungkook weighs heavily in my stomach. Anger simmers beneath my skin, bubbling over in waves I can’t seem to control.
As I step into the lunchroom, the emptiness greets me, broken only by the taunting hum of the microwave. I slam my fist against its cold metal side, frustrated when it refuses to cooperate. It beeps at me, a cruel mockery in the sterile silence. I slam the door shut again, and my temper flares.
“What did the microwave do to you?” A familiar voice cuts through my frustration. It’s Hoseok, ever the jester, his amusement practically radiating off him.
“It’s broken,” I mutter, fingers still mashing buttons like a madman.
“Step away from the microwave,” he orders, a playful yet firm tone in his voice. In two quick moves, he’s heating up my food. “What’s up your ass?”
“Nothing,” I groan, flopping down in a chair with a defeated sigh. “Just one of those days.”
“Why?”
“It’s just one of those days…” I can’t muster the energy to say more.
“Like, ‘Everything’s messed up and everyone sucks’?” He turns his baseball cap backward, bobbing his head as if ready to launch into a nu-metal anthem.
“Great, Hoseok. Quote Limp Bizkit. That’s really going to help.” I cut him off before he can get into full swing.
“Dude, you’re in a mood. What happened?” His eyes reflect genuine concern as he rummages through the fridge.
“Nothing,” I insist, rising to retrieve my Tupperware.
“Bullshit. I’ve known you for four years. This isn’t just a failed PCR kind of mood.” He crosses his arms, blocking my path.
Part of me wants to spill my guts, but the words feel lodged in my throat. Still, they tumble out. “If I tell you, can you at least try to be mature about it?”
“Mature is my middle name,” he grins, but I can’t help but scowl.
“Fine. It’s Y/N.”
“I knew it! I fucking knew it!”
I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of his excitement pressing down on me. “What happened?” he whispers, leaning in, all ears.
“She’s... I don’t know.”
“Come on, man. I’m serious.”
“Yeah, she’s out with Jungkook.”
“Jungkook?” Hoseok’s voice rises as if he’s just spotted a raccoon in the hall.
“Jesus, Hoseok!” I hiss. “Keep it down!”
“Sorry.” His whisper is tinged with amusement. “Jungkook fucking Jeon?”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling over. “And she’s my undergrad.”
“Puh-lease. Who cares?”
“I’m at least five years older than her,” I retort.
“The younger, the better.” He waggles his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this way too much.
“Disgusting.”
“Stop brooding, dude. Jeon’s got nothing on you. Go get your girl. She’s fine, and she was always checking you out at the gym—like I told you a thousand times.”
Y/N checking me out? No way. Hoseok’s just being delusional. I shake my head, dismissing his words. This fixation has to end. She’s just my undergrad. That’s all she’ll ever be—at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Happy Hour. The name is ironic, a pathetic excuse for mingling—if you can even call it that. It never lasts an hour, and “happy” is a stretch, but hey, there’s free beer, so here I am. Alone in the corner, I down red cups like they might wash away the grime of the day. By the time Hoseok and Serena finally stroll in, I’ve polished off four.
“You’re here before us. That’s weird,” Serena quips as they approach.
“Thanks for the observation, Captain Obvious.”
“What’s his problem?” Serena glares at Hoseok, arms crossed.
“He’s in a mood,” Hoseok replies, handing me another red cup that I chug.
“Why?” Her tone is whiny, as if I owe her an explanation.
“Lady problems,” Hoseok shoots back before I can stop him.
“Yoongi has lady problems?” Serena sounds incredulous, as if she’s just discovered a new planet.
“I’m standing right here!” My voice is louder than I intended, laced with irritation.
“So you like a girl, Yoongi. Not the end of the world. I mean, this self-imposed celibacy was bound to end someday. I just wish I knew who she is.” She twists the conversation back to herself, as always.
“It’s not just a girl. It’s his undergrad,” Hoseok interjects, unable to contain his enthusiasm.
“You old perv!” Serena playfully smacks my chest, and I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks.
“I’m going to get fired,” I murmur, tipping my cup back for the last drops of liquid courage.
“No, you won’t, drama queen.” She dismisses me with a wave, annoyance radiating off her.
“It happens all the time! PIs hit on post-docs, post-docs on grad students, grads on undergrads. What world do you live in?”
“It’s like a jungle,” Hoseok chuckles.
“Shut up, Hoseok,” Serena snaps. “Good news is, now that there’s this girl, you can stop with the emo bitterness. It’s getting old.”
“Fuck you, Serena.”
“Hey, hey now,” Hoseok says, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go get another round.”
When we return, my anger toward Serena simmers just beneath the surface, but I’m too tipsy to think straight. “For your information, Serena, this girl has a name. Her name is Becca. No, wait... it’s Y/N! Dammit!” My palm meets my forehead in a facepalm of pure embarrassment.
“Wow. She must be something special, Yoongi. You don’t even know her name.”
“Baby, stop. He’s drunk, and he’s having a shitty day.”
“Why?”
“Y/N is out with Jungkook,” Hoseok explains.
“Jeon?” Serena’s expression shifts to one of shock, and they dive into speculation, completely oblivious to my presence.
I shut them out, groaning into my cup as I gulp it down. It’s true. I know it. Jungkook is with Y/N tonight, probably taking her to dinner and drinks, sharing laughs while I’m stuck here. My mind spirals into a dark abyss—what if he kisses her? What if she invites him in? God, I’m sick just thinking about it.
Of all the undergrads in this department, Jungkook Jeon had to go after mine. I hope Y/N gets drunk and spills her drink all over him.
Worst. Hangover. Ever.
Well, maybe not the worst, but it’s definitely up there. My head pounds like a jackhammer, and my stomach feels like a chaotic whirlpool of regret as I stumble into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, a fleeting relief, but all I can think about is how tempting sleep sounds right now. But I have things to do in the lab. Don’t I always?
The apartment is a total disaster zone—a messy tribute to last night’s antics. Red cups are scattered across the coffee table like the remnants of a forgotten battle, and chip crumbs litter the floor like confetti from a party that had long overstayed its welcome. Hoseok and Serena wouldn’t leave me alone last night, terrified I’d do something reckless, so we ended up bringing Happy Hour back to my place. I was just the third wheel, watching them get lost in their own world of laughter and flirting. By the time I woke up on the couch, blanketed by a pile of crumpled chips, they were long gone.
I shuffle into the library, desperate for my usual caffeine fix on the way to the lab, but my stomach is rebelling. Still, I know I’ll need that coffee to survive the day.
Inside, the library feels like a claustrophobic hive of undergrads buzzing around like over-caffeinated bees. It’s overwhelming.
What a nightmare!
I hurry to the coffee line, pouring sugar into my mug like it’s a lifeline. Just as I catch my breath, I spot her—Y/N—sitting at a table surrounded by a fortress of books. Her hair falls like a curtain, hiding her face from view. I can’t help myself; I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.
“Hello, Y/N,” I say, sliding into the chair across from her.
She looks up, surprise flickering across her features, and for a moment, my heart races.
“Oh, so I’m back to being Y/N?” There’s no hint of humor in her voice, only seriousness, and it feels like a punch to the gut.
What’s going on? Where’s the smile that usually lights up her face?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light as I settle in.
“What are you doing here?” she replies, her gaze cool and collected.
“Y/N, please go easy on me today. I’m not feeling great,” I admit, running a hand down my face, feeling every ache from the night before.
“Oh... what’s wrong?” Her stoic facade starts to crumble, replaced by genuine concern, and it warms me a bit.
“Too much beer,” I confess, and the word makes my stomach churn at the memory of my poor choices.
“I see... does that explain this?” She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me.
Grumpy: Becca, you’ve just revealed yourself to have absolutely no taste.
“Who the hell is Grumpy, and why does he call you Becca?” I blurt out, anger bubbling up before I can stop it.
Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re the only Grumpy I know.”
“Are you saying I sent you that text?”
“Yes,” she says, sighing as her eyes drift away like leaves in the wind.
I pull my phone from my pocket, my heart sinking as I check my sent texts.
Well, great…
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could take back last night’s mistakes.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean either. No taste in what? Music? Food? Men?”
“Men?” I let out a dry laugh. “Jungkook is not a man. He’s a tool.”
“So this is about Jungkook?” she says, gesturing to her phone.
“Yes.” My brain feels sluggish, like I’m moving through molasses.
“Why do you care?”
“I’m uncomfortable with you dating my classmate,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to appear nonchalant.
“He’s not your classmate, and we’re not dating.”
“We both started our PhDs at the same time in the same program. That makes him my classmate… Wait… you’re not dating?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We went out for coffee, talked, he asked me out again, and I kindly declined. I’m focused on my studies right now, Yoongi, and I really don’t have room for anything more.”
“Oh…” Relief floods through me, even as my hangover rages on. I might even be smiling.
“Yes, oh indeed. Which brings me back to why you’re sitting here distracting me from my study session.”
“What are you studying?” I ask softly, a smile creeping onto my face, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jungkook.
“I have an organic chemistry exam on Monday.”
“Oh, I see…” I hesitate, but the temptation of spending time with her outweighs my growing pile of work in the lab. “Well, it might just be your lucky day, Y/L/N, because I happen to be an expert in all things organic chemistry.”
“You are?” Her lips curl into a small grin, and I feel a surge of relief wash over me. She’s back.
“I am…” I smile at her. “So, do you want some help?”
“I could use some help.”
Help… yeah… that’s what I’m here for… help.
For the next two hours, I guide Y/N through her organic reaction problem sets, all while ignoring my cooling coffee. She’s a quick study, soaking up the information, and I’m confident she’ll ace her test on Monday.
I keep my hands clasped between my knees—except when I need to draw reactions for her—wanting to hide how my fingers twitch every time she brushes her hair behind her ear.
Y/N is focused on her notebook, but the third time I yawn, she looks up at me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Tell me about it… On average, I get about four hours a night.”
“Four hours? If I don’t get at least six, I get grumpy.”
“Grumpier than this?” she says, waving a hand at me, a smile teasing at her lips.
“This,” I gesture to my chest, “this is the five-hours-of-sleep me.” I stretch, feeling my muscles pull, and I notice her eyes trace down my torso before I quickly pull my shirt down.
Was Y/N checking me out?
“Anyway…” I scramble for a distraction. “It’s healthy to sleep eight hours. I’m all about being healthy.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re an old man.”
“Hey… I’m only twenty-five!”
She laughs, and before I can ask how old she is, her gaze shifts behind me, and I can sense her tension.
“Shit…” she whispers.
“What?”
“Remember that guy I told you about, Jonah Rodgers, the stalker?” Her voice drops to a near whisper, laced with panic.
I wrack my brain, trying to recall. Y/N had a stalker? She looks at me, and it’s clear she knows I’m lost.
“Just play along, please,” she whispers, scooting her chair closer to me. Her hand brushes my knee, and I’m startled by the tentative touch.
A vague memory flickers in my mind—her acting strange around me one day, but it’s obscured by the haze of regret and longing.
Y/N’s gaze is intense, making it hard to focus on anything else. She smiles shyly, then looks down before peeking at me through her thick lashes.
God, what is she doing to me?
I know she’s faking it, pretending for someone else—but I can’t help how my body reacts, how hyper-aware I am of her presence. My hand moves to her cheek, my thumb tracing her soft skin. She blushes, biting her lip, and it sends a jolt through me, a deep ache to pull her closer—bring her lips to mine.
Her hand slides from my knee, brushing my thigh, and I can feel a warmth stirring inside me.
This isn’t real… it can’t be.
She’s still staring at me, and I’m lost in her gaze, wondering what she’s thinking, if she feels it too.
But then, all too soon, her attention darts behind me again.
“He’s gone,” she breathes, relief washing over her. Her hand rubs my thigh one last time before she withdraws. “Thank you.”
I know I should let go, but I can’t. My hand remains on her face, my thumb tracing her cheek while my fingers tangle in the nape of her neck. Her expression shifts, confusion knitting her brow. She reaches for my hand, her fingers enveloping my wrist—her thumb brushing the top of my hand, once, twice—and then she smiles.
But she’s not looking at me seductively anymore. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t let go. And honestly? Neither do I.
I drop my hand from her face and stand abruptly.
“I better get to the lab,” I say, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “Good luck on your test.” Her eyes linger on me, confusion clouding her expression as I turn to leave.
I guess the show is over…
I spent the rest of the weekend in the lab, mostly because I had nothing better to do. It felt easier to throw myself into my work than to face the nagging thoughts of Y/N swirling around in my head. Pining after her felt wrong—she was just a kid, my intern, and whatever was brewing inside me needed to stop. I had to keep my distance.
When Y/N walked in on Tuesday, she looked a bit worn out. I wanted to ask her about the test, but I bit my tongue, forcing myself to act indifferent.
As the day wound down, she asked for my help, and I followed her into the dark room. She needed to cut different bands from an agarose gel to purify the DNA. Even though she knew how to use the UV light box, I guided her through the excising process.
Once inside the dimly lit room, Y/N flipped on the UV box and switched off the lights. I stood behind her, watching as her shaky hand hovered nervously over the gel, clutching the blade.
"I think it’s safe to say that not going to medical school was the right choice for you," I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. "With those shaky hands, I wouldn't want you holding a scalpel near me."
"I had too much coffee today," she shot back, her tone sharp but playful.
"Right," I snorted, a grin breaking free.
"Shut up. You're making me nervous." I could almost hear her smile through her words.
"Here," I said, inching closer. I covered her hand with mine, steadying her fingers over the blade. "Relax," I suggested, hoping it would ease both our nerves.
Her proximity felt electric, as if the air around us vibrated with tension. The scent of her hair—fresh and unplaceable—danced under my nose, making my heart race. Y/N's hand trembled beneath mine as she turned to glance up at me. In the faint blue glow of the UV light, her features looked even more striking.
"This is making it worse," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
I felt her warm breath against my neck, and everything inside me screamed that we were too close. I should step back. I needed to step back. But God, I wanted to kiss her. Nothing else mattered in that moment.
Her bewildered expression shifted as her eyes drifted from my gaze to my lips. My heart thundered in my chest as I watched her tongue trace the edge of her bottom lip before she began to nibble on it nervously.
Then, without thinking, I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers.
I inhaled deeply through my nose, intoxicated by her sweet scent as my mouth enveloped her bottom lip. Y/N whimpered softly against me, turning her body to face mine. My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.
What was I doing?
I felt lost, unsure of how to proceed or how to stop. Reluctantly, I released her neck and gripped the bench for support, struggling against the rising tide of desire. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and pull her onto the counter, to lose myself in her warmth.
No, stop! This is wrong!
I broke the kiss, panting heavily. "Y/N…" I gasped. "Shit, I'm so sorry." I stepped back, needing space. She was breathing hard too. "I-I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have… Shit." My hands raked through my hair, searching for words that eluded me.
Then, with a single determined step, Y/N closed the distance. She grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down to her level. Her lips collided with mine once more, and I felt her inhale sharply.
I was too tall, or she was too short; either way, I hunched over her as her legs wrapped around my hips, lifting her onto the countertop beside the UV box.
Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging in a way that made me groan into her mouth, while my own hands hovered uncertainly over her body, torn between desire and restraint.
Loud, insistent knocking on the door shattered the moment.
Y/N gasped, and her legs slipped from my sides.
"I need to look at a gel, Yoongi. What’s taking so long?" Jimin's voice rang out.
Jimin… shit…
I groaned against Y/N's shoulder, gripping her thighs to steady myself. Her fingers remained tangled in my hair, and I felt dangerously close to losing it.
"We're cutting a gel, Jimin," I called out, taking a reluctant step away from Y/N. "Give me a fucking break," I muttered under my breath.
I heard Jimin huff through the door, and Y/N’s voice came low and tense. "What do we do?"
I didn't know about her, but I needed to get out of there. I was uncomfortable and desperately needed to regain control. I moved to the UV box, which was still glowing. Y/N jumped down from the bench as I grabbed the blade, cutting around the bands on the gel. I found it ironic that my hands were now shaking, yet I managed to do a decent job.
Once finished, I shut off the UV light and flicked the room lights back on. Y/N jumped a little, and though I was sure she was staring at me, I couldn’t meet her gaze—I wouldn’t.
I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. "Take each piece of gel and put it in a single epi tube," I instructed, forcing myself to focus on anything but her. "You can follow the rest of the protocol at the bench."
"Yoongi," she whispered, urgency lacing her voice.
"I’ll be back in a bit," I said, my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t risk a glance at her, fearing that a single look would draw me back in. I opened the door and stormed out, nearly colliding with Jimin, who stood there with his arms crossed.
What the hell just happened?
A few moments later, I was outside the building. Rain hammered down, but I didn’t care. I wished I smoked, drank, or had any vice to help me calm down. I tried deep breaths to steady myself, but the rain only added to the chaos swirling inside me. I made it to the tree line behind the parking lot, leaning against a trunk with one hand while the other pressed against my chest, where my heart threatened to pound its way out. I was panting, sweating, and completely unraveling.
What the hell had I been thinking?
Well, clearly, I hadn’t been thinking at all.
God, I could still taste her on my lips.
I swallowed hard.
Y/N had the sweetest lips I’d ever kissed.
I was doomed.
This could ruin everything. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by Y/N like this. I had lost all control, and I didn’t know what would have happened if Jimin hadn’t knocked. Or worse, what if Y/N had opened the door without knocking? Thank God the light was off, and the “IN USE” sign was outside.
No one could know about this, especially not Jimin—he was Jin’s puppy! If Jin ever found out…
God, this was all so messed up!
I had to make it clear to Y/N—this had to stay between us. We had to pretend it never happened.
It would never happen again.
I could never have my lips on hers again—just the thought of it made my chest ache.
I had known kissing her would be good. She had the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen. They didn’t disappoint. Her kiss exceeded any expectation I had dared to dream. How could I endure not kissing her again, knowing how sweet she tasted?
If I thought it was torture to be around her before, now it was going to be hell.
And she had kissed me back. She had. It wasn’t just me. She wanted this too. Didn’t she know it was wrong? I needed to talk to her, to explain that this couldn’t happen again. We had to keep things professional, to work together without awkwardness. We had to manage that. I needed to manage that.
I wouldn’t look at her lips, or her smile, if that’s what it took. Maybe I could lie and say we needed to wear mouth masks for the rest of the project…
With a groan, I stepped away from the tree. I fisted my hair, realizing I was getting drenched, and walked back into the building. I shook my head to rid myself of some of the water, but I was still soaked when I climbed the stairs.
When I entered the lab, Y/N pretended not to see me, but I knew better. Her posture shifted, her back straightened, and the foot she had been tapping on the floor stilled.
I noticed Jimin was in the lab, standing at his bench across from Y/N, staring at her. It became clear to me that Y/N was putting on a show for him.
I sighed, feeling a little relief wash over me.
Y/N wouldn’t tell anyone—at least that much was clear.
But I still needed to talk to her. What happened was wrong and completely inappropriate. I couldn’t let her get the wrong idea.
I buried myself in my computer for a while, pretending to work by aimlessly scrolling and clicking, but my attention was entirely on Y/N. She seemed to move through the purification protocol without a hitch. What was going through her head?
Y/N strolled into the lab on Thursday, her smile cutting through the sterile, fluorescent gloom like a ray of sunlight. I gave her a nod—polite, detached—but that didn’t stop my heart from racing at the flicker of warmth in her gaze. As I turned back to my work, she let out a sigh that lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at Jimin's empty bench, and the reminder of his absence hung like a storm cloud between us.
"Okay," she began, hands planted defiantly on her hips. "Should we talk about this?"
I forced myself to meet her gaze, focusing on those deep, captivating eyes while battling the temptation to let my gaze wander to her lips, which seemed to whisper promises that drove me mad with longing.
"There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N."
"Well, are you going to go back to being mean to me?"
"I was never mean to you."
Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and heat crept into my cheeks as I remembered all the stunts I’d pulled—the pranks that had hurt her, the lab coat I’d ruined...
"I won't be mean to you again," I muttered, letting out a heavy sigh and looking at the floor.
"Yoongi..." Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and it tugged at my heart.
When I met her gaze again, it was a mistake—her lip caught between her teeth was a distraction I didn’t need. My hands clenched into fists, seeking refuge in my pockets as her eyes searched mine, wary but hopeful, like a deer caught in the headlights.
"It won't be awkward, all right? I promise."
That smile of hers struck me like a bolt of lightning, forcing a groan deep within my chest. I could see the words dancing on her lips, ready to spill out, but they vanished like smoke when Jimin walked back into the lab. Taking advantage of the reprieve, I buried myself in my work, fighting to act normal.
But normalcy felt like a distant memory whenever Y/N was near. She moved through the lab with quiet grace, while I stood like a rock in a river of uncertainty, drowning in my thoughts.
As the day wore on and shadows lengthened, I noticed her gathering her things. Instinct kicked in—I pretended to be engrossed in my computer, watching her shuffle and fidget until she finally took a step toward me.
"Hey, Yoongi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes?" I turned to face her, masking the turmoil inside.
"Um, I was wondering... I know I’m just an undergrad here, and there’s really no room for me to... I-I mean, I know it’s really not my place to ask, but..." Her words faltered, and the crimson blush creeping up her cheeks sent my heart racing.
"Y/N, would you get on with it? I don’t have all day." My frustration boiled over, the energy it took to be normal around her fraying my patience.
Her frown was instant, a storm brewing in those beautiful eyes.
Shit, that was uncalled for...
"Never mind…" she sighed, disappointment echoing in the air.
"Wait." I took a breath, willing myself to soften. "I’m sorry. Please, Y/N, tell me."
She sighed again, a deep, resigned breath. "I know there’s that recruitment party this Saturday. It’s for prospective students to meet the current students in the department. And I know, I’m just the undergrad, but I think it would be great if I could meet them. You know? Hopefully, in a year, I’ll be going through recruitment myself." Her fingers twisted anxiously in front of her, a sight that both amused and strained my patience.
"Is there a question you wanted to ask?" I barked, the irritation bubbling to the surface.
"Yes…" she snapped back, indignation rising. "My question is: do you mind if I’m there?" She crossed her arms, defiance written all over her.
Why would I care if she came? I hadn’t even planned on attending that stupid party. But suddenly, the thought twisted in my gut, a knot tightening as a realization hit me.
I shot up from my chair, startling her. "Who told you about the party?"
Her eyes dropped, a sigh escaping her lips, and just like that, the truth hit me like a freight train. I fucking knew it.
"You’re going with Jungkook, aren’t you?" I took a step closer, looming over her.
"No, I’m not going with Jungkook." Her voice was steady, but her gaze flickered to meet mine. "But I’m going."
"Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then."
"Okay," she said with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile that graced her lips made my stomach twist. She turned to leave, and I felt something unravel within me—my hands instinctively reached out, fingers curling into frustrated fists. I didn’t know if I wanted to strangle her or pull her into a desperate embrace. All I knew was that I was left staring helplessly as she walked away.
I didn’t need her to say it; I knew Jungkook was behind this. She might not be going with him, but the thought of him lurking at that party made my blood boil. For the first time in a long while, I felt the gnawing sensation of jealousy eat away at my insides.
Fucking Jungkook Jeon.
I couldn’t believe I was even considering this.
Why did it matter if Y/N went to the recruitment party? It shouldn’t. Yet here I was, battling an angry tide rising in my chest, all because of that idiot Jungkook. If she were going with someone more acceptable—someone who didn’t make my skin crawl—I’d be okay with it. I should be okay with it. The rational part of my brain knew that, but the irritation overshadowed everything else.
What did she even see in Jungkook? The guy barely scraped by on his Qual after taking it twice and hadn’t published a single paper. He was working with fruit flies for crying out loud! And his personality? A brick wall. I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t like him. I couldn’t stand him.
I had to go to this party.
At lunch, against my better judgment, I decided to bring it up with Hoseok.
"Hey, where’s the recruitment party this year?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I stabbed my fork into the mac and cheese.
"You’re going to the recruitment party?" Hoseok dropped his fork, suspicion etched across his face like a roadmap to his thoughts.
"Yes," I groaned, already regretting bringing it up. Of course, he’d make a fuss.
"To our department’s recruitment party?" He pressed a finger to his chest as if I’d committed a heinous crime.
"Why is that so hard to believe?" I shrugged, pushing the macaroni around in my bowl.
"Let me think… maybe because I’ve organized every single one since I got here, and you’ve never attended."
"Will you just answer my question?" I snapped, frustration boiling over.
"It’s at the South Campus Center, bro." Even though he finally answered, his gaze lingered, scrutinizing me like I was a specimen under his microscope.
"Great, thanks." I tried to keep my tone light, rolling my eyes at his obvious scrutiny.
"I can’t believe you’re going." A knowing smile danced at the corners of his lips, and I loathed it.
I pretended not to care, shrugging off the comment as he took a seat next to me.
"If only I had known all it would take was an undergrad to get through you."
"This has nothing to do with Y/N," I spat, defensiveness creeping in, my irritation sharpening with each word. Her name was Y/N, not ‘the undergrad.’
"Right, so it’s just a coincidence… this is just the year you happen to decide to attend this thing."
"Yes."
"Is she going?" His eyebrow arched, mischief glinting in his eyes.
I groaned and turned away, pretending to be absorbed in my food.
"Dude, I can see it. How she’s affected you. It’s kind of obvious. You can talk to me, you know? It might help."
The breath I took was deep and shaky, every nerve ending igniting with frustration. But before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out. "She drives me crazy, Hoseok. I can’t stand it. I lose all control when I’m around her. I kissed her… I kissed her, and she said she doesn’t want to jeopardize her work in the lab. And it makes sense for her to think that. But the worst part is now I can’t stop seeing her everywhere. She’s in the lab, at the gym, at the freaking library where I get my coffee—she’s everywhere! I need to go back to not seeing her, because I can’t handle this." I stared down at my lunch, the food suddenly unappetizing, a lifeless pile of carbs.
"So you don’t want to see her?" Hoseok asked, surprisingly calm, like he was dissecting a specimen on his lab bench.
"Exactly."
"You don’t want to kiss her again?" He pushed, an amused grin creeping across his face.
"I don’t know what I want!" I barked, irritation flaring.
"Sounds to me like you want to go to the party, see her, and kiss her again. The question is, how are you going to deal with Jungkook?"
My shoulders tightened at the mention of his name, a cold shiver running down my spine. "I don’t care about him."
"I don’t know, man. It’s weird. The vibes are strange. You’re talking about her with a lot of… emotion."
"Emotion?" I snapped, but deep down, I felt the truth behind his words. I was at the mercy of my own feelings, a trembling wreck in the face of Y/N’s smile. I hated it. I wanted to turn it off. I couldn’t afford to feel anything.
"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into my chair, wishing to be swallowed by it.
"You’re going to have to confront those feelings eventually, Yoongi."
I grunted in response, refusing to admit he was right. I didn’t want to think about Y/N, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with Jungkook. All I wanted was to escape this mess, but deep down, I knew I was already trapped.
© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.
#bts#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts fic#bts x reader#bts x y/n#bts x you#bts x fem!reader#bts yoongi#min yoongi#yoongi smut#yoongi x y/n#yoongi x you#yoongi x reader#bts smut#bts college au#yoongi#kim namjoon#park jimin#kim seokjin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#jung hoseok#bts angst#bts fluff#enemies to lovers#coworkers to lovers#college au#bts scenarios#yoongi fluff
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Reset, Chapter Seven
A/N: again, temporary shitty formatting, will go back and fix tonight. Let me know how you feel about this because I feel like it's just... idk edited bad? A little disjointed? IDK. Would also love some feedback on how everyone is doing with the mega-chapters- hate it, love it?
Series Masterlist
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Max should be relaxed. This- the sun, the open water, the lazy sway of the yacht beneath him- is everything he loves. Everything he worked for. Everything that’s supposed to make all the bullshit worth it.
He shifts slightly, just enough to lie flat on his back- the cushion molding to his body, designed for peak comfort, peak relaxation, peak fuck you money. He should be enjoying it. He wants to be enjoying it. The sky above is a ridiculous shade of blue, the kind that looks fake in pictures, and the only sound should be the occasional splash of water against the hull, the low hum of the engines idling beneath deck.
But he’s not.
He props himself up on one elbow, pushing his sunglasses down his nose just enough to squint across the deck. Jos’s iPad is blaring through its shitty little speakers, cutting through the peace with the sharp, mechanical sound of an engine at full tilt. Max doesn’t even need to look to know what it is.
It’s her.
Not her, exactly. But the sound of her voice, the revs of her engine, the way Jos keeps narrating her fucking onboard like he’s a commentator watching a championship-defining lap.
Jos is sitting there, completely transfixed, eyes narrowed in that way he gets when he’s properly impressed by something. The onboard from her rally. Her first ever rally in a Verstappen.com car, and Jos has it cranked up loud enough that Max can hear every gear change, every throttle feather, every sharp inhale through her radio.
It’s all he’s been doing. LeChriste this, LeChriste that. Her sector times. Her throttle application. Her ability to adapt to a completely different style of driving with barely any prep. Ever since she showed up at Spa, since she pulled off that miracle debut and then landed herself under Jos’s roof for the summer break, her name has been coming up over and over and over again. In conversation. In analysis. In comparisons Max never fucking asked for.
Jos talks about her like she’s the best fucking thing since power steering, and it’s starting to drive Max insane. It’s the way Jos sounds when he talks about her. There’s something there- pride, approval, something that Max has spent years chasing and has only ever gotten in fractions. And now, here it is, spilling out unchecked over a girl who’s been in their orbit for all of five minutes.
Max is used to his dad talking about other drivers. Criticizing them, usually. Or, occasionally, begrudgingly admitting when someone’s done something particularly impressive. But this? This is different. Jos isn’t just impressed. He’s... invested. Like she's is some kind of prodigy he’s just discovered, like Max is supposed to be taking notes instead of relaxing on his own damn vacation.
He shifts, trying to sink deeper into the lounger, trying to let the sun soak into him and drown out the sound, but the juxtaposition is all wrong- too much heat in his chest, too much irritation curling under his skin. It’s not that Max disagrees. She’s good. More than good. He’s seen enough himself to know she’s sharp, instinctive, ruthless in her precision.
That’s not the point. The point is that Jos won’t fucking shut up about her.
Max should be used to this- his father latching onto some new project, some new fixation, talking in circles about potential and raw talent, about work ethic and hunger and how rare it is to find someone who really, really wants it.
But this feels different. Because it’s not just the praise. It’s the contrast.
Max knows exactly what’s happening, even if Jos doesn’t spell it out. The way he talks about her in front of Max isn’t just admiration. It’s a fucking shift. Like something is being reallocated, rerouted, redirected- approval, attention, investment. Things that Max has spent his whole life starving for, things he’s fought for, bled for, won for. Things that Jos only ever doles out in precise, measured increments.
But the words keep reaching him, carried over by the lazy sea breeze. The way she commits to the throttle, no hesitation- real control, real talent- instinctive, like she just knows where the grip is going to be before the car even tells her-
It’s stupid. It’s fucking stupid. It doesn’t even have logic behind it. He’s not losing anything. He’s Max fucking Verstappen- he’s fine. He’s better than fine. He’s winning.
She’s some rookie. Some no-name wildcard they threw into the deep end and who, yeah, sure, did fine for herself, but- so what? Plenty of drivers have had a good debut race. Plenty of drivers have shown potential.
But Jos is talking like she’s something special. Like she’s something rare, something worth nurturing, something that deserves his attention, investment, time. Not from RedBull, or an Indy Team, or from the rally crew- Jos’s attention. And that- that- is the part that sits wrong.
Because Max has spent his entire life scraping for every ounce of attention, every inch of approval, every goddamn breadcrumb of acknowledgment. It has never been handed to him freely. Not once. Not even when he was seventeen, when he was doing things no one else his age had even attempted, when he was proving himself on a stage far bigger than any kid had any right to be on. Even then, even after all of it, there was always more to do, always more to prove, always the expectation that he was still falling short of what he should be.
And yet.
Jos is sitting there on the other side of the deck, speaking about some girl- some newcomer- with the kind of casual admiration Max has spent his whole life bleeding for. And maybe it’s not rational, maybe it’s not even fair, but it doesn’t fucking sit right with him.
“Listen to this,” Jos calls, rewinding a section of the video. “The way she handles the weight transfer through this hairpin- smooth as hell. And her time- decimated the women’s class,” Jos continues, and Max already knows where this is going, “would have put her top twenty overall. Against world-level men. And that’s with four years away from rally.”
“Fantastic,” Max mutters, not even hiding the sarcasm. “Maybe you should adopt her.”
Jos rewinds again.
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The water is punishment.
It’s not leisure, not relaxation, not some luxurious indulgence in the middle of a summer break that barely feels real. It’s a means to an end- an outlet, a discipline, a place to put all the restless energy that would otherwise consume you.
You cut through the pool like a blade, pushing your body until your muscles scream for relief, until your lungs burn with the effort. The water resists you, but you don’t yield. You push harder, kicking off the wall, flipping into another lap, willing yourself to stay in motion because the alternative is stillness, and stillness means thinking.
And thinking is starting to become dangerous.
The first thing that strikes you about Jos’s estate is the silence. Not just the absence of noise, but the kind of cultivated, deliberate quiet that feels designed to make you self-conscious for existing too loudly. Every footstep you take on the polished floors seems to ripple outward, like you’re disturbing the air itself.
It’s sleek. Minimalistic to the point of sterility. Expansive windows, impossibly clean surfaces, not a single item out of place. It’s the kind of house you’d see in a luxury design magazine, all angles and expensive materials and perfectly curated furniture. But there’s nothing comfortable about it. You can’t imagine curling up on one of the pristine sofas with a bag of chips or leaving a coffee mug on the counter without feeling like you’ve committed some kind of crime.
This is not a house built for a family with small children.
It’s the opposite of home.
At home, on the ranch, there’s always something happening. Music playing somewhere- an old country station drifting out of the kitchen radio, or your dad gently playing his upright during the winter. Blankets draped over the couch, dog hair on the floor, the faint smell of dinner lingering long after the meal’s been eaten. Someone is always yelling, or laughing, or arguing over something stupid and irrelevant. The coffee table has rings from too many iced teas set down without coasters, and the fridge is covered in drawings, wedding invitations, and passive-aggressive notes about who used the last of the milk and put the carton back.
This house has none of that.
It feels like a showroom. Not a home anyone actually lives in.
Jos is rarely seen, though you’re not sure if that’s because the house is too big and you refuse to go wandering around like some nosy guest- or if he’s genuinely not here much. You don’t ask. You just make yourself small, sticking to the one guest room you were given, keeping your things neatly confined to one side of it like you’re afraid spreading out might get you evicted.
His wife, Sandy, and their two little kids- kids you’ve only heard about in passing- are ghosts. You don’t see them, don’t hear them. There’s no trace of them in the halls, no toys underfoot, no fingerprints on the windows. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Jos lived alone.
It leaves you disoriented, this strange purgatory you’ve landed in. You’re a guest- but a guest with a job to do. You’re part of this family’s life- but not really. You’re in the house- but you don’t feel like you belong in it.
It makes you ache for the mess of home. For your mom yelling at your brother from the front porch. For the cluttered kitchen table where you could dump your boots and your bag without anyone batting an eye. For the knowledge that even if you fucked up, even if you crashed the truck or broke a fence or left the horse water on for two-goddamn-days, there would still be a place for you at the table at dinner.
Here, you’re not sure if you’re even allowed to breathe too hard. So you breathe quietly. You stay out of the way. You do your job. And in the absence of all that noise - the team, the travel, the sheer adrenaline of the race - you were left with nothing but this house.
This too-perfect, too-big, too-clean house. It’s the opposite of home, and after the first week, you stop trying to make yourself fit. You withdraw, pulling yourself inward until you’re nothing but a tightly wound knot of need and fear and simmering grief.
This doesn’t feel like a fever dream anymore.
It feels real. And it feels lonely.
So you do what you always do when the world feels too big and you feel too small - you work harder.
You trained like you’re trying to outrun the silence. Long runs through the private trails that snake around the property, your feet pounding against the dirt until you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. Weight circuits in the sterile home gym, counting reps like prayers. You threw yourself into the sim like it’s a lifeline, lap after lap after lap until you couldn’t feel your hands, until your back locked up from the seat.
And the media room? The one with the absurdly large television and the fancy built-in sound system no one uses? You commandeered it. It took you nearly a week to strike up the nerve to use a piece of tape on the concrete wall, but when nobody notices, well, game on.
It had become your war room - screens glowing with onboard footage, data sheets pinned to the walls by the dozens, your notebook spread open across the coffee table like a sacred text. You track every lap, every sector time, every weather pattern that might affect a future race.
You studied Max, Pierre, Yuki, Checo - everyone who’s touched a Red Bull or AlphaTauri in the last five years, because that’s the data you have best access to. Used every publicly available resource to reverse engineer the drives of the rest of the grid- likes, dislikes, the way they behave when you breathe down their neck. You built profiles like dossiers, not because anyone asked you to, but because it’s the only way you know how to cope.
You can’t afford to let this house, this silence, this emptiness swallow you whole.
Because if you stop - even for a second - you’re afraid you’ll have to actually feel everything you’ve lost.
Beyond the trianing, the studying, the past two weeks had passed in a blur so muted it’s hard to call them memories. It’s like you’re sleepwalking through someone else’s life - inhabiting a body that isn’t quite yours, in a house that definitely isn’t yours, orbiting a family you only ever catch glimpses of. You know, logically, that you must have interacted with Jos when he was home, with Sandy and the kids when they drifted into your periphery, but none of it sticks. The details smear like rain on a windshield.
Your mom calls often- her voice cutting through the heavy quiet of your room, a lifeline back to something real. You let her talk, let her fill the space with questions you don’t always have the answers to, let her remind you that there’s a world outside of this strange, sterile limbo you’ve trapped yourself in.
You practice interviews, run through talking points until they blur together, until you can recite them without thinking, until you don’t have to feel anything when you say them. You give a few real ones, too- stiff and overly rehearsed in front of your laptop camera, forcing your mouth to stretch into smiles that never quite reach your eyes.
And then there’s Illinois. The friends you left behind when you peeled out of Dale Coyne’s garage for the last time. The life you abandoned so abruptly it still doesn’t feel entirely real. They packed it up for you- your entire existence reduced to eight large boxes, shipped off to the ranch like you had died and left them to sort through the remains.
You have no intention of going back. No reason to.
Illinois had been fine. But you hadn’t particularly liked it. It had been convenient, that was all- an unfortunate necessity dictated by a contract. And now? Now, you’re not a Dale Coyne driver anymore. You’re not a driver at all, technically.
That version of you- the one who compromised and shrunk and swallowed her pride to make it work- is dead. But there’s nothing triumphant about it. No blaze of glory. No catharsis.
Just a slow, unceremonious burial.
The water muffles everything - sound, thought, even time. You’ve long since lost count of how many laps you’ve done, working on pure autopilot, pulling yourself through each length of the pool like it might save you. Your muscles burn, lungs tight, but you love that. You need that.
You flip at the wall, streamline into another lap, and when your face breaks the surface, you suck in a breath and-
Jesus fucking Christ.
Jos Verstappen is standing at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, looming like a goddamn specter in his own backyard.
Your body reacts before your brain does- shoulders jerking, legs kicking out a little harder than necessary. You swallow a yelp, nearly inhaling water instead, and spend the next few seconds choking as you tread in place, blinking up at him in disbelief. How does a man that large move that quietly? Why does he move that quietly? Had he been standing there the whole time? Just watching?
You wipe water from your face, forcing yourself to settle, but it’s not just that he scared you- it’s that look. That impossible-to-read, mildly disapproving, permanently unimpressed look he always seems to wear, like he’s perpetually finding the world just slightly inadequate. You haven’t seen him in days- long enough to start assuming that was just how things worked in this house, long enough to get used to his absence. And now, out of nowhere, this.
God, Dutch people are so unsettling.
You grew up in America, where small talk is a sport; raced in the South, where politeness is practically a religion. In Texas, even the people who hate you smile when they pass by- hell, especially the people who hate you. Here? Not so much. Jos looks at you like you’re a project car someone left rusting in his driveway. Like you might have potential, but you’ll probably just disappoint him. And he’s saving himself the trouble of getting attached.
You open your mouth, trying to decide between hello and Jesus Christ, a little warning next time, but Jos speaks first. “Dinner.” His voice is flat as concrete. “Six o’clock. Family table. Be there.” There’s no question in his tone, no invitation. It’s a command. A summoning.
And just like that, he turns and walks off, disappearing back into the house without another word, leaving you blinking chlorinated water out of your eyes. That’s it? No explanation? No further details? No casual Hey, we eat together sometimes, thought you might want to join?
Just an edict, dropped at the edge of the pool like a brick through a windshield. Your arms ache as you tread water, your mind racing faster than your pulse. After three weeks of being ignored, of feeling like an unwelcome ghost in this house, you’re suddenly being called to the table like a member of the family. Except you know- you know- you’re not.
This isn’t hospitality. This isn’t warmth.
This is something else.
You pull yourself out of the pool, water rolling off your skin, and stand there for a moment, toes curling against the tile, wondering what the hell you’ve just been invited to. You mull it over as you towel off and slip back to your room- quietly, always quietly- for a shower.
You stand in the vast, spotless bathroom, steam curling out of the shower as it warms, towel clutched in one hand. You stare at your reflection like the answers might be written somewhere in the fogged-up mirror. Family dinner. What the hell does that even mean here? In this house, where silence feels like the default setting, where everything from the marble floors to the air itself feels staged, deliberate, untouchable.
Family dinner back home meant something entirely different- melamine plates around the kitchen peninsula, your brother in a dirty t-shirt, your mom threatening to stab someone with a fork if they tried to eat before grace. Laughter that got too loud, bickering that somehow always circled back to love. It meant elbows on the table and phones face-down. It meant warmth, mess, familiarity.
Here? Family dinner feels like an ambush.
You mull over what to wear as you rinse the chlorine out. Something that seems put together without trying too hard, probably. First order of business when you had got here was your several loads of laundry- Nomex in its own load, casual clothes in another, your scant selection of blouses and a single set of trousers in another. None of it really seems right.
You mom, bless her, had packed up a box for you the moment she had found out you were staying. It showed up on the doorstep of the Verstappen house this morning. There’s got to be something in there.
You peel the tape on the lid back to reveal neatly folded stacks of fabric- soft cotton, well-worn denim, a few crisp button-ups that still faintly smell like the laund- wait. Wait wait wait. The second you spot the familiar, glorious, eye-searing purple bag peeking out from the pile of clothes your mom sent, all rational thought evaporates.
Taki’s. Holy fucking shit.
You barely get the towel cinched around yourself before you’re tearing into the package, fingers already itching with the promise of neon-red dust and salt and heat. You’d known your mother would come through for you- she always does- but this? This is divine intervention. This is a goddamn oasis of flavor in the middle of this bland, minimalist, Dutch penitentiary.
You grab a handful, practically shoving the rolled chips into your mouth, and the moment that neon-red dust hits your tongue, it’s transcendent.
The first crunch is loud in the silence of your guest room, shattering against your teeth, setting every taste bud on fire in the best way possible. The tang of artificial lime burns the sides of your tongue, the heat from the chili powder kicks in a second later, and you actually moan. Like, audibly. The kind of sound that should only ever be made in response to something significantly more R-rated than processed corn snacks.
You don’t care.
You don’t care that you’re curled up on the edge of your too-pristine, too-expensive guest bed, fingers already stained nuclear red, demolishing this bag like a woman starved. Because you are. You’re starved for home, for anything remotely familiar, for something that doesn’t feel polished and muted and cold.
Dutch food, you’ve discovered, is the culinary equivalent of being scolded. Plain. Disciplined. A diet that seems fundamentally opposed to the concept of joy. It’s all soft cheeses and boiled potatoes and bread so dense it could be classified as a weapon. Even their seasonings are hesitant, cautious little dashes of salt that taste more like a vague suggestion than an actual decision. You’d decided about day three that you’d prefer to stick to your own brand of flavorless- endless chicken and rice, meal prepped in bulk, because while it might not be interesting, it at least hasn’t been boiled within an inch of it’s life.
But this?
This is your Guy-Fieri-style homecoming to Flavortown.
You groan, sagging against the headboard, shoving another chip into your mouth before you’ve even fully swallowed the last one. The heat builds in layers, stacking onto your tongue, your throat, the back of your sinuses. You revel in it, licking the neon dust from your fingertips, already reaching for more.
You should slow down, pace yourself- but fuck that. Fuck everything. You’ve been so good- so fucking composed, so perfectly polite and professional, walking around this house like a ghost, keeping your head down, keeping your mouth shut, keeping yourself from going fucking insane in this brutalistic hellscape of a home. You have earned this. This one indulgence.
And it is indulgent. Almost obscene, the way you’re devouring them, heat prickling across your lips, your fingers a crime scene of red dust. You think, absurdly, that if you were ever going to have a food orgasm, this would be it.
Your stomach clenches from the sheer force of spice, from the ruthless combination of acid and heat- but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. You fold the bag over, shaking it so the broken chips and extra seasoning settle at the bottom, then tip it back, letting it all spill onto your tongue in a final, sadistic burst of glory.
By the time you’re done, your lips are tingling, your tongue practically vibrating, and your face feels a little hot- but for the first time in weeks, you feel alive.
You suck every last whisper of flavor from your fingers before you start thumbing through the rest of the box. A little, nagging part of you holds out hope you might find another bag but- no such luck.
Your mom had known to keep it light, to keep it easy. A few casual pieces, things you can throw on without thinking, things that might make you feel a little less like a stranger in your own life. Your fingers skim over the top layer, brushing against the sharp pleats of something unexpected. You pause, grip tightening as you lift it from the pile, neat folds of tightly-woven wool unfolding in your hands.
The suit.
You hadn’t asked her to send it. You hadn’t even thought about it.
But of course she had.
The fabric is smooth beneath your fingertips, structured but comfortable, tailored perfectly to your body- a suit that means business, that means you belong in the room, that means they will take you seriously whether they want to or not.
If she sent this, that means…
You set the jacket and pants aside carefully, even years later still painfully aware of exactly how much they cost, and dig to the bottom of the box. There- about halfway down, your fingers scrape hard plastic, and you dump the box out over the bed entirely. It clatters out- bulky, beat up and scuffed- just how you remember. Your hat case. It might be faded and scuffed from getting tossed into the belly of planes, traines, and rental cars- but what’s inside is in perfect condition.
“You don’t have to do this.”
Your fingers trail over the brim, the felt impossibly smooth beneath your touch, softer than anything you have any business owning. It’s flawless- pure beaver felt, crisp, perfect. A 40X cowboy hat. The kind of hat that turns heads when you walk into a room, the kind that means something in places where handshakes and deals are made under wide brims and a big sky. The shop smells like leather and cedar, rich and warm, and the weight of your parents’ presence beside you is both steadying and unbearable.
Your dad doesn’t answer immediately. He just nods toward the mirror. “Try it on.”
You hesitate, then do as you’re told, settling the hat onto your head. It fits like it was made for you, which- well, it will be. The hatmaker is watching, assessing, already planning whatever adjustments will be needed to make it perfect.
“It’s too much,” you say quietly.
"Doll," she says, voice quiet but firm, the way it always is when she’s already decided how this is going to go. "All good business in Texas happens under a 40X."
"I’m not gonna be in Texas," you argue, running your thumb over the ribbon on another hat, something cheaper, less significant. You don’t even know why you’re fighting it, not really. Maybe because it feels too nice, too permanent, too much like something you don’t deserve.
Your mom’s mouth presses into a thin line. She’s always been the picture of effortless presence, of someone who belongs anywhere she chooses to be. You’ve spent your whole life studying that about her, trying to learn how to command a room without raising your voice, how to make people want to listen, to follow. But right now, there’s something else in her expression. Something heavy. Something sad.
You know why she’s sad. She won’t say it outright, but you know. Texas isn’t just some place they picked at whim to start your junior career. It not even the closest major junior circuit to home. It didn’t matter that it was almost ten hours more of driving than the California circuit would have been.
Because, to her, it’s not just a stepping stone, the way it was for you. It’s roots. Her roots. It’s where she grew up, where she met your dad, where some of her family still is. Even if Washington is home, Texas is still something. Still a piece of her.
This is the place where she always knew someone would be watching out for you, where she could trust that even if she wasn’t there, someone else would be.
And what good did that do?
What did any of it fucking do, when it mattered most?
"Then you’ll just have to take Texas with you," she says.
Your dad finally shifts beside you, rolling his shoulders like the weight of the last few months has settled in there permanently, but he doesn’t say much. He never does in times like these. Still- he’s there, beside you, quiet and steady as ever. He lifts one off the rack, gives it a little test bend between his hands, then sets it on your head with the kind of gentleness that makes your throat tight.
"How’s that feel?" he asks.
It feels like too much. Like more than you deserve.
"You should spend the money on something else."
Your mom tsks. "Something else isn’t going to sit square on your head and remind people exactly where you come from."
You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat.
"It’s too much," you try again, softer this time. "You should save it. For- "
"For what?" your father cuts in, leveling you with one of those quiet, steady looks that makes you feel six again, standing in front of him with skinned knees and hands too small to hold all the things you wanted. "This is yours." His voice is steady, but there’s something else beneath it, something he doesn’t quite say. You deserve this. You deserve nice things. You deserve to be proud of what you’ve done.
You shake your head, staring at the hat, willing yourself not to feel too much. This isn’t a happy time. There are things none of you talk about, things that sit heavy in the spaces between words. But you know what this is. Because it’s not just a hat, not just a purchase- it’s them telling you that you belong to something bigger than whatever is waiting for you in Florida. That no matter how far you go, you are still theirs.
You exhale, staring at both pieces, feeling something tighten in your chest. You know exactly what this means. It’s not a sentimental gesture. It’s not just in case. It’s a statement. If you’re going to be here- if you’re going to play in this world- you better be prepared to play for real.
Your mom knows you. She knows how this business works. And she sure as hell isn’t about to let you stand around looking lost while decisions get made around you. She’s going to wrap you in armour made of crisp beaver felt and sharp wool suits and remind you that you get to make some decisions your goddamn self. You swallow, smoothing a hand over the fabric, a quiet, careful movement.
Alright. You don’t know what’s coming next, when this meeting in your future might be, the lions that you’ll need to tame in your full regalia. But whenever it is?
You’ll be ready.
Not yet. Not tonight. You try to redirect your thoughts, away from happy-sad memories and expensive suits and towards your more immediately daunting task. Ah, yes. Family dinner.
You settle on something softer, something that might pass for vaguely European- wide-leg linen trousers and a matching button-up tank top in a muted, earthy color. It feels appropriate, even if you have no actual reference point for what appropriate means in this house.
You twist your hair up at the nape of your neck, leaving it loose enough to not look too polished. A little mascara, a swipe of something on your lips so you don’t look like a corpse. That’s it.
You step back from the mirror, assessing yourself like you’re about to walk into an interview you didn’t apply for. It’s not perfect. But it’s presentable. Polished enough to look like you respect the invitation- casual enough to look like you didn’t overthink it. Even though you absolutely did.
You press your hands down the front of your trousers, exhaling slow. Okay.
The moment you step into the dining room, you know something is off.
The table is set like it’s expecting a guest of honor- fresh stems in the vase, linen napkins folded with crisp, deliberate precision, silverware arranged just so. It’s formal in a way that dinner in this house never is, and for a brief, unsettling moment, you think maybe you missed something. A birthday? An anniversary? Some obscure European holiday?
And then you see him.
Max.
He’s at the far end of the table, leaning back in his chair with the kind of casual slouch that reads more like defensive position than comfort, his phone loose in his grip, thumb idly scrolling. He doesn’t acknowledge you, doesn’t even look up, but the set of his shoulders, the hard angle of his jaw, tells you everything you need to know.
He doesn’t want to be here. Neither do you.
And Kelly? Nowhere to be seen. The kids aren’t here, either. Just Sandy, calm and composed as ever, and Jos, who looks entirely too pleased with himself.
You keep your expression schooled, slipping into the perfect, polite mask your mother taught you to wear in rooms full of powerful men. You step into the role without thinking, automatically plating your own meal- prepped, measured, balanced to the gram, like every other meal you eat during race weeks. You don’t like imposing, and you’ve already learned the hard way that Dutch food is, for lack of a better term, shit.
As you sprinkle a pinch of salt over your chicken and vegetables, you glance toward Sandy. “No Kelly tonight?”
Jos answers before she can. “Running late.” Like it doesn’t matter.
His tone is dismissive, but you catch the flicker of something in Max’s eyes. He doesn’t look up from his phone, but you see the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers tighten for just a fraction of a second before relaxing again. You’d bet good money Kelly isn’t running late- she’s just avoiding this like the plague.
Honestly? Relatable.
You settle into your seat, hands folded in your lap, offering just the right amount of a smile. Engaged, but not eager. Interested, but not overstepping. You ask the correct questions, offer the appropriate remarks, thank Sandy for the offer of food even though you don’t take any. You play the part like it’s second nature- because it is.
Jos, though. Jos talks too much. Jos, as it turns out, is feeling chatty.
About you. About Max. About racing and talent and potential and everything you’ve done right so far. It should be flattering. It’s not. It’s suffocating. You try to smile through it, but it’s hard when you’re being held up like some kind of prize for the whole table to examine. Jos goes on and on about your performance, your raw talent, your ability to adapt- he talks like you’re not sitting right there, like you’re a highlight reel instead of a person, something for the entire table to marvel over.
You’re smiling. You don’t know what else to do. It feels wrong, like this is too much, like Jos has never been this nice to you to your face, and you don’t trust it. Not for a second. But you smile anyway, because what the fuck else are you supposed to do?
Sandy, to her credit, seems fine. Not warm, not particularly invested, but not unfriendly either. Just… fine. She asks how you’re adjusting to Europe, to the house, to the endless rain. You get the sense that she’s made her peace with being wallpaper here- present, pleasant, largely ignored.
“She’s meticulous,” he says, gesturing vaguely at you, like presenting a fine piece of craftsmanship. “I’ve never seen a rookie so prepared. Do you know she’s been working on a file for every driver on the grid? Just like the one she showed you on the plane. Every. Single. One.”
You nearly choke on your water, but swallow it down, keeping your expression neutral. Jos doesn’t notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Across the table, Max says nothing, his silence heavy. He doesn’t need to speak. His father is already speaking for him, about him, like he’s not even in the room. If you had to guess, this isn’t the first time Jos has dragged him into one of these elaborate setups under the guise of a family meal.
And then, just when you think it can’t get worse, Jos starts trying to engage him.
“You two actually have a lot in common,” he says, effortlessly sliding the words into the conversation. His voice is casual, like he’s just making an observation, but there’s an edge of purpose to it, a calculation you don’t quite clock. “Same aggressive approach to racing, same work ethic, same hunger.”
Sandy, ever the perfectly unobtrusive presence, offers a quiet smile. She at least looks mildly aware of how unbearable this conversation is. Not warm, not particularly invested, but not oblivious either. Just… present. A quiet observer, offering nothing more than the occasional nod, the occasional polite smile. A sip of wine. She’s not just used to being wallpaper, you think. She’s used to this. Used to letting Jos speak and letting it pass without protest.
Max still doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hmm.”
Jos doesn’t take the hint. “That’s what makes great drivers, you know,” he continues, cutting into his steak. “Not just talent. But the drive to be ruthless. To push harder than anyone else. Max understands that. And so do you.” He points his knife at you as he says it, like he’s bestowing some kind of great truth upon you.
You nod, polite. “Thank you.”
“Not many have that,” he says, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “Not even half the grid. Plenty of drivers are fast. But they don’t all want it enough.”
Max’s fork clinks against his plate, the first sound he’s made in minutes. “Uh-huh.”
Jos either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking between the two of you like he’s waiting for something to click. “You two should talk more. You could learn from each other.”
You blink. You are talking. You’ve been sitting at the same table, enduring the same conversation, existing in the same fucking space. But that’s not what he means. You can hear it in his tone. He’s pushing something, steering toward some invisible objective.
You try not to let your discomfort show. You are so good at this- at smiling when you don’t mean it, at playing along, at making yourself palatable in the rooms that matter.
But this? This is suffocating.
And then Kelly walks in.
For a brief, fleeting second, you almost feel relieved.
She’s tall, poised, effortlessly elegant in the way only someone born into privilege can be. Long, dark hair cascades in sleek waves over her shoulders, makeup flawless, her outfit effortlessly polished. She’s the kind of woman who always looks put together, always moves with quiet certainty, always seems to have the upper hand in whatever room she steps into.
And maybe that’s why your first instinct is to think- finally.
Finally, some kind of reprieve from whatever the hell this dinner has been. Finally, a presence that might shift the balance, dilute the weight of Jos’s unwavering focus on you, lessen the unbearable pressure that’s been stretching across the table like a noose.
Because Kelly has been nice. Talking to Kelly is nice.
But no.
No, it gets worse.
The tension in the room doesn’t ease- it sharpens, condenses into something even heavier, something thick and stifling that settles deep in your ribs. You don’t fully understand it, don’t know what’s shifting, what’s crackling in the air, but you feel it. Like stepping into a conversation that started long before you arrived, like missing the first half of an argument and knowing you’ll never quite catch up.
“Seriously?” Kelly’s voice is sharp, slicing through the air, cutting Jos off mid-sentence. “You didn’t even wait for me?”
Jos barely looks up from his plate. “You were late.”
Kelly lets out a short, incredulous laugh, one hand bracing against her hip. “And that’s my fault?” You don’t know the full story. You don’t know any of the story. But you know this isn’t just about dinner.
You glance at Max, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just sits there, head bowed over his plate, fingers toying idly with his fork. Impossibly, he looks even more miserable than before. He looks more like a scolded child than a world champion.
And Kelly- Kelly is pissed. Not in the way people get when they’re mildly annoyed, but in the way that suggests there’s a much bigger fight happening under the surface, something unspoken and unresolved and bigger than you can begin to understand. You shift slightly in your chair, adjusting your napkin just for something to do, something to keep your hands busy, because fuck, the air in here is unbearable.
Jos is still eating like nothing is wrong. Kelly is still standing like everything is.
All evening, Max hadn’t been engaged in the conversation at all, his head mostly bent over his plate, phone occasionally appearing under the table when he thought Jos wasn’t looking. Fine by you, honestly. If you thought you could get away with it, you’d rather be doom-scrolling than timing your stretches of eye-contact with Jos. But now, caught between his father, his girlfriend, and the girl his dad would not shut the fuck up about, Max had seemed to reach his limit.
With a sharp scrape of his chair against the floor, he stands. "I’m finished.”
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Series Masterlist
#f1#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#f1 x reader#formula one#f1 fanfic#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen x you#mv1 fic#mv1 x reader#mv33 fic#mv1#mv33#mv33 x reader
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Ok I have more headcannons for the ✨hatchetverse✨
Number 1:
All the men in the Lipshitz/Mathews/Goldstein family have a middle name that’s a derivative of Jon. Paul, Gary, and Jerry have jon, John, and Jonn respectively, Trevor has Jonah and Richie Jonathan, and other men in the family tree also have one of those middle names, something similar, or the same with different spelling.
Headcannon B:
Some of Lauren’s characters are cousins. Specifically Emma, Ruth, and Brooke, their mothers are sisters, hence the surname differences. This little tidbit is relevant to another headcannon coming up.
Part III:
Richie introduced Paul to anime. Paul was babysitting and Richie put on sailor moon, now Paul likes anime, specifically magical girl anime. Because it was his first, his favourite is sailor moon, and he’s a crystal truther (like me) and has seen the original anime but dislikes all the filler that wasn’t in the manga that crystal excludes to cut to the chase of the plot. And the precious little simp sees him and Emma as Mamorou and Usagi, Endymion and Serenity, Tuxedo Mask and Sailor Moon, he thinks he is her fate destined saviour (he is) and simps for her in the same lame way as the dumping in the show.
4rd:
None of the nerdy prudes can drive. Ruth can’t safely drive because her headgear is considered a distraction, Richie is an ambulatory mobility aid user and legally can’t drive, Peter can’t drive because his eyesight is so bad in one eye that he’s legally blind and also legally can’t drive, Grace’s parents don’t let their little girl drive and she doesn’t want to go against her parents, Steph can’t drive because she lost her licence for reckless driving (she gets exited a bit too easy on the road)
(Edit/update: I should have probably mentioned that Pete’s situation is being based off of the road laws of Victoria, Australia, where from my knowledge if you have poor vision in one eye and are legally blind in the other you can’t drive, so I might be wrong when it comes to American road rules)
Fifth:
There was a comic convention “incident”. Ruth and Richie wanted to set up Paul and Emma, because the little nerds are friends and they wanted to set up their uncle and cousin respectively because they were seeing ✨signs✨ that their loved ones had a crush on each other. There was a comic convention in Clivesdale or some other close town to the island and Ruth and Richie wanted to go and found it as a way to set them up. Ruth asked if her favourite adult cousin could chaperone her to the convention, and hey there might be some stoners to test product. Richie told Paul there would be sailor moon and also he can’t drive and come on uncle Paul you get me the most. Ruth and Richie withheld the information for each other’s attendance to their respective adults and “coincidentally” found each other at the con, and Paul and Emma were befuddled and smitten, and now the 4 of them go to at least 1 con a year for the sake of family and saving gas money (and so Paul and Emma can flirt)
Ok sorry if this is long these have been brewing for a while. (This took me 40 minutes to type)
#starkid hatchetfield#the guy who didn't like musicals#hatchetfeild#hatchetfield#nerdy prudes must die#pete spankoffski#richie lipschitz#richard lipschitz#paul matthews#gary goldstein#boy jerry#trevor lipschitz#ruth fleming#emma perkins#paulkins#grace chasity#grace chastity#steph lauter#stephanie lauter#peter spankoffski#team starkid#teamstarkid#black friday starkid#nightmare time 2#nightmare time#jon matteson#starkid headcanon#hatchetfield headcanon#hatchetverse#lauren lopez
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on my mind
josh dun x fem reader
you wanted my heart but i just liked your tattoos poured it down, so i poured it down with you
and now i don’t understand why i got you on my mind?
warnings: smut, porn with a plot, smoking (weed), slight drinking, language, oral (fem receiving), face riding, penetration, josh is very much a giver in this, unprotected sex (be safe y’all don’t do that), slight praise kink, fluffy ending, proofread very lightly
WC: 7,000+
a/n: i wrote this very casually since i’m putting my energy into my main series right now, but i got this idea so i wanted to write it :) excuse any grammar or spelling errors it’s not proofread perfectly! this is the first smut i’ve written in a long time so just keep that in mind lol :p also i was young during this era of tumblr so excuse me if i get any terminology or vibes wrong lmao
summary: it’s 2014 and you’re tumblr famous. after he recently joined the platform, josh dun of twenty one pilots follows you. you aren’t quite sure who he is at first, with only slight knowledge about the band. but as you get to chat and know each other more he invites you to a show and to get a drink after, but it’s never just a drink is it?
i sit at my desk on call with my friend sam, the fairy lights strung across the wall and the glow of the computer screen being the only sources of light. i scroll through my tumblr as we chat, scrolling through some notifications and replying to a few notes.
i had somewhat of a reputation of the platform, some even referring to me as tumblr famous. i was well known on the more grunge side of things, posting aesthetic photography of record stores, ciggerates with edgy lryics on them, you get the gist. but i also occasionally posted pictures of myself, mostly to show off cute outfits or new hair colors, but i was pretty insecure about posting myself. the reason i had been on the phone with sam was actually because she had spurred me on to post a slightly suggestive picture of myself and i needed mental support. it was of me in a small tank, a black skater skirt with black matching thigh highs and chokers adorned on my neck as i lay on my side in my bed. in it my face rested against my hand, my thumb resting against my parted lips. i had edited an array of emoji around me that matched the color tones of the photo in a satisfying way.
the post had done numbers, but now i unfortunately had to deal with the anxiety of being this widely perceived.
“ughh why did i post it.” i groan, burying my face in my hands.
“dude stop you look so hot!” sam defends the photo. “people are loving it, you have no reason to worry.” she soothes me.
sam was somewhat of a life coach when it came to my insecurities and about posting myself like this. she often was the only reason i posted pictures i had been planning to keep to myself, she was my number one hype man and i was beyond grateful to have her in my life. i just didn’t fully appreciate that aspect of her right in the moment of clarity after a post starts getting attention.
i scroll through my notifications, not fully paying attention until i saw i had gotten a new follower a few days ago. that itself wasn’t an abnormal occurrence, i just felt strangely drawn to the profile. i scroll down and see this person had liked multiple of my posts before following, and had just liked my recent one. i glance at the username, it reading stillstreet. i click on the profile and look at the users profile picture. huh, he was kind of cute… he didn’t have his name on his blog though, just an x files reference. that’s nerdy, i like it. he had a lot of followers, maybe he was famous for something?
i skim through his posts and reblogs, he seemed sweet and had a sense of humor that reminded me of my own. when i looked further i saw pictures posted of him at the drums playing shows. so he was an artist?
“hey sam, do you know a blog called stillstreet?” i ask curiously.
“uh yeah durr, that’s josh dun!” she says, as if it was an obvious fact.
“who?”
“OH MY GOD i’ve talked about him before!” she complains.
“sam you talk about a minimum of 50 dudes you think are hot a day, i lose track sometimes.” i defend myself and she goes silent.
“ok i honestly can’t argue with that but he’s from twenty one pilots! don’t you know them?”
oh yeah, i knew some of their songs. i heard car radio on playing on the alt rock station often and had a few of their songs liked. people on tumblr also posted about them quite a bit, i just never paid attention enough to know the people behind the band.
“oh that’s who he is?” i ask, shocked. “he just followed me.” i say in confusion, squinting as i went through more of his posts.
“ok haha very funny, i see what you were trying to do now.” sam says unamused, as if she just uncovered some prank i was pulling on her,
“i’m not lying!”
“prove it!” sam says and i turn my camera to my laptop, going to my notfications and scrolling down the one stating that he had followed me.
“OH MY GOD!” sam shouts and i cover my ears, my volume was set all the way up due to her voice being quiet before, as i didn’t expect her to be yelling at any point.
“sam my ears!”
“you have to do something about this oh my god.” she says in disbelief, ignoring my complaint.
“what do you mean ‘do something’, all he did was follow me!” i say with a laugh.
“you don’t know that, you never check your messages!” she argues. that was true, i typically tried to avoid it, as they tended to be a cesspool sometimes.
“ok fine, if it makes you happy.” i say with a roll of my eyes, clicking to message him, expecting to prove sam wrong. to my disbelief, she was right. he did message me. i go silent.
“oh my god… he messaged me.”
“WHAT DID HE SAY?” she shouts again.
“oh my god im turning my volume down now.” i say and then focus to read the message.
stillstreet:hey! sorry to randomly message you like this, i just wanted to say i like your posts a lot, idk if that’s weird or not…
i read the message back to sam, slightly giggling at his obvious anxiety in the message, it was sweet.
“you need to respond back like now.”
“and say what!”
“say oh my gosh thanks! can we fuck?” sam says in an extremely girly voice that sounded nothing like my own.
“SAM stop!”
“i’m sorry he’s hot i would so not be able to control myself.” she whines. “plus if he’s messaging you like that there’s a chance that might be his intention.” she insinuates.
“oh please! all he said was that my posts are cool…”
“yeah he’s trying to start conversation because he saw your posts and thought you were sexy!”
“ok well let me see what’s actually going on.” i say, trying to come up with a reply in my head.
do i just thank him? no the conversation could die there. i had to continue with a question.
(y/n):thank you so much, i really appreciate it. :) how’d you find me?
i ask him, trying to play it cool. i continue conversation with sam, mostly her raving to me about josh dun and twenty one pilots until he replied again.
“ok hold on, he responded.” i say, pausing our conversation to read the message to her.
stillstreet:i saw your photography when i was scrolling through some tags. i checked out your blog since i liked your style and i got to see more of you and your own personal style too and just decided i liked it. you seem like a cool girl :)
“you seem like a cool girl?!” sam repeats back dramatically. “oh i’m wet!”
“SAM oh my god calm yourself!” i scold her, despite the fact i felt myself flush at his words. “jeez you are going crazy over this man i should just send him over to you at this point.” i joke.
“no! you are the chosen one and i respect that, but if you fuck him you are required to give me every detail so i can live vicariously through you.” she says and i roll my eyes with a smile, giving up on stopping her from being vulgar. i pause, trying to think of a suitable response. “i’ll at least give you a cameo in our conversation.” i say to her playfully, starting to type my response.
“josh dun is gonna know i exist? oh my god i could die.” she says, estatic.
(y/n):thank you! <3 yeah photography used to be the only main thing on this blog, i’m a little insecure about posting myself sometimes but my friend sam has been my hype woman for me recently
i responded. maybe i was over sharing … i start to worry but josh responds quickly.
stillstreet:really? well i’m glad you have her, i’m happy to be able to see you. not to be too straightforward but you’re really pretty. i’m really surprised you’re insecure about posting.
my stomach swirls as i read the message in my head.
“(y/n)! what did he say?” sam says, pulling me out of my head. i read the message back to her in disbelief.
“oh my god.” she says, covering her hand with her mouth. (y/n) he wants you…”
i feel my heart beat speed up. this cute band member liked me? i decide to be chill about it, but also let him know i was interested.
(y/n):why thank you, i have to say you aren’t too bad looking yourself ;)
i immediately close my laptop in fear of what he would respond with, maybe that was too bold. “sam distract me!” i say, anxiously fidgeting with my hands.
“ok! let me send you more pictures of your man so you can see what you’re working with.” she says and sends me a bunch of picture’s over imessage. i open the notification, scrolling through them.
“woah, holy shit…” i say, admiring josh’s messy hair, his prominent arm muscle’s and abs, his sweat slicked skin and hair during shows, a mask he would wear that he still looked oddly sexy in, and especially his tattoos. the way the beautiful patchwork spotted across his skin lied just right on his toned arm.
“i know!” sam says, affirming his attractiveness. “his hair’s pink right now it’s soo cute.”
i reopen my laptop to see that josh had responded to me again.
stillstreet: oh really? maybe we should get to know each other more then :)
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
for the rest of that night, me and josh continued conversation getting to know more about each other. we talked about everything, our childhoods, our favorite music, shows and movies. as we got to know each other more over the next few days we even got into deeper topics, such as some of the struggles we face in our personal lives. i’ve never felt so easily connected with someone before, something about him just drew me in. he just got me. i tried not to let myself not get too attached despite this fact, if it was just a hookup he was looking for i would be ok with that. he’s an attractive man and it’s not something i would end up regretting. i lie in bed, staring up at my ceiling until i get a notification. i check it and smile when i see that josh had messaged me.
stillstreet: good morning :)
(y/n):hey! what’s up?
stillstreet: i wanted to ask you something actually
my stomach swirls in anticipation. what was there to ask? was he going to ask to hookup? was he going to ask what it was we were doing? was he going to end whatever it was we had going on?
(y/n):of course, shoot.
stillstreet: well i know that you had mentioned that you live in LA, me and tyler are on tour right now and we’re playing there in a few days. i was wondering if you maybe wanted to come to the show? only if you want to of course
(y/n):yes! i’d love that. not to push my luck but can my friend sam maybe come along? she’ll leave us alone i promise lmao
stillstreet: of course! and don’t even worry about it, i’d love to meet her too. i’ll talk to my crew and get you both backstage passes so you can watch the show comfortably.
(y/n):why thank you sir, i feel like royalty
stillstreet: to me you are!
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
of course when i told sam about the news she was beside herself.
“(y/n) have i told you how much i love you?” sam asks, sitting at the vanity in my room to do her makeup for the show.
“yes frequently and ironically enough it’s been ever since i told you about the tickets!” i say jokingly, sifting through the hangers in my closet, at a loss for what to wear. shirts and tanks were thrown all across the room.
“sam what do i wear?” i groan and she looks over at me.
“aren’t you literally like internet famous for always knowing that?” she asks playfully and i roll my eyes.
“now i wouldn’t say that…”
“you’re too humble for the fact that we’re literally getting ready to go backstage for a twenty one pilots show because the josh dun wants to fuck you.”
“stop saying he wants to fuck me!”
“i’ll stop once you prove me wrong!” she says and goes back to her makeup. “but if i were you i would be bragging my ass off about this.”
i smile and shake my head. “yes i know you would. you’re very predictable in that sense. ok now help me! what do people usually wear to their shows?”
“uhh i don’t know i’ve actually never been to one, but their aesthetic has a lot of blue and red because of their latest album and they also wear skeleton hoodies and ski masks often if that gives you any inspiration.”
“wait… yeah that actually helps a lot.” i say after i get an idea, going to the drawer that holds my tanks and grabbing the black mesh tank i had with skeleton bones on it. i grab a black lace bralette to wear underneath it, an oversized dark blue deinem jacket adorned with rips, and my black pleated skater skirt and thigh highs i wore in my most recent post. i sort through the jewelry on my jewelry tray and grab a blue transparent choker and a red transparent choker.
“oh that’s cute!” sam shouts after i put the outfit on.
“you really think? it’s not doing too much?”
“babe it’s doing just enough he won’t be able to keep his hands off you.” sam says and my stomach swirls at the thought.
i finish the look with a dark matte makeup look, and put my creepers on before heading out to the car with sam to leave for the show.
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
me and sam were leaning against the car outside the venue. the sky still gloomy after the aftermath of rain earlier in the day and the smell of damp asphalt was lingering in the air. i hold myself with my arms, slightly shivering.
“maybe this outfit wasn’t the best idea.” i say, hugging myself even tighter as a chilling wind blew.
“you look cute! it’s worth it.” she says, focused on fishing the little container that held the joint we planned to smoke out of her purse. we had no desire to get our buzz from 20 dollar seltzers in the venue and we were both undeniably anxious about going backstage for our own reasons. it was just a little something to take the edge off.
she takes it out of the container, lighting it as her hands slightly tremble. “are you also so incredibly nervous or is it just me?” sam asks, taking a puff and then handing it over to me.
“fuck yeah i am… i hope he likes me in person too.” i say worriedly, taking a hit and passing it back to her.
“at least you’ve already talked to josh, i’m trying to think of like a million things i could say to him and tyler but none of them sound right… i hope it’s not awkward.”
“i’m sure it’ll be fine, they’ll probably be distracted setting up for the show anyway.” i say nervously, taking another puff and sam takes out her camera.
“photo op!” she says taking a picture of me blowing out the smoke and i roll my eyes with a smile.
“thank you my little photographer.” i say playfully.
the two of us finish smoking and start walking to the side entrance that josh told me to go to. as i walk i start to feel the pleasant lightness of the joint, putting a little bit of my nervousness at ease. we were met with a tall, burly slightly intimidating looking security guard.
“hi um our names should be on the list to get it.” i say timidly.
“names?”
i give him our full names and he nods, opening the door for us, revealing two other security guards that led us to the backstage.
as we walked down the dark hall, the sounds of distant rustling and thudding come into earshot as we got closer.
“what if this is just a setup for us to be murdered?” sam asks and i elbow her. “what! this is kinda scary…” she whispers.
but the feeling of unease was lifted when the security guards open the doors for us, leading us to the backstage which was warmly let and filled with crew mates conversing and setting up for the show. amongst the crew mates scattered around were josh and tyler standing in the corner immersed in conversation. the security guards lead us to them and a wave of anxiety washes over me as the boys look up at the two of us. i make eye contact with josh and his eyes light up, him flashing me a warm smile.
“these are your girls right?” one security guard asks and josh slightly chuckles at the wording.
“yeah they are, thank you man.” josh says and the security guard walks away with a nod.
the four of us all stand together, a silence quickly interrupted by giggles, all of us aware of the awkwardness of the situation. this was clearly a new thing for them, which made me feel special in a way. it was nice to know josh wasn’t just always bringing girls backstage, he didn’t seem like the type.
“hi, im tyler nice to meet you guys.” the brunette says kindly, shaking sam and i’s hands.
“i’m (y/n).” i say with a smile and tyler chuckles.
“oh i know this dude hasn’t shut up about you.” tyler says while pointing at his friend, josh smacking his arm and then glaring. “hey i told you i was going to embarrass you man.” tyler says, putting his hands up in defense.
“it feels like my dad’s meeting my girlfriend on prom night.” josh jokes and we all giggle.
sam gets caught up in conversation with tyler about the boy’s music, perfectly toeing the line between fan girl and casual fan. she clearly put a lot of thought into how to act in this situation. josh steps closer to me as sam and tyler were immersed in their own world, leaving the two of us alone.
“i feel like i haven’t properly said hello to you yet.” he says apologetically with a chuckle, then holding his arms out for a hug and i quickly accept it, almost feeling dizzy as my hands wrap around his strong back.
“you guys have fun before this?” josh asks jokingly after he pulls away, picking up the faint scent of weed mixed with the sweet perfume on my clothes.
i laugh softly, embarrassed that this was his first impression of me. “i’m sorry i probably smell like a joint…” i say apologetically, my face hidden in my hands.
“no don’t apologize it’s not too much it smells nice- you smell nice sorry this sounds creepy.” he rushes out, the two of us laughing.
“no it’s not, it’s sweet.” i say, looking at him with a smile and fully taking in his messy pink hair, his friendly hazel eyes, his pink lips and his cute nose ring. not the mention the muscle tank he was wearing that left no room for imagination… something about those damn tattoos really just got me.
he seemed to be analyzing me the same way, his eyes momentarily flicking downwards then upwards again to meet my gaze. “wow, you’re even prettier in person.” he says in a soft disbelief.
i flush softy, my stomach doing somersaults at his words. “why thank you, i could say the same for you sir.” i say and he smiles widely.
“you’re too sweet.”
the two of us walk around the backstage area conversing as josh prepares for the show.
“do you ever get nervous before these things?” i ask, slightly glancing at him as he walks besides me.
“honestly yeah. it’s more before we go on stage thoigh, no matter how many shows i’ve played and how much bigger the venues have gotten i always get that anxious feeling in my stomach. but when i get up there and start playing it all goes away, it feels like im in a trance honestly.” he says and i smile at him admiringly, taking in his passion for his art. he glances over at me, noticing my silence.
“sorry i’m rambling…”
“no no i was just… admiring.” i admit with an embarrassed chuckle. “it’s really cool how passionate you are, it’s inspiring.” i say and he smiles.
“really?”
“really.” i say, the two of us facing each other, a silence lingering as we gazed into each others eyes. he looks down at me, shyly brining his hand up to my face and slightly running his thumb across my jaw, me leaning into the touch.
“josh we’re doing the last sound checks right now.” tyler’s sudden voice startles me out of my hypnotized state. i look over and tyler smiles apologetically, seeing that he had interrupted a moment between us.
“alright, coming!” he replies to him and looks back to me. “i’m sorry, i have to go now.” josh says sadly and reaches out his hand to mine and i take it. “are we still on for drinks after the show?” josh asks with hope.
“of course.” i say with a smile, looking down at our intertwined hands.
“i’m really glad.” he says, squeezing my hand affectionately before he lets go and walks over to meet tyler. “enjoy the show.” josh says looking back at me over his shoulder with a subtle wink.
i smile to myself as he walks away, letting out a startled yelp when i suddenly felt a pair of hands on my shoulders.
“oh my god you guys are so cute!” sam gushes, slightly shaking me.
“sam you scared the shit out of me!”
“were you guys gonna kiss? oh my god the tension was crazzyy!” she says, ignoring my comment.
“wait you were watching us?”
“uh duh i found a hiding spot and i needed to see how things were going with you two!”
“you creep!” i say and slightly shove her, her sticking her tongue out in retaliation.
“were you flirting with tyler?” i joke and she shakes her head.
“nahh he has a girlfriend i’m not that kinda girl, but i did kinda hit it off with one of the crew members.” she says and i laugh.
“damn girl you had a whole agenda for like the hour i was gone!”
“hey i had to entertain myself somehow while you and josh have been away getting all lovey dovey!”
i attempt to front annoyance but couldn’t even hide how happy i was about all of this, a smile slowly growing on my face. sam catches on and playfully nudges me.
“this is a good night huh?” she asks with a smile.
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
the show was amazing. i didn’t know what to expect from just the two of them, but the amount of energy they had completely made up for the lack of other members. the songs were beautiful and josh’s drumming was phenomenal. something about him when he was performing was so enigmatic. the way he seemed to get lost in the beat, the way his sweat slicked skin glistened under the glowing lights, the way he couldn’t help but smile when the crowd cheered his name. he would occasionally look back at me, flashing a smile when he had the chance. it made me feel a type of way i hadn’t felt before.
to say sam enjoyed the show was an understatement. the whole time she was jumping and yelling the lyrics, dancing and making me dance with her against my will. i was overjoyed by the fact that i got to give her this experience while also having my own special experience with josh. the two of us had parted ways when me and josh had left to get drinks, her also leaving with the crew member she’d been telling me about.
“hey we’re both getting lucky tonight!” she had cheered to me, which of course earned her an eye roll.
now, josh and i sat at the counter of a hip bar downtown, led signs reflecting a red shine on our faces and the sound of artic monkeys playing lightly from a jukebox in the background. i sip on a blackberry-basil martini, the sweetness mixing pleasantly with the slight burn of the alcohol.
“that show was amazing, i’ve never seen anything like that.” i say to josh, trying not to gush too much.
he smiles sheepishly, taking a small sip of his drink. “thank you, that really means a lot coming from you.” he says genuinely.
“just seeing you play up there too i don’t know your energy is just… magnetic.” i admit and he tilts his head in interest, his eyes locking with mine as he leans forward slightly.
“how so?” he asks teasingly, his pearly teeth slightly revealed as he chuckles softly.
“i don’t knowww.” i drag out, embarrassed and letting out a slight laugh, hoping he’d just drop the topic.
“aw come on don’t get all shy on me.” he says, playfully nudging my arm.
“you’re just.. the way you get so lost in the drums.. it’s like you’re on another planet. and the way you glow under the lights it’s like you’re an angel or something.” i say with a slight giggle, him softly laughing too. “yeah… i don’t know it’s just something about.. sorry never mind this it weird of me.” i stop myself, embarrassed
“what?” he asks playfully. “c’mon you can say it.” he says, his light demeanor spurring me on to continue.
“the way you play with such relish, the way you tilt your head back and take everything in i…” i start trailing off, slightly flushing as i felt his intent gaze on me. “i’m trying to find an artsy way to say this but i can’t. it’s just really fucking hot.” i admit, the slight buzz from this drink and my previous one giving me a boost of confidence.
i watch a slight smirk form on his pink lips as he looks at me, me tilting my head away in embarrassment.
“really?” he asks softly
“really.” i admit, meeting his gaze, my face still flushed.
he chuckles, bringing a hand to my cheek briefly to stroke the warm skin streaked with a soft pink. “you’re really cute you know that?” he asks and i shake my head in response.
“no, really.” he says, matching my previous response, his pupils slightly dilating as we hold the eye contact.
my whole body starts to feel warm, and all the sudden the need to jump his bones started to feel irresistible.
“hey… you don’t have to say yes i completely understand if you’re not comfortable with this but.. me and tyler are staying at a hotel nearby and i have a room alone tonight. would you maybe wanna… spend the night?” he asks gently, seeming the have the exact same thoughts running through his mind as i did.
“yes, that sounds great…” i reply, quickly catching onto what he was insinuating.
after he pays the tab the two of us walk to the hotel hand in hand, his thumb stroking my hand lightly as the sounds of the city droned on in the background. we walk in silence, not an uncomfortable silence, but one that held an air of anticipation.
after we had walked into the lobby, the pace of our walk had slightly picked up, almost speed walking as we went down the hall leading to his room. he lets go of my hand to swipe his key card and lets us in, quickly shutting the door behind us. almost immediately, his hands found my waist and i grabbed onto his shoulder and the back of his neck, leaning him into me so our lips touched.
he quickly reacts, matching the pace of my lips, his lips soft against my own as he ran his tongue across my bottom lip. i let my tongue softly graze across his, the warm feeling sending a deep sensation right to my core. i lean into him more as he deepens the sloppy kiss, him entangling his fingers in my hair while letting out a shaky breath through his nose. i feel myself get lost in the kiss, unaware of how much time had passed until he finally pulls away for air, a slight string of drool attached to our lips that fell when he moved his head down to my neck. he kisses down the skin, goosebumps being left in wake of his lips. i whine gently at the feeling, him softly groaning in response.
the sound made me feel lightheaded with need, and the feeling intensified when he slowly ran his tongue up my neck. i squirm, my breathing becoming more ragged when he hit the sweet spot. he sees this and leans in, pressing me against the door as he sucks on it gently, then grazing his teeth against it, the ticklish sensation intoxicating. i lean my head against the door, feeling completely out of control as he leads kisses across my neck, continuing to lick, suck and bite. he trails his large fingers up the bare skin of my thigh, the touch sending an electric shock through my body.
“can i?” he asks breathlessly, his fingers slightly grasped onto the edge of my skirt.
“y-yes. please.” i reply quickly and he moves his hand under my skirt, his fingers ghosting over where i needed him most, stroking me through the slowly dampening material of my panties. i let out shaky breaths as he teases me, continuing to kiss my neck. he finally moves his hand up to my hip, dragging down my panties past my thighs until they fell down my legs, pooling on the floor. he moves his fingers across my core spreading my wetness and i softly whine. he smiles against my neck at this, slowly entering his long fingers into me, a shaky moan falling out of my lips. he stills his fingers for a moment, moving his head back to mine, smiling as we momentarily make eye contact. he leans in to slowly make out with me again, beginning to thrust his fingers in as deep as possible. i moan into his mouth as i try to focus on matching the pace of his lips, finding it increasingly hard as his fingers moving in and out of me seemed to keep hitting all the right spots. the room was quiet besides for the sounds of our heavy breathing, my occasional moans, the sound of our lips moving together and the sound of his fingers moving in and out of my soaking arousal.
he finally withdraws his fingers, holding eye contact as he enters his fingers into his mouth, closing his eyes as he cleans them off with his tongue. “fuck.” i whisper in a slight daze as i watch him, his eyes squinting as he smiled in return.
“c’mere.” he says affectionately, grabbing my hand to lead me to the large bed, him falling back against the pillows and gently moving my body on top of his. i almost moan just from feeling how hard he was against my thigh. he entangles his fingers in my hair, leading my face down to meet his lips and we continue making out. i softly grind against his clothed thigh, needing relief for the burning need in my core. he softly chuckles into the kiss at this, then pulling away.
“do you wanna uh..” he starts, slightly sheepish. “you can sit on my face?…” he suggests and i almost whine just at his words.
“a-are you sure?”
“fuck yeah.” he says lustfully, gripping the revealed skin of my thigh from my skirt riding up. “come here.” he says, motioning me over with his two fingers as he lays himself flatter on the bed. i crawl further up, finally hovering above his face, my cheeks flushing from how vulnerable the position made me feel.
he smirks up at me before pulling me down by my thighs, his tongue immediately making contact with my core. i let out a gasp as he starts to thrust his strong tongue in, his nose rubbing deliciously against my clit. “josh..” i whine and he groans against me, the vibration going right to my center.
he laps up my wetness, moving up to suck on my clit. i moan and lean forward, tangling my fingers in his pink hair. i slightly tug at it as i feel myself getting closer to the edge, him moaning at the feeling. my hips seem to move on their own, slowly grinding against his face, chasing even more of the pleasure he was giving me. he took it well, letting me use him to get off as i pleased, sticking his long tongue deep inside me as i rode it.
the sight of his focused expression, his strong tattooed arm holding onto my thigh, his noises, the way he was devouring me like a starved man… it was all too much. “josh i-im gonna cum.” i whine breathlessly and he hums encouragingly, intensifying the movements of his tongue. when he moved his lips to suck on my clit again that’s when i lost it. “fuck!” i nearly shout, cumming so hard my vision blurred momentarily.
i grip the bedsheets roughly as josh kept up his movements, licking me clean. he pulls away and i climb back down, pausing to catch my breath. i hold onto his hips and he looks at me with a dazed smile, brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, then wipes the wetness off his face with his arm.
“wow that was..” i pant hard, looking up at the ceiling as i try to compose myself.
he giggles and leans forward to catch my lips, the taste of myself lingering on them.
“i’m glad you liked it, god that was hot you taste amazing.” he says, running a hand through his tousled hair.
i look down at him, his hair messy, his cheeks slightly flushed and droplets of sweat starting to bead on his forehead.
“god you’re so sexy it’s unreal.” i muse and he smiles bashfully.
“says you, you’re literally an angel.” he says, running a hand down my face. his eyes then drift down to my tank. he slowly moves his hands to it, moving them to grab onto the edges. “can i?” he asks and i nod. he pulls the mesh over my head, leaving me in my bralette. “god this has been driving me crazy all night.” he says, running his thumb over the lace material. i let out a sharp breath at the feeling of his finger running over my hardened nipple. “you look so beautiful in it.” he says, leaning down to press kisses across my chest and down my stomach. he gets to my skirt and i hoist my upper body up slightly so he can slide it down. “and this combo of the skirt and thigh highs… shittt.” he says with a soft laugh, kissing down the soft skin of my thighs, me biting my lip at the feeling. he playfully bites at the skin of my upper thigh and i giggle.
he rolls down the socks, then runs his hands across my smooth legs. at last, he leans forward and gently curves his hands around my back and his fingers go to the back of my bralette, fumbling momentarily before fully undoing the clips. he leans back and lets out an uneven breath, taking in my full bare figure. the way he looked at me with such desire and such curiosity made me feel vulnerable, but at the same time it made me feel undeniably sexy.
he moves both his hands up to my breasts, softly kneading and running his hands down them, circling my nipples with his thumbs. i let out a soft whine at the stimulation.
“wow… you look like a goddess.” he says, running his hands down my figure. he leans in to leave kisses down my chest, then takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking the bud gently.
“mmm fuck.” i whine at the feeling and he groans softly, moving to the other side and repeating the same motion. “josh fuck me please.” i whine, unable to take the teasing anymore.
he looks up at me, his hazel eyes darkened from how blown out his pupils had become. “you sure?” he asks and i nod vigorously.
“please.”
he bites his lip and peels his shirt off, my eyes widening as i take in the sight of his toned abs. “oh my god…” i say, my mouth slightly gaped as i run my fingers from his chest to his abs and he lets out a breathy laugh. he undoes his jeans, leaving him in his dark boxers, the tent in them being extremely prominent. i reach out my hand to softly stroke him through the material, feeling how hard he was. he groans quietly, then pulls it fully out, the tip reddened and leaking with pre cum. it was long and thick, to the point i was wondering if it would even fully fit.
“shit let me get get a condom.” he remembers, reaching over to the nightstand but i grab his arm.
“i um… i’m on birth control and i’m clean if it’s alright with you we can just…” i start sheepishly and he wastes no time crawling over me.
“hell yeah. i am too.” he says, petting my hair while looking down at me. “you ready?” he asks gently and i nod in confirmation.
he looks down in focus as he lines himself up with my entrance and slowly slides in, my eyes rolling back at the feeling of being so overwhelmingly filled up. the two of us let out shaky moans when he fully bottoms out. he holds onto my shoulders, his head drooping as he starts thrusting slow and deep.
“fuck you feel so good… so warm and.. tight.” he groans shakily, stroking my jaw. i look up at him, letting out soft moans, barely feeling on this planet from the bliss of his controlled thrusts. i let out a gasp as he hits just the right spot and he catches on, thrusting the same way over and over. i pull him down by his hair roughly and he groans, matching the pace of my lips. the kiss was sloppy, a mix of tongue and teeth as the two of us were being overtaken by pleasure.
“josh…” i whimper and he lets out a broken moan, his thrusts starting to quicken, still hitting deep inside me.
“doing so good for me… making me feel so good.” he coos, stroking my cheek and i almost cum right then and there.
“fuck.” i whine, moving my hips to match the rhythm of his thrusts. i look up at him, his cheeks tinted and beaded with sweat, his hair slick, his eyes darkened, his pink lips swelled and slightly parted as he let out quick heavy breaths.
he leans in to kiss me again and as much as i try to focus on kissing him back, the pleasure was too much. my mouth goes slack as i lean my head back again the pillow and he giggles, continuing to thrust as he leans down. “you feeling good?” he whispers in my ear, the sensation sending tingles of pleasure down my spine.
“y-yes.” i whine, painfully turned on by how he was talking to me.
“yeah?” he whispers, playfully licking the shell of my ear, then biting the lobe before he starts to thrust harder. it was a blissful state, my head thrown back, completely losing myself in the feeling, my senses being completely drowned by him. no other thought other than josh deserved a lick of acknowledgment in that moment, not when his words were so sweet and he was fucking me so good that his name was coming out of my lips like a prayer.
i whine at the loss when he pulls out suddenly, takes hold of my thighs, and brings my legs up to each side of his shoulders. he puts his arms behind my lower back, slightly hoisting me up. he readjusts himself and then enters me again, sliding all the way in. the new angle offered a sense of fullness i hadn’t ever felt before. i moan loudly, latching onto his back with my nails. he holds onto me by my upper back and hip, and starts moving me back and fourth onto his cock, almost like a toy. his head tilted back in bliss, his adam’s apple prominent as he lets out throaty groans.
“oh my god- josh.” i moan, my eyes filling with tears of pleasure, digging my nails into his back, slightly dragging them down as he thrusts quickly. he moans roughly at the sensation. “fuck i’m close.” i say, continuing to latch onto his back as his thrusts kept rocking my body up and down.
“me too.” he pants, peppering kisses across my neck. “let go, i’ve got you.” i squeeze my eyes tightly as i feel my high rapidly approaching.
“s-shit where should i cum?” he asks quickly.
“inside, i wanna feel you fill me up.” i whine and he groans loudly at my words, his fingers pressing tightly into my hip.
“fuck… (y/n).” he moans hotly in my ear as he releases inside me, his hips slightly slowing.
at the sound of him moaning my name and feeling the warmth of his cum inside me i finish too, moaning and tightly squeezing around him as he slowly thrusts through his release.
“yeah that’s it, such a good girl.” he whispers as he rubs my shoulder, my ears ringing from the intensity of it.
he stops his movements and pants heavily as he keeps himself hoisted above me, slowly pulling out. i feel some of his cum slowly starting to seep out. “fuck.” he whispers, biting his lip as he looks down at the sight.
he rolls over to lay beside me as i look up at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath in quick short gaps. he does the same, his body slick with sweat as he attempts to slow his breathing.
“wow that was… wow.” i muse, my hand resting on my forehead as i try to come back down to earth.
“yeah… i’ve never experienced anything like that holy shit.” he says, turning over to look at me with a smile. i smile back, mentally preparing myself for him asking me to leave as he slides his boxers back on. this was a really good experience, if it was just a hookup then so be it.
“do you wanna come here?” he asks, slightly shy as he extends his arms out across from me.
i nod, surprised but a smile widening on my face as i get closer to him and nuzzle my face into his warm chest. he wraps his strong arms around my lower back and looks down at me with a look of admiration.
“hey i know this is might be a weird time to ask but…. would you want to go on a proper first date with me tomorrow? you can stay tonight and we can eat in the morning and do something after? we have another day in LA…” he asks nervously.
i giggle softly, slightly thrown off. “yeah. i’d love that.” i say, leaning up to peck his lips softly. he smiles into the kiss, holding onto me as he kisses me back.
#josh dun x reader smut#josh dun x reader#there’s a serious lack of josh dun smut on here#twenty one pilots#twenty one pilots imagines#tøp josh#tøp#josh dun smut#joshua dun#twenty øne piløts#josh dun
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I Wondered If I Could Come Home (Astarion x F! pregnant reader) (Part 3)
Synopsis: A hag has set her eyes on you and Eowyn- Astarion is determined to kill the damn thing.
CW: Mentions of child loss
Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are much appreciated!!!!
Picture does not belong to me! Please reach out to me if it is yours!
P.s. lightly edited
Month 8 has been blissful and going into your last month- you actually feel stronger than you have the entire time.
You sit on a bench, reading another book about babies (you save the Dhampir books for locations with less eyes), as Astarion throws a ball with Scratch and Wide Eyes (Karlach thought her name for the Owlbear was clever) in the local park. Astarion had been fed up with their zoomie shenanigans since they began earlier this morning. You wanted to go outside anyway- so it was perfect!
Eowyn kicks every so often to let you know that she is still there and doesn’t intend on leaving anytime soon, but overall, it’s been a really easy day. It’s fun to be able to watch Astarion enjoy such mundane life activities and it makes you realize how many simple things in your life that you have taken for granted.
You smile to yourself as you continue to read your book and you finally feel hungry enough to begin munching on the pastry Astarion bought you.
It was an apple cupcake and it was surprisingly very very yummy.
“My, my,” a scratchy voice says, “aren’t you a pretty little bred thing.”
You feel the hairs on your neck stand up and you turn very slowly to look at the elderly woman who stares at you with a look of hunger in her eyes. Oh- it’s the woman Astarion bought the cupcake from. She looked… friendlier earlier?
You don’t know why you feel like you are in danger all of a sudden, but your arms go over your stomach protectively- one of them ready to fire a cantrip if needed. The energy around her feels familiar, but different- you’ve been in the presence of this type of magic before, but you can’t remember when.
“You are that pretty girl that lives in the house with the dark curtains,” she steps closer, “you come and buy those herbs with your little Cleric friend!”
Oh- maybe that’s why I recognize her more? I’ve seen her more than I’ve realized?
“You know, Droplet, I could take that little one off your hands.”
Your whole body freezes at the statement and her already wicked smile becomes even more menacing and even intimidating.
“You do look close to death as is- you don’t really want to birth a child you won’t survive having do you? Especially not a bloodthirsty Dhampir!”
You feel your heart racing, a deep sadness and fear is coursing through you.
Eowyn, my sweet girl, you are not going anywhere.
That relieves some of the uncomfortable emotions stirring within you, but this woman has you in a trance. You can’t look away from her and you don’t feel like you can move.
“I- I don’t know you,” you say shakily, “I- you need to walk away, please. I’m not interested and I don’t know what you are talking about.”
You don’t even sound convincing to yourself. You begin to feel really sleepy all of a sudden and your eyes are becoming harder to keep open. Something is wrong and as much as you want to call out to Astarion- your mouth feels heavy.
“Oh, Droplet,” the woman tuts, “it will be okay- you’ll wake up and it will all be bet-“
“What in the hells do you think you are doing?”
Whatever spell the woman had tried to put you under broke when she jumped at Astarion’s voice. You look over at the father of your child and you almost begin to sob. You have never been more grateful for how menacing Astarion can look when he wants to.
“Oh, hello!” she recovers her composure, “I know this young, adorably pregnant girl from the market. I was just offering to… adopt.”
“Oh yes,” Astarion snarls, “because Hags are known for their kind hearted souls and their selfless adoption of children.”
You feel sick to your stomach. Scratch is up on the bench and standing between you and the Hag- his hackles are raised and a long, low growl is released from his throat while Wide Eyes stands right next to you as close as he can get.
The Hag looks at you, then Astarion, then Scratch, and lastly, Wide Eyes before she returns her gaze back to yours. She gives you one last wide grin.
“I will see you later, Droplet. You should know that I always get what I want.”
You turn to Astarion who is pushing past the Owlbear- your face is in between his hands in an instant and he’s frantically searching over you- looking for signs of maltreatment..
Astarion pulls out an antidote from his pocket and makes you drink it- just in case the woman had intentionally poisoned the cupcake. It didn’t make the intense sleepiness you feel go away, but at least you know you aren’t dying.
It doesn’t matter to him though- Astarion is quick to pull you up and support you while you walk home. You can tell Astarion wants to just pick you up and run back home to Shadowheart, but you both know how crazy that might look considering normal men who have Astarion’s physique can’t carry pregnant women.
The park is only a block away, but it felt like it took hours. The world is hazy and you shift in and out of focus as Shadowheart begins to check on you.
“Wh-when did Shaodowww smart get here?”
“Will you please figure out what’s wrong already, CLERIC!?”
Astarion yells and your jumbled brain jumps- tears come falling out of your eyes.
“I-I’m sorry,” you sob, “I- I didn’t- I shouldn’t-“
“Shhhhhhhh, my Darling,” Astarion is sitting next to you in an instant as you begin to tilt over, “it’s okay- this is not your fault.”
“You….. sur…..”
Your question dies on your lips as you give into the exhaustion and fall asleep with your head on Astarion’s shoulder.
***********************
Astarion’s chest loosens when Jaheira, Minsc, Gale, and Halsin arrive. At least now he can go and kill the hag without worrying about dying in the process. He almost left after you had fallen asleep- the muffin he had bought you had in fact been laced with a sleeping potion. Astarion felt like a complete idiot, but Gale reassured him that he couldn’t have possibly known.
You are laying peacefully asleep in your bed and Astarion finds himself putting his hand against your belly to make sure Eowyn is okay- her kicks give him instant relief from the anxiety he is feeling.
He almost lost both of you and that thought is still enough to make Astarion homicidal. He will not let another evil individual take his life, his happiness- his home- ever again.
“S-star?”
Your eyes are staring at him lazily as you try to blink away the sleepiness. Astarion gently grasps your hand and brushes the stray hairs out of your face.
“I’m right here, my Love,” Astarion whispers, “I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you. I promise.”
You whimper and sniffle at Astarion’s words- your bottom lip trembling. Astarion climbs into the bed behind you and holds you to him- you burst into tears.
“I al-almost lost-“ you say through sobs, “Eow-“
“Shhhh Darling, it’s okay. She’s okay,” he soothes, “I’m going with the others to kill the Hag. Jaheira and Shadowheart are going to stay here with you- okay?”
“Don’t go,” you turn awkwardly to look at him, your face is grief stricken, “I don’t want to lose you- please don’t go.”
“Darling…”
“Please.”
Right as Astarion responds- Gale is knocking on the door.
“Would it be alright if I came in?”
“Yes,” you both say in unison.
Gale smiles at Astarion sadly after he looks at you. Astarion didn’t think about the fact that it was hard for your friends to see you in this emotional state until he moved in. Shadowheart cries after leaving the room when you’ve had a particularly scary vomiting episode or false contraction. She is terrified for you and it made him realize he had been wrong about her as well. Shadowheart is a selfless person for the right people.
“Minsc and Halsin are about ready to go, Astarion,” Gale looks between the two of you- noticing how the comment created some tension, “Tav- he will come back alive. We all will. We fought Auntie Ethel as a group of total strangers with no battle experience together and won. This will be a breeze, my Friend.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so.”
You take a deep, inhale in and with one last sniff you agree to not put up a fight about Astarion going. Astarion can’t believe that you would trust Gale’s opinion on the matter more, but he does understand the sentiment. It’s how he feels about Jaheira and Shadowheart staying behind.
He leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead and whispers promises of seeing you soon- promises he intends on keeping.
#baldurs gate 3#astarion#astarion x reader#baldurs gate astarion#bg3 spoilers#astarion x tav#astarion romance#astarion x you#bg3#karlach#astarion x f!reader#astarion baldurs gate#astarion x f! reader#astarion ancunin
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I will never forget September - November 2024 (the Agatha All Along Era 💜💚)
the edits, theories, iconic lines, everything. it's really rare for me to feel so fixated on a film, game, or book and Agatha All Along really made me feel happy for once especially when I had a hard time in school, it was just my #1 comfort show and i'm hoping that this fixation and excitement over it will remain as long as possible because season 2 might take a few years. Jac Schaeffer (sorry if I spelled her name wrong) is a really amazing producer and the cast for this show is just so beautiful
#agatha all along#agathario#agatha harkness#i miss them so much#jac schaeffer#billy maximoff#rio vidal#jennifer kale#alice wu gulliver#nicholas scratch#aubrey plaza#kathryn hahn#marvel#marvel mcu#joe locke#coven of chaos
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EDIT: New suggestions still welcome, but skim the current replies first to make sure you're not saying what twenty others have already said. Let's just say NO MORE JAPANESE NAMES to be safe (most of the repeats are Japanese); I'm still interested in other culture's tasty snack names
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Guys, it's an emergency guys
I have lost my notes on names for Zuko's feral mantis-shrimp badger that he pulls from the trash behind his Uncle's teashop and makes into a (hissing, snarling, Nephew Please Put That Down--) pet guys
Please reply to this post with very cute food-themed names, particularly food that is small, sweet, and generally served as a tea cake. NOT tea names, Zuko hates tea. Tea snack names.
Her working name has been Madeleine but I'd prefer something more Asian, because I don't want a subplot explaining how Iroh acquires madeleines in the AtlA world. This should be something served at his shop, or available readily in town, so Zuko can impulse-name his new Snarly McBadIdea Pet. Also I cannot for the life of me spell Madeleine without a google search, so there's that.
If I end up using your name, you'll get credited in the upcoming story.
Also wanted: names for Toph's delicate seeing-eye shrimp-badger, who is a well breed and hard-working lady and therefore deserves a ludacris beefy Earth-Rumble-type name
So that when the Gaang shows up and meets Feral Trash Badger and Little Lady Badger
And hears their names
They absolutely guess wrong on which is which
And Sokka gets an Offended Badger to the face
#this is for the blind!Zuko story#sitting down to seriously outline it because I am feeling the vibes and I want something fun to treat myself with#and I realized#I DO NOT HAVE THE BADGER'S NAME#a travesty a crime a true authorial failing#again please REPLY HERE so I can keep the names organized please don't send them as asks I will lose them like I did before#atla#avatar the last airbender#Zuko
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OC map 2024!
It was not long ago since Valedale been updated and it shows. Many OCs have moved there.
I have not included OCs from the old map as I didnt have access to the old file and I dont want to jump between multiple posts to get names and photos because that was just too confusing. I have done a google doc list with the Ocs so next update will be easier. But even if I didnt include OCs from the old post, we went from 73 to 95 Ocs, the population is growing.
I will not update this untill a new area been updated or added. But if anyone sees spell mistakes or wrong infomation given for ocs I can edit that. But I will not fix the map pic.
Address book is under line:
Central Jorvik:
Jorvik city:
Breasha Keane - Somewhere by Leonardos Lottie Emberwoods - Lives in Governors fall, she have no horses. Have a twin in South Hoof, Charlie Mary-Ann - lives close to Leonardos
Crater of Jor:
Alexei Sparrowhawk - lives in the mountain between Wildwoods and Dino Valley Sora Sparrowhawk - Kallter witch in dino valley searching
Firgrove:
Moa Windforest - Hidden shack in the forest Ryland - lives at the ranger station
Firgrove Village:
Adelaide “Swift” Swiftheart - A kalter from Icengate lives near Firgrove Alexis Carolina Nightjar Elaina Hawkwatcher - Lives with her grandmother Luca Goldstone - Wilderness enthusiast. Big brother to Max in Tailtop village
Starshine Ranch:
Athena Rockstorm - Calamity Claymore - Charlie Emberwoods protoge, soul rider and chaos child. Have a big brother, Kit, in Cape West Fishing Village Daine Dusty Claymore - A retired cowboy. Uncle to Calamity and Kit Claymore Rora Dolphinheart -
Goldenhills Valley:
William Ravenyour - haunts the hayloft on Goldenleaf Stables (belongs to Dakota Ravenyour) Willow Crazytree - (no photo)
Cape West Fishing Village:
Adriana Braveheart Bella Highgirl - Officially owns a house here but has a second home in Avalon’s Meader where she stays under busy soul rider/druid times. Used to hop from hotel to hotel. Cody Hunter Doveshovel - Rents a bed with the Jorvik Fishing Club, but travels frequently for work and soul rider shenanigans. Kit Claymore - A fisherman and Amnesiac. big brother to Calamity in Starshine Ranch
Harvest Counties:
Crescent Moon:
Feya Elfchild - Lives alone
Jarlaheim:
Alyssa Evelyn - Lives close to the rocker hairstyles shop Everlee Songbird - lives with a roommate thats also a member of the keepers Iris- Neightbour to Linda. Frequently visits the family in Cape West Fishing Village Johann - Lives in the northern part of Jarlaheim. Joins Ruth on adventures often Lucy Flowerhill - Lives with Linda Niko Northlight- lives in an apartment Riley Wolfstorm Selena - Lives by the vet Yasmine Westbank -
Jorvik Stables:
Amira Monsave - 19 year old, rents a room. In jorvik to look for Anne Arya Mistwood - 24 year old, works and lives at Baroness’ racetrack but because of renovations she currently lives with their half sister, Shilo, in Jovik Stables Brook - Lives behind the white double doors Monty Lionheart - A fancy lad just vibing Shilo Stormfire - 18 Year old, dorming at the stables during the summer to train and compete with her Lipizzaner, Glory. Currently have her half-sister Arya Mistwood as a roommate
New Hillcrest:
Blake Silvercrest - lives in the stables Lucas Roni - Lives with her two dogs Opal and Potato. She works as a waitress in the local café during the day
Mistfall:
Dundull:
Azalea “Az” - lives around Dundull and work as a ranger Bodhi Applewright - Charlie Emberwoods protoge, soul rider and wanderer. Big brother to Toby in Redwoods Vendela Zoe Silverborn - lives alone
Wildwoods:
Astrid - precise location of home is unknown Heather - Sleeps in the hayloft of the stables in Redwood Point Max Goldstone -Charlies protoge, soul rider & adventurer. Have a big brother, Luca in Firgrove Rachel - Redwood Point Ranger Station Toby Applewrights - A junior ranger. Little brother to Bodhi in Dundull
North of Northern Mountains:
Donna Buttergood
Silverglade:
Alina - lives in the field between Silverglade Manor and Nilmer’s highland
Fort Pinta:
Esther Darkdragon - 26 year old, lives with Svea Darkdragon in an apartment Morgan Saltcrest - Pirate in the sea outside of the Fort Pinta Rose - Svea Darkdragon - 24 year old, lives together with Esther Darkdragon in an apartment
Moorland Stables:
Esther Northberg - lives in the hay loft above the stables Jamie Nightlock - A baby doing his best Kit Applewood -21 year old, lives with Mrs. Holdsworth, thinking of getting a small place in Valedale Montana
Silverglade Manor:
Nahla Wolfwalker - Half kalter on a quest
Silverglade Village:
Adelaide Odenburg - Lives in the pink house in the circle with two others Amelie Emberwoods - Lives at Steves farm as a riding camp instructor. Is cousin to Charlie and Lottie Emberwoods Athena Peacecry - Lives with her parents Aurora Bellavance - rents a room, wants to move to Firgrove or Goldenhills one day Ava - Recently moved to the north side of town, close to the championship Lady - Lives with Big Bonney
South Hoof Peninsula:
Ines - Lives in the cottage south of the Rescue Ranch
South Hoof Rescue Ranch:
Charlie Emberwoods - Work as a rehabilitator, have a twin in Governors fall, Lottie. Juni - travels a lot Vilda Ravenhill - Accidently roommate with Hugh Wynonna - Rents a room
Valedale:
Hollowwoods:
Damian - Lives with his family
Silversong River:
Rowan Riverborn - she a näck chills as a horse and is a danger to children Zelda Krüger - 22 year old, rents a room in Avalon’s Meander
Valedale Village:
Corinne Eaglebridge - Lives alone Evangeline Bitterhouse - A druid in-training. little sister to Genevieve Genevieve Bitterhouse - Charlie Emberwoods Protege, soul rider and a nature witch. Big sister to Evangeline Halo Starborn Joseph - had an apartment in Fort Pinta but let the lease run out Kelly Nightborn Lexa - Moved to Valedale Village after she used to live with her family in Moorland Marie - Lives in a house next door to Avalons Renata Rose Riverlee - Is a Pandorian hunting for someone, lives in valedale when not in Pandoria Sadie Algren - Take cares of horses at the village stables while their owner is away, travels to pandora to study flora and fauna Sora
Homeless:
Alou - contantly traveling with other shopkeepers on the Southern Jorvik event circuit Juli - Either in Pandoria or traveling, he supposed to live in south hoof but wont stay there. Ruth - drifter, can be seen more frequently around Jarlaheim and Greendale
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HEADCANON - Heaven wants to Imprison Charlotte / Overlords to Protect Her
EDITED for spelling and additional ideas.
Very specific Headcanon about Heaven seeking out the Antichrist herself and demanding her captivity as payment for the death of the first man. The walking goonsack of a fool, adam.
Lucifer nearly punched a hole in the pentagram out of fury when he first heard of the demand, and Sera had the decency to look at least vaguely contrite. As if she'd read about the emotion academically, and this was her first attempt at feigning it.
The arch angel said a few words in a language no one present spoke, but it was enough to make some of the wallpaper melt, so perhaps a few people tried to commit the phonetics to mind because that sounded like a fun little curse to have on hand in future.
Heaven demands access to Hell to search for the Adversary.
Said Adversary has been sequestered between a number of Rings, moving through non magical means so her signature remains dormant and untraceable. Her primary mode of protection is, intriguingly, IMP.
The Lord of Lust had personally vouched for them, and Alastor had found it quite amusing to see the leader of them all talk to the King with a complete lack of deference. Why, he'd sent Husk to have a chat with them about a potential patronage, after the meeting.
Anyone willing to tell his royal whitey-uptightiness to calm his tits and simultaneously promising to protect Charlotte, well, they definitely had his attention. Not to mention their main means of business... that seemed DELIGHTFULLY sinful. Ah, if only they'd been around when he first fell, there'd been a few lose ends he'd have loved to see snipped taut.
The downside, is of course, that the plan required Lucifer to move his lower tier 'pawns' about. Geotia magic had angelic traces, if they started to play a part here, the resonance between their powers and Charlotte's own would be like sending up a flare.
So, with obvious digust about it all, Lucifer turned to the Sinners.
Well, to the Sovereign Overlords themselves. He scowled the title, amused and disgusted in equal measure. His disdain really rubbed more than a few Overlords present the wrong way. Really, the theatrics of this tiny ancient bastard were over the top.
Why should any of them care about the Princessa? asked the Moth, exhaling angry smoke trails right at the King, who bats it away with his wings. Those red, ageless eyes turned on the insect and there was a moment where Alastor was rather hoping to see the other deepfried for his daring.
"I don't expect you self-important sinners to care for your princess, unless forced. But you will care, and you will defend her with your worthless afterlives." he snarls.
Alastor does feel fury rise in his chest, because how DARE the little cretin state such blatant nonsense given all Alastor and Rosie sacrificed for Charlotte so far? had they not shown, if not exactly care, then loyalty to supporting this young monarch to find herself, to establish her name and rank?
Rosie's talons crumple her chair's armrest as deftly as his own slice through it. The King's eyes flicker their way, as his tail twitches. There's a faint hint of amusement on that porcelain face now.
"...I will admit that some of you have proven loyalty to MY daughter, through deed and action, in the past few months. That is taken into consideration... but I still know that unless you are bound to the task, one or more of you will fall derelict in your duty to your princess."
One by one, his raised hand fills with golden chains that snap back to the throats of every overlord present. Golden, almsot impossible to look at, and coated in roving red angelic eyes that seemed to stare through the sinners present. It burned a little, the tinge of glory in the bindings not as deadly as angelic steel but... just enough to remind what could be done.
"I am your King, and you all belong to me as Sinners who fell into my realm. Your deals remain yours, and I take ownership of your soul temporarily as is my right, you who misused my Gifts. I command thee, Sovereigns, to protect my daughter and obey my rules and any directives provided to you by the Sins of the Rings upon which you will be sent."
Flaming crowns hovered mockingly over each head like some sort of halo, bearing unusual sigils and eyes. "This is the sign of my covenent unto you, Sovereigns... you shall cross to other Rings and remain whole. You shall have a boost to your powers, to be used only in self defence, protection of the Princess, or the safeguarding of those in the other realms. Your foes are to remain only the Exorcists and angelic horde who arrive. This will alert me to attempts to disobey these orders, abandon your post, or otherwise cause chaos. Do not fuck me..."
Alastor cleared his throat into the sudden silence, in which Valentino was about to make a very costly pick up line. "WITH, majesty. It's do not fuck WITH me..." his shadow tendril smacked the moth, who pulled out his gun in response.
"Why, what did I say?" The menacing ancient entity from beyond time and space paused, baffled.
"Nevermind, darling, do go on." Rosie encouraged, watching Valentino freeze as her blood magick stopped his nonsense in its tracks. "What d'you need us to do to keep your lovely little daughter safe? My cannibals and bettes are quite taken with her, even Susan, and she's about as cuddly as a cactus. She's quite special, that girl, and we'll do what we can to stop Heaven's bullhockey!"
Lucifer actually seemed to settle back into himself. "She is the most important being in creation, and I appreciate the support your people showed last Extermination, it has not been forgotten. What I need of you, each of you, is simple. The Sins and I will be hiding Charlotte in different locations throughout the Rings, and each of you will be partnered up and stationed within a Ring each."
Well THAT caused a stir. The idea of seeing another Ring was exciting, but the chance to see something other than endless red would be delightful as well.
"Before you ask, no, you will not be told which Ring Charlotte is in at any given time. Just know that she may be in the one you guard, at any time, and you must fight as if she was no matter what. Our best bet is to exhaust the exorcists. They are not infinite, it takes time to manufacture each one and then train them up. The last battle took a significant portion of their number from Heaven, and I suspect we can thin the remaining herd enough to turn the tables in negotiations."
"Is there anything else we have on them, that could help in trying to force them back?" Carmilla asks, tilting her head in thought. "I can lend angelic steel to my comrades, under the deal you have brought to us, that it will be returned at the end of this assignment. But is there nothing else but waiting out their onslaught?"
"There are... a few other options, but they will decimate Pride, at the very least. Though I do not particularly care for sinners, Charlotte is very fond of some of you and it would distress her to see you harmed for her sake."
"Okay, but let me just ask the obvious... what's the worst case scenario here, though? If dear Princess Charlotte was to surrender or be taken to Heaven, what then? Does Heaven back off immediately, or are they likely to find an excuse to fuck with us for making them wait?" Vox asked.
Alastor fought not to let his ears pin down. "More importantly, your Lowness... do you believe they will hurt her, if she is taken by Heaven?"
That glare is aimed at both of them, and it feels... like a withering inside, like a reshuffling of who you were, an assessment of your worth and dismissal of what was there.
"There will be retribution no matter what we do, they have always wanted Charlotte... but she is currently the best excuse they have to censure Hell. If they take her, the Exterminations could be enforced monthly, or they could demand the immediate slaughter of selected sinners and goetia. It's about showing power." He addressed Vox first.
Thse eyes flicked right to Alastor. "And you... the simple answer is that I do not know.They would promise not to, but accidents happen to prisoners all the time. It would be some terrible misfortune, or they could claim a rampage or escape attempt... she would never be safe anywhere near Heaven."
Alastor sighs in frustration. "Then I do believe we are left with no choice but to take the feathered fools head on again."
"Oh, like that worked out so well for you lot last time!" Vox snipes back, unable to help himself.
"We won, did we not? I don't recall seeing you on the field of battle." Alastor bats back, outwardly placid and no hint of the irritation starting to bubble to life within. "You do realise his Shortness is requesting we actually fight, not just hide in panic rooms and send your winged spycameras out to peep on the exorcists, yes?"
"Oh FUCK YOU, Al! Big talk from someone who lost to Adam!"
"Perhaps, but at least I made the attempt, hmmm? And the dividends was a delightful feast in Cannibal town with all the angelic meat left over from the battle. You really shouldn't have missed it, picture box. Why, even Susan asked after you."
If a television could go pale...
"Enough. Whatever petty squabbles you have, I need them set aside for now, as we share a goal." The Devil refocuses the room to his cause, as he pulses new power down the chains. "This will serve you only for the ascribed tasks, attempt to misuse it and I will know. Now, my future daughter-in-law, when one of them gets around to asking, shall provide you the current plan we havve for managing the incoming. Ma-..."
A cough that sounded suspiciously like 'Vaggie' came from a certain overlord.
"Vaggie, please advise the Sovereigns the plan to manage the incursion."
A flushed golden counternance was revealed as the ex-orcist appeared. She was embarrassed, and delighted, and a little intimidated but mostly worried about Charlie. Her Charlie. Who Heaven was targeting.
"Okay, so... Heaven has decided to delcare a war without using the word. Their plan is to open portals to all the Rings, and search Hell from top to bottom, until they locate the Princess. The old agreement is nullified, so there's every chance that they'll start destroying homes and buildings and murdering the hellborne.
Most of them are barely more than sentient weapons at this point, and without Adam, who they were bound to in thought, deed and essence, they're unhinged. That fucking bitch, Lute, most of all. She's got one arm and the most unhinged expression you can imagine, you'll know her when you see her."
There's a pause. "With any luck, she'll still have a radio-shaped bruise on her ugly face from when I hit her with one the other week. She'll be at the forefront of whichever assault force is sent to the Ring they think Charlie's hiding in. If you see her, then share that information and his majesty will come to provide additional aid where he can. We need to sell this illusion."
"You want us to do this just overlord vs angels style, or you want us to bring some of our guys with us?" Zeezi asked, cracking her knuckles. "Cause I don't mind either way."
"Anyone in Pride can use their people, of course, but I don't think the current trans-Ring portal permissions extend to anyone but yourselves at the moment. Right?" She glances to Lucifer, who nods. "Okay, so here's your assignments..."
-----------
Revoltingly, Alastor finds himself paired with the moth.
The lecherous creature always disgusted him, there was something about his aura that pinged an alert in Alastor's head, the little alarm that used to help him choose targets when alive. And that had been before Alastor discovered what the insectoid's powers and preferences were.
Yes, he'd killed many Valentinos before... if only he could trip the bastard iinto angelic steel by accident in the coming foray. But that might leave Charlotte exposed... so he would endure for now.
The things he had to do for Charlotte, ah, he would ask her to try Angel Wings at the next dinner party with Rosie, just to see her squirm for this. They did taste excellent, but it would put Vagatha-lee Mayberry Jnr on edge, and really she was as to blame for the match-up as anyone.
And of all places, they sent him to Lust. LUST. It was like sending Charlie to do hug therapy in Wrath.
No, he wasn't blind nor averse to the whole thing, he simply wasn't interested. It was rather like being dragged antiquing by a parent, when you were too small to protest more than 'I'm bored' because the curios on display held nothing for you other than noticing the more esoteric or fascinating items in your listless search for something to distract.
At least he hadn't been sent to Gluttony... apparently it was the epicentre of the Hellhounds. While he could quash the aversion to dogs in general in small groups, being surrounded by them would not have ended well for anyone otherwise.
"Oh, deer daddy, you may wish to brace yourself... people have more than just ankles on display around here..." the moth had mocked, in a faux concerned tone, flicking ash at him as they stepped through the portal.
Alastor had rolled his eyes so hard it felt like they might just fall out of their sockets. "My good man, if we're lucky we should be able to find something to gag you with to stop your incessant drivel, within only a few feet. Why, this establishment looks promising..."
Valentino opened his mouth to make some lewd retort, when his shortsightedness caught up with the fact they seemed to be in front of possibly the only hardware store in the whole ring.
"What?"
Before Alastor could deliver a truly devastating offer to utilise cement to stop up the pesky holes the moth was always going on about, Lord Asmodeus appeared in a burst of blue hellfire. He greeted them both with a level of suspicion.
"Sovereigns Alastor and Valentino, welcome to LUST, I am Asmodeus and this here is my partner, Fizzarolli." The small imp leaned out of the fiery mane and waved.
Amused, Alastor waved back. "Ah, you must be the infamous imp who told Lord Mammon to go fuck himself in quite the musical number... I've had that song requested dozens of times on my radio show. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure." He inclines his head. Really, the little thing was as much a delight as the assassins were, he quite liked the entertainer's moxxy at sticking it to 'the man'.
If anyone understood being bound by obligation and spitting in its very face, it would be Alastor.
"Whoa-ho-ho-hoah! And you're the RADIO DEMON, man I loved listening to your broadcasts with Blitz and the others when we were younger... haven't had a chance for like a decade because of, y'know, Mammon... but I used to love the stories. Screams were fun too, until I had my accident... then it just reminded me of the fire. But still, loved the show!"
Extendable arms reached down to shake Alastor's hand, and he only hesitated momentarily before allowing it. "Well, it's nice to meet someone with both excellent taste, and a fiery tenacity that sees them remind those above who they are talking to. Never be afraid to throw a piano if you need to remind someone too big for their britches that they need to calm down."
Fizzy, clearly not getting the full context but amused either way, laughs. "I'll remember that. Ozzie, can we get a piano for the palace...? No reason."
Asmodeus squints at Alastor. "Ah, you're the one that had that whole dad-off with Luci, huh?"
"We had a what-now?" Alastor blinked.
"Wait, YOU dropped a PIANO on the DEVIL?" Fizzy gasped, delight evident in the tone. "Would you mind doing that to Mammon? While I watched? Maybe got a video?"
"Waste of time, this red fucker doesn't show up on video..." Valentino sneers, finally finding a place to interject himself into the conversation despite everyone's best efforts to ignore him. Asmodeus knew who the moth was, Val just didn't know Ozzie knew.
"Ah, Lord Asmodeus, Fizzarolli, allow me to intrduce another of the Sovereigns and creator of Love Potion the fantastically consent-removing drink additive that all decent members of Pride abhore... Valentino, the Porn Overlord. His sight is almost as bad as his understanding of consent, boundaries or the word No. I will endeavour to keep him in line whilst we are in your Realm."
Valentino grabs Alastor's wrist and tries to twist it, earning an angry blast of radio screech. "You fucking bastard ciervo, I'll rip your antlers off and make you deepthroat them while Vox watches. Just because you're broken doesn't mean the rest of us should suffer..."
"ENOUGH."
Asmodeus is twice his normal size and looking hard at Valentino now, memorising the face. The moth drops Alastor's wrist as if it burned.
"I don't like you, or what you do, but that's in Pride and it falls to Lucifer to regulate that. But in this realm, in Lust, we're all about freely gien and enthusiastic consent... including the non-sexual kind. We don't kink-shame here, but we also let others know if we're not the kink-same, you feel me? I don't stand for harassment here."
Asmodeus inhales deeply, and exhales again, shrinking to a more managable size.
"What I need from you both is to follow the plan. I've had most of the streets cleared to ensure no accidental victims, but there's always someone who missed the alert or 'just needs to go buy some milk', or thinks it'll take five minutes to get to somewhere... they don't know what an extermination is like. They don't understand the urgency, the danger, the way you sinners do.
I ask that you take on the angelic horde as est you can, and try to keep my silly hellborne safe. No one is to try to harm one of my hellborne, or any of the visiting... no one should have the time to try to fool about with anyone either. I'll know. And if anyone uses their little potions... I'll know then, too.
The Sins are going to stay near their towers, keeping up wards and ensuring it looks like Charlotte is with them, no matter who has her. And no, none of us can say who has her. I know you two will fight to the best of your ability for Charlie... try to keep yourselves safe, okay? When things are over, or we're down to stragglers, we'll be back.
Any questions?"
"...would you consider collaborating with VoxTech on a film? We'd share the profits with you 30/70... maybe more if I can get my favourite whore to act to his best potential." Valentino asked, unable to help himself.
"I don't do collaborations with sinners, sorry. We have our own studios and fully consenting stars, thank you."
"Tch, your loss..." the moth snaps out his wings and flies up to a nearby rooftop, definitely not ppouting and holding onto his temper by a fine thread.
"How bad is it, really?" Asmodeus asks Alastor.
"...his top star is a resident at the hotel, and the things the moth does to him are deplorable. And he's the one Voxtech 'cares for' most... the others are, sad to say, treated as little more than breathing sexual implements for him to break over and over. Fear not, my plan is to rip him to shreds and take control of his chains as soon as this threat to Charlotte is dealt with. I have always held great distaste for his kind.
Perhaps you and your teams might offer some support when I do... I understand you have therapists who are specifically targeted at those who have been abused in very specific ways?"
"As a Sin, I can't condone such a thing... but when you do kill him, have Luci or Char Char message me immediately. I'll have teams sent up to help with the contractees... especially Angel Dust, if what you say is true, we might need him to come here for a therapeutic holiday."
"Excellent. That was honestly the part I was least certain of managing, any fool can defeat another overlord in battle... but the broken souls you obtain often need some level of care afterwards and we have very few options in Pride."
"You seem to care a lot for an overlord..."
"Psssh, a broken soul is no help to anyone..."
"And Angel Dust?"
"I suppose he has become someone I am used to seeing around the hotel, and his suffering is not as unnoticed as he would have us all believe. Charlotte has been in tears many nights over this... and he is only one of many, many souls that moth has no care for breaking. He revolts me, for many reasons."
Asmodeus pauses, "And would you... like to speak to any of our therapists?"
That causes a radio warble. "Hah, no thank you. Nothing so egregious has occurred... not to their level of suffering at least."
"But something did happen?"
"Nothing to that level, worry not. It was decades ago and we have angels to fight, so away with you to your palace and guard the hypothetical princess..." Alastor shadows to the roof, beside the moth.
"Do you have enough bullets for your guns? There's still time to send for more from Carmilla..."
"There's more than enough for a few dozen of them, I won't go wasting them. And I saw that the little fools tend to bring their own deaths with them, I shouldn't worry too much about obtaining another weapon if the guns fail, ciervo." Valentino said, absently spinning the barrels. They click into place and he grins at the angry seam in the sky. "They'll be coming soon..."
Alastor ignores the wink he gets. "Indeed. Now would be the perfect time for a bite to eat and a bathroom break, if you need it."
"No, I'm good. Would be nice to know how long we'll have to do this... I don't trust my bitches not to start making a mess of my studio when I'm away."
"Perhaps you need to promote someone more qualified into a supervisory position then, someone you can deputise when away, that you trust with your role. I've found its exceptionally helpful to have an offsider with common sense and a level of command."
"Oh? Is that what Vox was to you?"
Alastor glances at the other. "To begin with, yes. I'm sure he mentioned what a wide-eyed, anxious little sinner he was when he fell... just keeping him alive that first month took more effort than the last six managing the Princess and her enthusiasm. He wanted to look at each new thing to see how it worked... you just ask him about the time he tested out Susan's Serrated Snapdragons. She still wants his hide for charring them."
"I just might."
They lapse into silence.
"Would you mind if I took one or two exorcists alive... for my ratings?"
The radio dials flared. "My good moth, if I see you attempt to do so, I'll kill them myself and then you." he pulled a good reason from thin air. "Even if you could guard then 24/7 one would either get free or signal to heaven what had happened... then we'd be in danger once more. The King would never go for it. You know he can sense angelic energy in the Rings, yes? He'd find them."
The wings droop and a string of what must be curse words explode. "Fine... we get nothing out of this mess but being used as shields. There should be more than this threat holding our loyalty..."
"Is your life not enough?"
"You know what I mean, ciervo."
"I do. But what choice exists? Defy the King and be destroyed, or face the angels and perhaps win whilst telling Heaven to pack it in? At least one has some entertainment value."
"I see you antagonising the King all the time without being destroyed, what makes him a threat to us?"
"Charlotte likes me. The reason you aren't dead is that she's forgiven the little licking incident that day at the studio... and forgot to tell her father. He is rather overprotective, you may have noticed."
A sharp tolling bell draws both sets of eyes upwards, as the tear surges open to disgorge a veritable ocean of the winged warriors.
"Well, it appears it's showtime..."
Alastor leaps off the building, feeling Valentino jump a fraction later. The pair expand rapidly as they rise to meet the oncoming threat.
Flocks of the fools fly in close formation, allowing even Valentino's challenged sight to blast them out of the sky in droves. There's something satisfying about seeing a dozen taken out with a single bullet like a bizarre action movie trickshot.
Alastor's tendrils swat them out of the sky, collecting angelic steel from the downed creatures easily and ending the majority. His poppets, a sea of small and oddly shaped things with teeth, flood over the exorcists. The screaming was delightful.
Valentino exhales smoke like a dragon might breathe fire, covering the area about them and disorienting the angelic creatures enough that they could be easily snatched from the air and slammed into the pavement. Poppets took care of them Niffty-style.
A few were crunched between the teeth of the Overlords. Sweet ichor was a hearty treat. They'd reform from such an injury... technically, but they'd remember the agony.
They were not the best match -up, their powers were not technically complimentary. Not like al and Rosie, or Al and... well, Vox. But between Valentino's shooting, his smoke, his multiple arms and Alastor's side array of tendrils, shadows, poppets and talons... they were turning the tide.
The streets below were pooling with golden blood, glutted with bodies and debris. Poppets snatched up angelic steel and put it into side alleys, to keep the way clear. One didn't want to step on an angelic axe by accident and die to such a humiliating 'boo-boo'. Lucifer would never stop laughing...
The angels did seem to be thinning out. Which was a good thing... but the pair kept a vigilant eye for potential distractions. Wouldn't do if a scout dipped away to go check out the palace, or opened another portal on the other side of the City...
Well, they were supposed to be keeping an eye. Valentino occasionally whipped out his phone to text someone, and it was starting to grate on Alastor's nerves a little. Both the whirring interference of the phone itself on his airways and the fact he was having to compensate during this time.
"Could you please focus on the incoming threat a little more, Valentino? Whoever you're communicating with can certainly wait until we prevail here. Maybe you could try a face to face conversation, even... it was all the rage in my time! Ha-hah!"
He'd been insulted in a language he didn't know, before Valentino laughed coldly. "So was segregation and dying of a cold at age 18, ciervo... I'm not sure you have much to recommend it."
His attention diverts to a rather clever attempted ambush, a cohort had ducked to street level and come up at the pair, spears extended. They died easily enough, but a few nicks here and there stung more than usual, damned angelic steel. It always had that angry tinge to it that one couldn't help but associate with having antisepctic dabbed against a wound. That extra sting that made it harder to ignore.
Malicious. He begrudgingly respected that.
Exorcists always seemed endless when they came down on Extermination Day... but just this one time, they at least felt finite. Something manageable.
The real issue here was the hellborn. Very few of the mismatched imps, hellhounds, baphomets, succubi, incubi, envy demons and other assorted groupings and mixed breeds had any real understanding of the threat. None of them understood the dangers of Exorcists, knowing that they 'only went after sinners', and extermination day was so regular and unimportant to them it wasn't even televised anymore.
This was just an intriguing spectacle to them. Which meant that managing them took additional effort. They amassed and milled about, before realising just how much of a threat was raining down from the sky... transitioning to fear, to terror, to shrieking and aimless running about that made movement at the Overlords' gargantuan size a hassle.
Not only did the giant overlords have movement restricted by the populace running around and under them, but they also had to pause efforts to swat the creatures from the sky, to try and save the little beings being accosted all about them.
Hellborne were desperately trying to hide wherever they could, but Exorcists were used to finding the hidden no matter where they cowered. And the hellborn had never had to try this hard before to evade a threat like this. Not in Lust at least (Greed, on the other hand, probably gave at least one exorcist a shiny new pair of cement shoes, because they were Just Like That).
A few were infuriatingly like Charlotte. Alastor snarled as some sort of sheep demon with a candle on its head was impaled as it tried to talk to the Exorcist stalking towards the group hidden behind them. Negotiating with an exorcist? They must have been mad.
Infuriated by the situation, Alastor tried to come up with a solution on the fly.
"Valentino my good moth, your smoke... is there any chance you could use it to make the populace more... open to suggestion? Could you use it to order them to go inside and get out of our way, by any chance?"
Valentino for his part, actually tries. Very hit or miss. A few capitulate but for the others it seems to glance off. "Too close to their own abilities and pheromones, ciervo. If they choose to be out here now, with all this happening, then that's their choice. Just step on them if they get too close. These angels are almost depleted and I refuse to die for some idiot who has a death fetish."
Still, some seemed to be helping. When the angels were slammed down, some took up angelic steel and began stabbing. Others even pinned wings to the ground with bladeed weaponry.
And several more were, uh... tying up the exorcists. Some... it must be said, more erotically than others. But the knots were immaculate.
Either way, angels were being dealt with.
That isn't to say that Valentino and Alastor weren't also being targeted directly, just as much as the hellborne. A sharp slash here, a stab there, a glancing blow to some extremity...
A nuisance more than anything. Not now they'd evened the odds.
Still, the dwindling groups started to fall back on tactics, grouping into clusters to divebomb the pair. He's not sure what happened, but Valentino hissed and began to shrink down.
Alastor expended the momentary diversion of attention and power to throw up a shield over the moth. He may loathe him, but they were allies for now and he would keep the insect alive for Charlotte's sake. It does require more concentration that he'd like, but given that the exorcists were still enough to overwhelm a singular overlord if their back was exposed and their ally down, it was necessary.
Give the moth a moment to collect his second wind, as it were.
The sky was a vast expanse that provided 360 degrees of attack for the winged bastards, and only one needed a lucky strike. Lovely hue, though, for such a dangerous territory.
He'd never missed any non-red colour so much as the moment he'd seen the skies of Lust. He idly wondered the colours of other rings... how they must look dazzling to the eyes of those so often blinded by red.
Tendrils sprouting on the shield to tear at the attackers. Stealing away their weapons and turning them back on the winged rats with minimal thought.
There had to be an end in sight, he was used to this form but it still took up vast reserves.He'd need to eat at least a few sinners after this or he'd start wasting... and that was an unpleasant reformation in and of itself.
To say Alastor didn't expact the sudden blow to his spine, was an understatement. He'd only been dimly aware of Valentino expanding again, enough to release the shield as he felt the other outgrow it, but this was a shock. Had some exorcist gotten behind him?
He stumbled forward half a step, dashing an angel out of the sky and into the merciless embrace of his poppets, as he tries to turn. A question on his lips...
And then there's the searing pain of teeth sinking into his shoulder, ripping coat and fur and flesh alike as pink ichor spilled alongside crimson blood. It sent a sickening heat through him. From what he understood, people were supposed to feel good... but this felt more like a mild allergic reaction, itchy and unpleasant.
"What are you doing, you idiotic insect? The enemy is still coming in droves." Alastor snarls, hurlign up a quick shield to force the incoming exorcists up and away, to avoid the weapon-wielding tendrils that sprouted. "One of us alone won't stand a chance, surely you aren't foolish enough to think you can take them on by yourself?"
"Depends on how you look at it, really..." Valentino intones, blasting the other in the face with an exhalation of concentrated smoke, as Alastor's head swirls. "I like to think that it doesn't matter what happens up there. They'll lose interest and go looking for the princessa, the minute I take you out and we're not a threat. And me? Why, I'm bringing down the Radio Demon and getting a taste of something fresh in the bargain." Valentino laughs, "But on the other hand, I'm also fixing you so that my lovely Voxxy can stop sulking."
The smoke makes his mind foggy, it's hard to hold onto his enlarged form. It's like trying to operate a claw machine blindfolded, you have the vague idea of the prize, but tis sliding out of the grasp of those metallic pincers as the claws pull away.
Or something. He's not exactly waxing poetical as he starts to shrink, stomach roiling at the too-rapid lose of size. The vertigo could be brutal on occasions when it wasn't your choice to change forms. The energy drain alone...
And then there was the other issue.
Valentino casually backhands him into a nearby building, snapping his concentration as surely as it likely took out a few ribs, before slamming his 7ft frame into the pavement below. The shield fractures abovver them all, but Alastor grits his teeth to maintain what he could, as Valentino's gargantuan face leers down at him.
"Not sure why Voxxy has had so much trouble catching you, ciervo, this was easy..." Valentino purrs. He drops his enlarged form, confident in having the upper hands here, and then uses those additional appendages to pin the deer in place.
Alastor's normal strength seems to be writhing under a liquid miasma that's filling every inch of his brain right now.It seems to say, 'how about we just roll with it?' despite the protests of every other inch of his Fight or Flight reflex.
"What...?"
"Oh relax, I know some people get nervous, ciervo... but my venom should help with that. Now, you just lay there and let me put an end to this nonsense. For a prudish nightmare from the bronze ages, you're such an excellent little cocktease, and Vox has been so frustrating about it... if he can just have you, it'll be done with and I can have his attention back." Valentino rationalises, long tongue unfurling and dripping pink blobs onto Alastor's face.
He wants to rip the tongue out and feed it to his poppets. Then peel the moth's flesh off his bones, and feed it to Angel Dust, as is the standard metric for revenge in such cases where the aggrieved is owed retribution. And Alastor felt the spider had a longer list of worries than him when it came to this cretin.
How many times had this happened to Angel? To the spider's coworkers? What about Vox or the doll? Was Valentino always consentual with them? He seemed to be... but given his proclivities, it was hard to tell.
Alastor knows his mind is pulling away, to avoid thinking about being helpless. But he's fighting it now, because that's not helpful.
And then, something unexpected happened.
Help arrives in an unexpected format.
A number of hellborne from the surrounding area, some milling about and others from indoors, had taken it upon themselves to pick up angelic weaponry. Forcing any stray angels under the shield, back or outright skewering them.
Others, however, were hurling both objects annd verbal abuse at Valentino, forcing him back from Alastor at spearpoint, until the deer could sit up annd take as much of a deep breath as his healing ribs would allow for now.
"Get away from him, man, we don't do force around here!" yells a succubus, jabbing into Val with a spear.
"Creep!" snarls a Wrathian, armed to the teeth.
"You should be ashamed, you freak!" yells a hellhound, snapping her teeth at the moth in warning.
"Predator!" yells an imp as they fire a round at Valentino, it goes right through a wing. Delightful.
"Artificial bullshit peddlar!" snarls an incubus, hurling what must have been a cocktail at the overlord.
"Ah, so they have heard of you in Lust..." Alastor slurs, through a haze. Noting that Valentino was growing larger in response to the public outcry, and suddenly trying to fight the internal fog to get his own body to do the same before something regrettable happened.
Valentino was swinging at Hellborn now, ignoring the angels entirely, what few remained alive and un-shishkabobbed.
Alastor managed to open a portal of tendrils, but it was rather larger than expected... at least it got two of the moth's lower arms, and an ankle. He could have afterlived without hearing Val moan about it, though... that was just unprofessional.
His shadow drunkenly caught an imp being hurled at a building from another indiscriminate overlord backhand; setting them on the ground with some sort of grace. He didn't deal with them often, but Alastor didn't mind the hellborne and he'd never been one to punch down... not when punching up and forcing someone in power to confront their own faults was far more delicious.
Hands started to reach for him, and Alastor batted them away with mild panic rising in his throat; not quite rational enough yet to brace for physical contact from the unknown. Pulling at his core for the magic to take on Valentino again.
"Who DARES to harm my people?" Comes another unexpected voice, and Alastor is rather getting tired of this mess, not to mention the constant cameos. Even as he notes in bemusement that the sick joke of a fiery halo Lucifer gave them all has manifested, and begun glowing purple.
Asmodeus has arrived, and he definitely appears absolutely furious. Alastor briefly wonders if the Sin is angry at him for batting away the persistently gentle hands reaching for him... as ridiculous as that may be.
But no, it appears Asmodeus and the delifghtfully brazen Fizzarolli have arrivved to beat the Overlord of Pornography into a slimy pulp. What chance does a middling tier Overlord have against a SIN?
Oh, there goes an arm... and an antennae. Fantastic showmanship! He's quite enjoying the show... but recalls, almost idly, that there are still exterminators to be dealt with. Hard to keep your brain on track like this.
Alastor unleashes a number of poppets from the nearby shadows... but they don't all look quite right. He's pretty sure some merged together by accident because those aren't his regular designs... but they take to the field in any case.
The shield flickers up again, fed partially by Lucifer's gifted power now. He feels a mild disgust at having to use the borrowed boon.
"Hey... Sinner? Uh, not sure your name, but... did you want to come sit down over here? I think that venom is making you unwell..."
"Holy shit, is that the... no, can't be... but..."
"Sir, can we help you? I can sense your mind is cloudy..."
"Hey, we won't touch you if you don't want us to... but I can taste the pheromones he used, and it might take a minute for it to filter out. We don't want you to get hurt..." He snarls at the hand touching his forearm, and they back off instantly. His mind catches onto the fact he just snarled, like a beast, at a lady-like hellborn and blinks sharply.
"Apologies... I seem to have lost my manners. I am Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you. Quite the pleasure. If you will go inside, we shall have the angels handled momentarily... and then I am tearing that good for nothing moth into meaty confetti."
"It's okay, we just want to help. Lust isn't about force... despite the stuff we see from Pride... and what we see from studios I assume belong to that guy Lord Ozzie is turning into paste?"
"Ah, the moth insignia... yes, that's Valentino. Rapist extrodinaire... a good friend is trapped under him, and in various other positions, most of the week. I have been meaning to kill the moth and free his thralls for some time." Alastor mused, then caught up with his vulgar statement. "Ah, do forget that little bit, it's going to be a surprise when I kill him and his lecherous paramours."
As if things couldn't get any worse, especially with the fussing civillians, Lucifer chooses that moment to arrive. He takes in the sight immediately and drops into place before Alastor. Hovering so they're at eye height and grabbing the red lapels.
"What did you do? What did you sinners do to set off the failsafeprotecting the hellborns?" Lucifer snarls, eyes red and staring deep into Alastor's soul in a way that went beyond being caught in the nude. He truly disliked this little ability the King had. "I should have known you couldn't be trusted to do something so simple. First you failed to protect Charlie against Adam, and now I find you harming hellborne when there's an active invasion happening!"
"Your Majesty? It's not his fault... the moth sinner attacked him and did something. The purple sinner was the one that knocked me out of the sky, and threw my friend here. Mr Alastor caught us and put the shield up to stop the angels coming in." Said an Incubus, with an armful of shaking Imp.
"The moth overlord attacked this deer overlord and the shield broke, so we tried to fight the angels with the weapons they dropped, like we saw the sinners do... but then we saw what the moth was trying to do, so we went to stop him."
Lucifer pulled up short, noting that several smaller hellborn were edging between him and the bellhop. And with his red eyes, he Saw... that something was wrong.
"What happened?" he tried, in a softer tone.
Alastor waved him off, "Nothing that they haven't tried before with his little spit trick or that blasted smoke or Vox's hypnosis... it will wear off in time. We need to handle the angels..."
"Why? Is this about the tv guy who's stalking you? Box?"
"Vox. Yes... when you tell him no, he gets obssessive. But now is not the time or place to have this conversation your majesty." He was very aware of the random people around him... and their phones. The cameras that turned to them as he stood there.
"Alright just, let me at least clear it from your system, once you're done here, we need you in Wrath. The angels are doubling down there, they think that's where Charlie is... hah."
Alastor weighted it up. "And what would this incur, Majesty? You already own the overlords, temporarily at least... what else can be offered? I will not leave the hotel, so take that from your mind right away."
"Er, what? No, I'm doing it because we're not quite friends but less than mortal enemies which i think is a real category of things you can be. But I've been wrong before..."
"Is this about the Dodo? I told you sire, they were a biological disaster and scientists have no idea how they lived as long as they did before extinction..." he mutters, accepting Lucifer's glowing hand on his cheek, and wondering why he allowed such contact reserved for friends, for the King. In a blinding flash, the dulling muzzy mess was evaporating into the aether.
Clarity.
Finally.
"Do excuse me, I'm going to rip his wings off and make him eat them... then he will hand over his souls, and I will free them as he tantrums."
"No, wait up, we can do that later... one of those team building things Char Char wants us to try... but I really need you in Wrath right now. You're the strongest, apparently, and Carmilla and Zestial have their hands full... they need you. "
"I am loathe to leave the moth unattended..."
People could get hurt.
"Ozzie is treating him like a punching bag, and most of Lust's denizens are immune to his pheromonal bullshit... now come on. I'll zap you back up to kill him later, okay? Just don't. tell. Charlie. I did that."
"You want to make that part of the Deal?" Alastor grins.
A wing playfully clips his ear. "You overlords and that damn word. No, but I can do an angelic pinky promise for you, Bambi..."
"Of course you would, your lowness... your height isn't the only childish thing about you, it seems."
Lucifer laughed. "I know we fought when I first got to the Hazbin Hotel, Bambi, but you're a fucking riot when you want to be. Now let's gooooooo, before something else goes wrong."
Before he steps through the conjured portal, Alastor turned to the assembled attempted helpers. "Thank you for your assistance, please see one of the poppets when they come off the battlefield, for my card... I believe several of you qualify for a Favour, for aide rendered."
He's gone before anyone can protest that they didn't need it, and that any good person would have stepped in... but it dies on their lips. And more than a few glance up at the sky in horrified wonder at what Pride must be like to see kindness as transactional like that.
How terrifying.
------------------------------------
Further info and elaboration on the battle, Charlie is actually in Sloth but well-hiddenin the Sin's personal bed (its massive she's in amongst the stuffed toys), they push the angels back and things settle
go back to deal with valentino
free angel and the others
Asmodeus and Belphagor unleash the Therapeutening on Pride, and Angel Dust and his coworkers finally get the therapy and kindness they deserve.
vox is dealt with too, as he was coordinating it all through the phones.
#hazbin hotel#alastor#valentino#vox#other rings#idea#phoenixwrites#attemptedassault#Lust Ring to the rescue#a concept#EDITING AS WE SPEAK
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Fuck Away the Pain
— Dazai x femreader x Chuuya
— Warnings: NSFW (obvi) angsty smut, rough sex, minors dni
— Summary/Author Notes: never wrote actual fanfiction and posted it on Tumblr before, listened to “fuck away the Pain” by Divide the Day and wanted to write about a playboy Dazai hurting the reader and making them go to Chuuya in desperation. I am a woman with simple wants. Sloppy writing and even sloppier editing due to never posting fanfic before. might write more if I get notes who knows
— Word Count: 4615
— Afterthoughts: Truly wanted to make this porn with no plot to keep it short, ended up doing the exact fucking opposite. Am not reading this entire thing for the 7th time to check for spelling and grammar errors, please just feast.

You were so fucking stupid. So, so, so fucking stupid.
Had you really thought Osamu Dazai would truly be yours? How fucking stupid could you even be? The pet names, the way he touched you, the gifts, sure they were nice but did you ever hear him really call you anything other than the usual “Belladonna”?
God what a fool you were, a stupid fool who fell in love with a man who knew he could wrap any man or woman around his finger. Laughable truly, that you thought you were the only one to ever know the embrace of Dazai, the only one to feel his tongue slip inside your mouth.
SO fucking stupid you were.
And that's how you found yourself, stumbling in your nice dress and even nicer heels down a dirty no-name road while the rain poured down on your sorry state. You had caught him, practically fucking another woman against the wall of the place he had asked you to meet up at weeks prior. You were too stunned to speak when you heard the soft moans and rough growls from a dimly lit alleyway, causing you to investigate out of stupid curiosity.
When Dazai caught you out of the corner of his eyes he didn’t even drop the woman he was holding roughly against the brick wall, he just unlatched his lips from her bruised and marked neck to say he was busy and they'd “meet another time,” yeah, sure! you'd get right on that next meet-up after blocking his number and changing your locks.
Such a fucking idiot you were, why did you even get him a copy of your apartment key? What? You thought he would come and cozy up next to you, build a life with you? Ha, how rich of a thought.
Through your blurry vision, obscured by both your tears and the rain from the sky that seemed to mourn with you, a neon bar sign shone like a haven, a safe place to regain your composure somewhere warm and dry… And get fucking wasted so you couldn’t remember the look of the woman twitching and whining against Dazai once he had stopped biting her to give you a quick comment.
So, that's how you found your drenched self on a bar stool, knocking back shots of a burning whiskey and chasing it with another shot of sake to get you as drunk as possible. You were surprised the bartender had kept serving you after your fifth ask of liquor, you half thought they might have begun watering down the drinks to slow your intoxication. You didn’t mind, you kept drinking and kept thinking of your idiocy.
He had played you so well, or maybe he knew you were so stupid that you wouldn’t ask questions about where he would run off to, or why you only saw him sparingly at times. At first, you just thought it was his work, he never outright said that but you had assumed it to be the truth because… because you were an idiot.
Another shot, another whiskey, another sake, another whatever the hell was behind that bar.
“You’ll drink ‘im dry you know,” a voice had teased behind you. Making you snarl and whip your head around, your wet hair catching on your cheek and getting stuck against the still-cold skin. What a sordid state you must look like to the other patrons, but there were practically zero other clients except you and a few men out after dark. Couldn’t they tell you wanted to be left alone? That something was wrong for you to be drinking this much and that you just wanted to enjoy your liquor and get the hell out once you felt inebriated enough.
“I didn’t ask for commentary,” you fired back, your eyes catching on the figure that had spoken to you. What caught you by surprise was the man’s attire, and then after that the striking orange hair that framed his face. But what irritated you the most after you took in the arrogant man who wore such gaudy attire to match his personality was the smirk that played on his lips as he looked down upon you.
“Well, then maybe don't get obscenely drunk in a public bar.” he had shot back with ease. Jesus fucking Christ couldn’t you drown your sorrows in peace? Why did every annoying man have to seek you out?
“If you really think Mr. Bartender there is still serving me anything other than watered-down shots I’d have to say you are almost as dumb as me.” you hissed out at the man, giving him your meanest glare before turning back to your drinks. You had to admit, the buzz you were nursing didn’t seem to be growing any worse despite your best efforts. You could still see with perfect memory the image of your assumed-to-lover with another woman every time you closed your eyes.
“Oh, good, at least you know you're stupid” -the man muttered under his breath as he took the empty seat next to you. Waving a hand to get the attention of the bartender- “I thought I would have to tell you that, then also tell you that dress of yours is really easy to see through after getting it wet.”
You wanted to strangle him. By god, you wanted to kill him with your own hands.
The best you could do though was throw your drink at him, soaking his expensive red vest that covered the white shirt underneath it. Now that seemed to get him pissed, and you relished in it.
“Nobody ever teach you to leave drunkards alone?” you sneered, giving him a devilish smile as you watched him practically shortcircuit at your actions.
“And did nobody ever teach you not to mess with the Port Mafia, doll?” He snarled back. Quickly grabbing an excess amount of napkins to dab onto his vest to try and soak up any of the liquid so it wouldn’t stain his clothes any further.
It took you more than a few seconds to register his words, and you hated to admit you only took in the pet name first before realizing the more dangerous term he spoke.
The Port Mafia? That Port Mafia? The one Dazai always complained about and whined excessively regarding one of their executives. You didn’t even really care about it, sure you knew of them but in what world would you ever meet them? You strictly told Dazai you would never get in between his work life and personal life, somewhat for him but mostly for you. Because you saw how dangerous it could be, and you wanted to live relatively peacefully without worry of getting shot by some person with an axe to grind. And now you went and dumped your shot on one of their members? After trying so hard to remain surrounded in obscurity to never catch such a prolific gang's attention?
God how fucking stupid could you be in one night.
He must have seen your face change to an ashen white after realizing what he had just uttered, and he let out a snort of amusement at it, which only furthered made you think you were going to get fucking killed, or at least go home missing a few teeth.
“Listen I- I didn’t know how could I- I mean-” you started to ramble before being caught off by a cock of his head and the furrow of his eyebrows.
“Because you're practically in our territory?” he replied, his voice oozing with annoyance after realizing how dumb you truly were.
“I- listen dude I had a hell of a rough night please I'm sorry I’ll- I’ll get your dry cleaning or whatever the hell you want just let me pay my bill and leave.” you began to plead. Groveling was all you knew in an instance such as this, and you hoped he would show kindness... Who are you kidding when had the Port Mafia been known for Kindness?
He scoffed at you, “Dry cleaning? A rough night? Does it look like I give a shit, doll?” you practically flinched at his words. Of course, this wouldn’t work, his clothes probably cost a fortune anyhow. You could never afford the bill, or even afford to pay him back for the ruined clothes. You were going to die, he would pull a gun on you and shoot you in the head, painting the walls a sickeningly red color.
“Chuuya… give her a rest, you knew better.” the bartender’s gruff voice murmured as he sat a glass down in front of him. Wait- Chuuya? Chuuya? Like the executive, Dazai always groaned about?
“Chuuya?” you oppugned, somehow finding your voice to ask the pissed-off man a question. He scowled at you once he heard you speak.
“Chuuya as in like- one of the executives from the Port Mafia?” you asked dumbly. Your heart skipping a beat as the man’s eyes seemed to light ever so slightly at the recognition.
“Well how ‘bout that, at least you seem to know something doll,” he replied, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. His eyes held on you for a heartbeat, before he shrugged off his long black coat to hang over your shoulders. You startled at the action, instinctively leaning backward once his hands reached out towards you.
“I really did mean what I said,” he muttered. Taking a swig of his drink as his cheeks flushed slightly and he averted his gaze from you.
You cocked your head in confusion; what did he say again? That he was in the Port Mafia, that you were stupid, that your dress-
You pulled the coat tightly around yourself, acutely aware of how the soaked fabric clung tightly to your skin. How long had you sat there while your dress only further soaked your skin to ice? How long could people see what was hidden under the cloth? Why did you only realize now?
“Thanks.” you begrudgingly muttered to the cocky ginger. Your hand snaking out of the oddly comforting warm coat to grab the abandoned glass in front of you to drag to your lips. He dipped his head as if to let you know he heard you and continued to drink.
Both of you stayed like that for a while. Nursing your own drinks side by side as the rain continued to come down loudly outside. The space between you both on the barstools was as tense as you were being in his coat. You absently thought “What would Dazai think?” if he knew you were here, drinking in the dead of night with a man he would spit obscenities about when he talked of work. What would he think if he knew you were draped in his coat, that you were trying to discretely peek over at him? Taking in his figure and his face... Which now that the smug smirk was wiped off it seemed strikingly handsome under the bar lights.
“Why the rough night.” he had asked. His voice broke the silence as if it were a crack of lightning coming down right where he sat. You jumped slightly at it, turning your head fully this time to look at him. You could tell he was looking at you from the corner of his grey eyes, and you swallowed hard as you willed your voice to work.
“This… guy I was seeing,” you made sure to leave Dazai’s name out, not wanting to put a warrant on your head if Chuuya disliked him as much as Dazai did. “I caught him with another girl. It’s not like we were official or anything it just- stung.. Made me feel like a fool” you mumbled into your drink, your lips playing on the rim of the crystal glass as you waited for Chuuya to also call you a fool, or to laugh at your sad love story. But he remained quiet, only turning to give you his full attention-
God, either you were more drunk than you were aware or the man you dumped a drink on was shockingly attractive.
You wished you could go back and make a better impression, wondering if instead of falling for Dazai you could have fallen for him. Would he have treated you better? Or were he and Dazai the sides of the same coin? Knowing your abysmal luck it was probably the latter.
“That's rough.” was all he responded. His eyes were still on you as you stared down into your half-empty glass.
“Ha, no... I should have expected as much,” you laughed. Your voice took on a tinge of sadness as you recounted again, for the millionth time, the sight of the man you once loved having another girl pushed up against a wall.
And what was even worse than that memory was all the other ones. The good memories, laying with Dazai tangled in your sheets as he rubbed circles in your back. The smell of morning coffee that he would bring to you as you lay in bed. The soft kisses he would plant on your face when he had to leave.
Your eyes were getting misty and you rubbed harshly at them, hating the fact you were beginning to tear up again. You didn’t want to cry- wouldn’t- over a man like him. You wouldn’t give him another thought, you would wash him from your brain and never think of how his brunette hair fell lazily over his eyes, how he smiled at you when he saw you waiting for him-
Who were you kidding? You couldn’t stop thinking of him. He plagued your mind this entire time as you had sat next to Chuuya. The only time your brain paused its replays of Dazai was when you had gotten into a petty argument before knowing who the man next to you was.
“I can take your mind off it.” his words hung in the space between you both. as his eyes continued to drink you in, their half-lidded look making you want to sink into his arms. You were already getting too wound up, he probably didn't mean that sexually… of course not, you were crazy. You had thrown a drink on him and called him stupid and you didn’t even know who he was before the bartender said his name. How could he possibly want you?
He wanted you. You found that after taking up on his offer and following him out into the rain. His coat still snugly wrapped around your form. You half expected to go back to his place to drink more, this time without the annoyance of a bartender keeping you from getting fully drunk. You were surprised when he gently pushed you against the wall of the bar outside, his lips finding yours and softly kissing them. Your breath hitched and you looked up into his silver eyes as the rain poured down on the both of you, wetting your lips with your tongue you willed him to kiss you again. Your mind frayed and the buzz you had, added on with the kiss from the handsome Chuuya had made you forget almost everything from the morning prior with Dazai.
He seemed to read your expression with ease, this time hungrily taking your lips for himself. his tongue slipping inside your mouth to explore. You pressed your body flush against him, the rain making both of you practically stick together. You focused entirely on this kiss, this moment, the rain, and the feeling of his hands on your hips. The way his tongue slid over yours, the way he kissed so much differently in comparison to Dazai.
He bit your bottom lip gently before pulling away to look at you with eyes filled with desire and lust, it made you weak to your core and your knees practically jelly.
He had taken you back to his place, where? You didn’t really care to know. All you cared about was the way his hands explored your icy skin with slow purpose as you stumbled beside him. You itched to get to a bed, to peel off your wet clothes and for him to be atop you, his hands taking you roughly instead of the unhurried pace he took as he led you to his home.
Once you had made it to his bed, the covers velvety red and unmade you practically felt yourself give out. This is what you needed, this is so desperately what you needed after such a shitty night. A handsome man, a soft bed, and your mind to be overtaken by the thought of pleasure.
Now that you were splayed across the sheets, your wet clothes discarded in a heap by the bedroom door, and with Chuuya kissing his way down your body as if to warm you up from the cold, all you wished for was for him to hurry it up. The teasing was torturous, his tongue and lips taking such a languid approach to the way your body responded to his touch. He wanted to test out seemingly every way he could give you pleasure without actually letting you ride that high. Massaging your thighs that rubbed together to gain some type of relief. The way you yelped when his teeth bit into your breast. The way he watched your face like a hawk as he maneuvered himself to be between your wet and hot thighs. The way his stare bore into you made you flush even more and your core tighten, trying to hide your face in the sheets. His hand quickly snaked up your body to grab you by the chin and turn your face back to him.
“Watch me, doll.” his voice was thick with want. You could feel the heat rolling off him against your sex as his eyes flickered down to the slick heat between your legs. Just like before his tongue was painstakingly slow as he licked his way up to your sensitive clit, before he pulled away to watch how such a small amount of stimulation made you shake and your breath come out fast and ragged. You whined insistently as you moved your hips as if asking him to go back between them. Chuuya chuckled at your antics, placing one hand on your hip to still your movement.
“You’re quite needy, yknow?” he teased. His hand rubbed soft circles into your hip, which made you instinctively think of Dazai and his rough hands being so gentle on your skin. You blinked back fresh hot tears as the unwanted memory surfaced and you heaved out a shuddering breath. Raising your upper half to look at Chuuya with serious determination, you could tell it caught him off guard as he stilled his petting on your hips and waist.
“Not that. None of that. Make me” -you licked your lips as your breath caught in your throat- “Make me forget, Chuuya.” you pleaded, and you could see something snap in the ginger as his name left your lips with passion.
He got to quick work of making sure you forgot anything and everything to do with your past lover. His tongue and lips worked wonders on you as you moaned his name and rolled your hips against his face. His breath was hot against your skin as he took your sensitive clit into his lips and gently bit down on the bundle of nerves, making you see stars and your voice choke out a strangled moan as you came on his face. Your chest heaved quick and fast, trying to find a moment of reprieve from your intense climax from all the edging Chuuya had given to you before your hasty request.
The rest was short-lived as his body hovered above yours, his hands digging into your skin as he let out a ragged breath. His hair was a mess, his lips covered in you and his chest heaving in tandem with yours. His hands, which had surely given your waist bruises from the force he held you down into the mattress, moved to take out his thick cock that was slick with his precum. Your breath hitched at the sight, your eyelashes fluttering as you took in the sight. Chuuya could tell the sight of him turned you on more than before, and it made him let out a shuddering groan as he moved his hand lazily up and down the shaft, trying to quell his own needs.
“Now- ha- doll,” his breath came out fast as he pumped himself slowly as he took in your shaking form underneath him.
“How much do you wish to forget?” he asked. His voice was gruff and shallow with want as he watched your face for a look of understanding. Your eyes were still on the twitching member in his hand, you wanted to touch it, to taste it, to see Chuuya come undone because of you and you alone. It took you a few minutes to register his words, and you only came back when he took his free hand to your throat and lightly pressed down as if trying to gain your attention back to him and his words.
“Ah- uhm-” you shook your head slightly. You hadn’t heard him, you barely heard his ragged breath because your gaze was fixed on his cock.
“Repeat yourself against, Chuuya,” you asked. Which made the hand that was still gently wrapped around your throat squeeze it ever so tightly, eliciting a gasp from you before making your stomach tighten and your sex get even wetter at the feeling.
“I know you’re” -he gritted his teeth to stop himself from moaning at the way you're shyly let out a moan as his hand gripped your throat- ”I know you’re fucking dumb, but when I speak I expect to be listened to.” You loved the way he spoke to you, the way his grip was getting ever so tighter around your throat. The way his eyes drilled into you.
“Yes- sorry- I just-” You let out a hiss of pain as his hand tightened even more, stopping you from finishing your sentence.
“I don't want an apology,” he growled as he positioned himself at your entrance, his hand around your throat loosening ever so slightly as he took you in, the way he could feel your breath still in your throat because of how much you wanted him made him come undone.
“I just want you to remember for next time,” he said roughly, before slamming his hips into yours with such ferocity it made your head snap back and your toes dig into the sheets to steady yourself.
His pace was even more brutal, and his hand never left your throat. The free one found its way underneath your back to pull you closer to him as he thrusted into you with the speed of an animal. Your moans were fast and high pitched, the sweet feeling of pain and pleasure mixing together into one made tears prick the corner of your eyes. You felt him shift his weight and dip his head towards you, his hair tickling the side of your face as his tongue darted out to lap up your salty tears, making you moan out his name as you watched his eyes snap to your lips before devouring them. His pace never slowed, and the pressure on your neck never slackened. He was driving you mad, the lack of oxygen, the taste of his lips and the sound of his hips slamming against yours only made you chase your high. He muffled your high-pitched moans and cries, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he continued to deprive you of air. You could feel the coil at the pit of your stomach tighten more and more with every different stimulation from the man on top of you. You felt yourself on the verge of snapping, tears pooling in your eyes before slipping down your hot face. Chuuya pulled away once again to lick up the tears that trickled down your face, his tongue sending chills down your spine as you finally gulped in air for your lungs.
“Atta girl,” he growled into your ear, and you felt that coil snap.
You spasmed in his hold, and his mouth moved from your ear to your neck as he bit down harshly and somehow, god how you wished you knew, picked up an even faster pace as he helped your climax meet its fullest and deepest desires. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hands hastily came up to wrap around his back and dig your nails into his skin as you screamed until your voice was hoarse.
Chuuya relished the sound, the way your entire body tensed and clung to him as if he was the only thing that could remedy the wild pleasure that shot through your body and filled your mind with delirious desires. He could feel his own climax approaching and he bit harder into your neck, tasting your blood as his ears were trained to the sounds you made. When you began to chant his name under your breath, was when his hips stuttered and he came inside of you. He fell on top of you, his hand slipping away from your throat to allow you to fully breathe in sweet oxygen after the torture you must have endured at your climax. He hazily looked at the mark he made on your skin, the small droplets of blood slipping down your skin as you gasped for air. He lazily licked around the wound and sucked the blood, waiting for you to come back to him and for you to say his name again.
He wanted to ask you to stay the night, he was sure you wouldn't be able to walk home anyway, and he was vaguely aware of the sound of rain still coming down outside.
“Doll..” he cooed, rolling off you and onto his back. You moved your eyes to take him in, the way his eyes were hazy and unfocused, his hair even more wild than before, and the cocky smile he had on his lips at the sight of you… what you must look like to him.
“Hm?” was all you could muster out as a reply, still trying to regain your breath as your body still sporadically twitched from the aftershock of such an intense climax.
“Stay the night… I can’t have you go back out in that rain,” he mumbled, his hand coming up to brush your hair away from your face. You leaned into his touch, you knew you told him at the start no softness... But now, you could hardly remember why you asked that in the first place.
“Mhm, sure, Chuuya,” you breathed, rolling closer into his embrace. He held you tight to his chest, which was slick with sweat. You could feel him fiddle with your hair absentmindedly. As you slowly closed your eyes, comforted by the feeling of his heartbeat and the soothing feeling of his hand in your hair, you suddenly remembered something he said. Your eyes popped open, and you pushed your hands onto his chest to hover your face above his. “Wait- Chuuya- did you say there would be a next time?” you asked, bewildered. His loud and sharp laugh echoed through the room and you blushed furiously at the idea of doing this again. But despite the embarrassment, you felt oddly happy that Chuuya wanted you again, and you were excited to take him up on the offer.
#bsd#bungou stray dogs#chuuya nakahara#chuuya x reader#dazai x reader#bsd dazai#bsd chuuya#bungostraydogs#bsd x reader#nakahara chuuya#bsd smut#bsd x you
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The sweetest scent



pairing: Idol! Mingi x succubus! reader (species implies that the reader is fem bodied)
genre: smut
au: fantasy au, demon au
trope: magical invocation
word count: 3.6k
rating: 18+, Minors do not interact!
summary: Mingi is down bad for way to long now. Good thing his daydreams leading him into your open arms, when you not so randomly appear on the other side of the road, driven by a spell and the delicious smell of his despair...
warnings: smut, pwp, cnc somnophilia (Mingi is informed that it's in the nature of a succubus to feast on sleeping men in form of having sex with them, before he decides to invoke her), cum eating, unprotected sex (don't!), nicknames (honey, sweetheart, baby, pretty boy, princess, baby boy), soft dom!reader, subby Mingi, demon fucking, praise kink, nipple kink, breast play, cumming inside, kinda getting caught, did I forget something?
authors note: Heyy, this is my first fanfic in a long long while and I've never written something like this in english, so please bear with me. If you find mistakes, let me know, so I can improve myself 🩷 I'm so glad this is now out here. Please let me know what you think. Critique is welcome. And yes, I had to edit some things, I hope you like this version too. Okay that's it for now ✨
songs: BM - bad intentions
~😈🖤😈~
It was a warm friday evening in Seoul, the streets were full of people enjoying their free time, visiting bars with their friends or going out on dates with their partners. This city was full of couples much to the distress of a certain young man. Mingi was sick of this sight. It wasn't like he was envious, but he was just so done that he wasn't able to date, let alone have a one night stand. Dating would even be the safest option for him to blow off some steam, even though that wouldn't be the only reason a girlfriend would be great. Don't get him wrong, he's not an ass, but sometimes there was just something missing in his life.
Having one night stands had the potential to ruin his reputation in just a few days, so this was off the table. But to be honest he had no time to date. He had tried it and it went awful. A week long relationship wasn't even a relationship, it was just something. In the end he even had to be scared that his "ex girlfriend" - or whatever she was - would use pictures of them together as leverage against him.
Sometimes he dreamt of living a normal live, moving freely in public and having a girlfriend. But then again he loved his life like it was right now and he wouldn't trade it for anything else. Just a little adventure here or there would just be a nice addition.
That's why he decided to make the step and - even if it sounds crazy - summon a succubus.
But let's start at the beginning. It all started when he had stumbled across this link to an online forum a few days ago, where people were sharing stories about their encounters with magical beings. Guardian angels, demons, doppelgangers... you name it.
Mingi himself was sure he had seen a fairy in his parents garden multiple times when he was a little kid. He would never forget these images, this extraordinary experience. It would always live inside his head. The magical world was there, he was sure.
It was so interesting to read all of these encounters people had with these other worldly beings, that he couldn't stop reading.
Today at work it was no exception, because these thoughts of being lonely at night reminded him, that he hadn't finished one specific story he had found on that site, where a guy was writing about meeting a succubus. Well, he claimed to have summoned her. What an exciting story! Mingi read and read. Maybe this was a solution he could try for himself? The ritual for the invocation seemed easy enough to do in his little studio. He just needed four black candles (surely it didn't matter if they were scented) and a spell. So he did it.
And now he walked home, full of anticipation. Hopefully he did everything right and it would work tonight. He knew a succubus would only appear when he fell asleep (well, he thought so). How would it feel to be touched in his sleep? Probably pretty hot, he imagined. And hopefully he would wake up? Would it make sense to set an alarm? Surely he would wake up anyways.
As he was walking away from the masses of people to a more quiet area of the city, where the dorm was located, he was dwelling on this thought not paying much attention to his surrounding.
And that's where you came into play. Already from afar you could smell this man's need and desperation. Musky and sweet. Oh so sweet. He smelled like a dessert to you and you would make sure to eat him like one tonight. It was so intense, that you didn't have to look for too long for him. Feeding on humans energy could be tough sometimes, but today seemed an easy feast. But before that, you always loved to take a closer look at your prey and play a little with their mind.
It was a simple tactic but efficient, just looking cute and seemingly absemindedly walking in his way. Him playing into your cards by not looking where he went himself was downright nice of him and... boom! You felt his toned chest muscles on your bare upper arm as you dramatically stumbled sideways, letting out a soft "Oh!" and dropping your handbag to the floor.
"Ah! I'm sorry!", he blurted out instantly grabbing your shoulder so you wouldn't fall aswell. "Oh no, it was my bad, I wasn't looking myself.", you exclaimed, looking up to him with doe eyes. For a second time stood still. He froze, looking at you mesmerised, his mouth slightly agape. He smelled even better up close, like seasalt and sage. This was his cologne, not only his pheromones but the combination smelled even better. You too, were struck for a moment, before he quickly blinked and let go of you. "Sorry. ", he mumbled, before hastily grabbing your bag from the concrete to offer it to you.
"Here... uh, your bandhag...I - I mean handbag!", you grabbed the bag with a sweet smile and he awkwardly laughed while scratching the back of his head. "Thank you and thanks for catching me.", you said softly and put the strap of your bag over your shoulder.
"Sorry again, and sorry I have to go. Have a good evening.", he kind of cutely waved you goodbye and went in the direction of the dorm a bit faster and focused this time.
Your eyes follow him with a bemused face. He would be so fun to play with.
Mingi went home in a hurry, trying not to crash into another person or thing until he was able to close the door of his safe home behind him, before he could cringe in peace.
"Fuck, that was so awkward!", he grunted pulling his sneakers from his feet.
"Hm?", a curious face appeared in his sight when he came back up to step into the appartment. Typical nosey San looked expectantly with raised eyebrows at his flatmate. Mingi sighed. "There was this cute girl I ran into. Nearly knocked her over.", he explained and San snickered. "Daydreaming again, man? What's up with you these days?", he asked, but Mingi just waved it off. "What's for dinner?", he asked instead before he paused in his movement. Was his hand smelling funny? He held it up to his nose to smell it and indeed it smelled fruity, flowery and insanely feminine. It almost made him a little dizzy...
That night Mingi was almost too excited to sleep, hadn't he been so exhausted from work that he fell asleep sooner than he thought.
He had a great sleep. Forgotton was his awkward behaviour and he was only thinking about your beautiful eyes, that somehow found a way into his dream...
You giggled quietly doing a little happy dance on your tip toes, when you materialized in a dark corner of his Bedroom. It was just so easy, but you loved these games every time, before visiting.
Full of anticipation you looked over to Mingi. Black filled your eyes, instantly reflecting some of the moonlight that shined through the window, while also your beautiful black horns came twisting up through your shiny Hair. Unlike on the street today you were now wearing some black lingerie which honestly left nearly nothing to the imagination. Easy excess was important for you so this seemed appropriate.
There he layed on his bed all sprawled out, stripped of his heavy blanked in this hot weather softly snoring. He was deep in his slumber with a raging hard on visibly poking up in his pyjama shorts. You really left an imprint on that poor boy that evening.
Slowly you made your way to his bed eyeing his sleepy form up and down. He looked so cute and peaceful and you were sure the expression of pure bliss on his face would look even cuter... or maybe desperation when you would deny him of his orgasm?
"Hmm, we will see...", you mumbled to yourself, before climbing over your yet clueless prey to straddle him.
Carefully you grabbed his pants on each side and slowly pulled it down. With a little flop his not so little dick slapped against his toned torso creating a small puddle of precum below his bellybutton. A reliefed sound escaped his soft lips, when you freed his boner in the act, which made you smile widely. "My god, he's so big!", you whispered with wide eyes.
The cum looked delicious on his skin dripping from his tip and you wanted to taste it so badly. So you wasted no time and dipped your index finger into the clear fluid and brought it between your lips. Kind of sweet you'd say. Surprisingly. Sadly this wasn't often the case. But this cutie was a special one, you could feel it. You two would definitely have a lot of fun tonight.
With quick motions you opened his pyjama shirt and exposed his bare chest. Now it was your turn to release a content sigh when you viewed his seemingly flawless figure, your gaze cought by his beautiful pink nipples. You loved nipples! Another part of the human body that made so many people squirm when you touched them the right way. They looked so delicate and vulnerable, it was wonderful. Biting your lower lip you softly touched the rosy buds and earned another pleased sound of this strikingly handsome young man under you.
Mesmerised by your view your hands started to wander downwards on his body, still nibbling on your own soft lips you started to stroke his thick cock up and down where his precum smeared tip was subtly glistening in the moonlight. It felt so heavy in your comparibly small hand and you loved it. Apparently he loved your touch too, because he quietly started to moan. You looked at his face to see the slightly scrunched eyebrows. He was really a sight to see.
His whole appearance made you throb for more and you wondered who was the demon here. Even in his sleep it seemed like he actively tried to seduce you. You were dripping for him. You needed him inside desperately. His sexual energy would last a long time for you to feist on, you were sure.
Still on your knees you propped yourself up on one hand to hover over the sleeping man to rub your wet folds angainst the underside of his shaft. His body felt so hot it send a tingling sensation through your whole body as your core touched it. Your slick arousal gathering on his dick more and more before you finally pushed it inside your hole with a high pitched moan leaving your lungs while earning a surprised but undeniably aroused gasp by your sleeping cutie.
He stretched you out so good that you held still for a moment to adjust your body to his before starting to grind against his hips. Moving in circular motions while rubbing your clit on his pubic area created an appatizing sound to you not to mention a wonderfully energising feeling. And in the magic of the moment you needed to taste his lips. His oh so full and pink lips. So you did and they tasted immaculate. It seemed that there was nothing he couldn't offer you. Maybe he would give you a chance to come back a few times you thought to yourself, absentmindedly stroking one of his nipples with the thumb of your free hand, never loosing your sensual rhythm.
And you knew the most interesting part would begin now, because all of this different stimulations were waking the deepest sleeper. So you curiously hovered over his face after the kiss and you saw how he struggled to lift his heavy eyelids, his body fighting against the deep sleep.
"Wakey, wakey.", you giggled, still letting you hips circle over his. "Honey, you feel heavenly, you know that?", you sighed and continued to toy with his pretty perky nipples.
"What?", he responded confused and drowsy still trying to get his body awake.
Deep sleep was so heavy on him after such a long day and it took him a little while to get conscious, but finally he opend his eyes and realised that this was not his dream anymore, even though there was the same person in front of him, just slightly different looking.
"What the fuck?!", he gasped and crossed his arms in front of his face.
"Already forgot that you called for me, sweetheart?", you smiled. You were right. Mingi rubbed his eyes and blinked at you.
He swallowed down the initial shock your demonic appearance had caused him and lowered his arms next to him.
"No, I... I just wasn't expecting...", he tried to finish his sentence, but it ended miserably in a guttural moan, when you moved your hips again. You nodded. "That's it, baby. Give in to me.", you said lowly, before you slowed down your movements and took his hand in yours, guiding it to your horns.
"Didn't expect me to look like this, hm?", you asked with a cheeky grin.
Mingi's hand shrugged away for a second when he felt the rough texture of the horn.
"I summoned you.", he simply stated, recalling his memories from the day, his mind now much clearer.
"You did, pretty boy.", you confirmed enthusiastically.
"It really worked.", he whispered fascinated.
"And you know there is only one reason why why you would do that, right?", you asked, trying to get him out of his shell now.
"Yeah.", he nodded, a slight red tint creeping on to his cheeks, before his eyes suddenly got bigger.
"It's you! We- we met on the streets today."
You laughed.
"Yes, we did, sweetheart. And when I found you today ...", you started painting invisible patterns on his chest with your fingers, "you where smelling so delicious with all your pheromones and your nearly dripping desperation. I smelled you from miles away. Haven't smelled this intensity in a while I must say.", thinking about this you put a finger on your chin, pursing your lips.
"You... You could smell my...", Mingi's cheeks changed into an even deeper red now.
"All of your desire and despair, yes.", you, smiled and stroked his cheek with your thumb.
"I knew I had to taste you, pretty boy.", you batted your eyelashes at him.
"I'm sure you're having a rough time, where you can't make room for sex. I couldn't imagine.", you pouted like you genuinely felt sorry for him and you did a bit, just because he was so extra cute.
Slowly you found it was enough of all the talking. You wanted to start the action again and you were sure Mingi agreed.
"So... how about we just fuck now, princess?", you asked him massaging his shoulders a little and you suddenly felt him twitch inside of you.
"Oh, you like that, huh?", a triumphant expression was creeping on your face.
Mingi's body felt hot. This was all he was hoping for. He looked you up and down. From your dark eyes and your horns to your sensual lips, your bare tits, just in reach for him, down to your core where he still was nestled inside of you. This insanely hot woman was already on top of him, calling him by his favourite nickname, when he was now down bad for months. Finally!
"Sure, let's continue.", he smiled back at you and let his hands glide up your thighs to grip your hips.
"Alright, baby boy, show me what you got.", you said with a wicked smile and let your hands wander from his shoulders to his upper arms where you held tight.
Mingi now began to actively push upwards to meet your hips. Oh, how he missed this feeling! It just felt so good. Oh, sooo good. After such a long time, he really needed it. Your pussy felt so hot and tight around him and you were already so wet for him. The slick sounds between you both accompanied an animalistic series of grunts he let out wich made you victoriously puff your chest. Of course this motion didn't go unnoticed by the attractive man underneath you, who took his chance to grab a handful of one of your boobs, squishing and massaging it in his big palm, making you moan appreciatively.
"Ah, fuck me good, pretty boy!", you panted as his movements got faster. You leaned down to get another taste of his plump lips, that felt so soft against yours, you could have done this all night long, but Mingi wanted more. His tongue darted out to catch yours, so you opened your mouth and welcomed him with some soft licks to it, before sucking on it a little. All the while his fingers were playing with your nipples and his hot breath echoed inside your open mouth when you release his tongue again. He made you feel so good, it was incredible.
Finally you grabbed his right hand from your tit to move it down further between your bodies and let his fingers touch your clit. He instantly understood the assignment and started rubbing rough circles on it. You were a mess by now, you really didn't have this much fun in a long time. "Fuck you're so good at this, sweetheart.", you praised him while Mingi gave you half a smirk, already broken asweat. This was extatic. You felt your high coming closer and closer to the point where it was just seconds away. "Oh, I'm coming~!", you whimpered, rutting against Mingi's movements that where going at a rapid pace now. You had completely blown his mind away. He was panting and grunting, pulling your body against his with so much force it made you tip over the edge and come so hard like you haven't in a long while. A stretched downright pornographic moan left your open mouth, everything inside your body contracted hard in waves, your pussy pulsing around Mingi's dick and this incredibly energising and relieving feeling spreading through your veins. Hungryly you looked down at Mingi, eager to see his orgasm face.
His eyes where scrunched up in pleasure, brows knitted, his mouth shaped like an O. He was so close. "Come for me, princess.", you whispered against his lips whilst contracting and relieving your pelvic muscles a few times on purpose. This was it. All this built-up frustration that couldn't be satisfied with his own hands released in one go. A moan left him so heartbreaking you weren't sure if he would literally fall apart under you. You lived for this extasy. All these big feelings releasing from one moment to another.
You could feel the amount of cum getting pumped inside your heat and it was truly the cherry on top for you. This whole act was the essence of your life and you wouldn't have it any other way.
"Fuck, I feel so good.", you sighed, every part of your body tingling while you layed your head on Mingi's shoulder.
"Oh, shit!", he laughed, bringing his hands to his face. "This was crazy.", he mumbled and you snickered. "I can't deny it: I really needed this.", he carefully put an arm on your back, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. In this moment it was absolutely weired to see and he didn't know if he could trust his senses, but your eyes turned back to the color he saw this evening and your horns retrieved back between your silky locks.
"What is happening?", he asked confused, looking deep in your eyes. "This is my human form.", you simply stated, "I only have to let it go when I charche my energy.", you shrugged your shoulders and smiled.
"Oh, so you can normally walk around like this.", he nodded. "Right, I-...", rumbling was heard outside his room. Muffled voices. "Mingi?", it was Seonghwa.
"Everything okay with you?", San's voice following.
Panic widened in Mingi's eyes.
"Uh, yeah... Everything's s all right! Don't come in!", quickly he pushed himself up on his elbows. Normally there were no visitors in the dorm and if that was the case, they swore that they would tell each other.
"What happened?", San asked and Seonghwa instantly commented: "You really wanna know, if he says 'don't come in' after those sounds leaving his room?"
"Oh, shush!", San said annoyed.
"You're shushing me?!", Seonghwa retorted and the bickering began outside the door.
"Who are they?!", you giggled, sitting up again. Mingi taking the chance to lift his upper body with you, but also pressing a hand over your mouth in a hurry with a pleading look on his face.
Silence.
"Is there a woman with you?", San's voice sounded confused.
"Uh, no...", great, he sounded way to unsure.
"Can't you just vanish, like you came in here? Or how did even you come in here anyways?", Mingi hissed at you.
"Oh no, this is too much fun.", you laughed when his fingers left your lips.
"Come on in guys!", you chimed happily, you were so curious to see who was living with your little cutie.
Silence again.
Slowly the door handle dipped, the door opened and revealed two very handsome young men.
Hastily Mingi tried to cover your still connected bodies with his blanket. This was even more embarrassing than the incident on the streets with you today.
"Oh my god!", San exclaimed, trying to hide his and Seonghwa's eyes at the same time.
"Mingi what the fuck, why is there a stranger in here? ", Seonghwa tried to say while San's hand accidentally hit his face.
"It's not what you think!", Mingi whined, unsure how to solve this situation without looking like a complete maniac. So you took it in your hands to say something.
You smiled at the two guys who pointedly tried to cover their eyes and exclaimed with glee: "Oh, I didn't know there were more handsome treats living in this household!"
~😈🖤😈~
© mingismoralloyalty
This is my own work of fiction. Do not copy, translate, feed to ai or report.
#ateez#ateez fanfic#mingi#ateez mingi#mingi x reader#mingi smut#mingi fanfic#mingi fanfiction#mingi ff#ateez fanfiction
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So, with the main part of this whole thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai (Samurai from here on) situation having blown over, I thought I'd make a final-for-now summary post that outlines the key points in this situation so that I can cap this for the time being. It's also for the people who've stumbled upon one of the many posts about this and have no clue where to start or don't understand the context, because yeah, there's a lot. I've had multiple people reach out who were in that situation, so here's the summary for anyone who's interested.
Links to all the posts in this situation:
Initial posts: 1. Samurai's answer w/ my response 2. Samurai's response to me
Main threads: 3. Culture and fandom thread 4. Screenshots thread
Other threads: 5. Initial receipts 6. First ask 7. First anon ask, rebuttal 8. Second anon ask 9. Third anon ask 10. Fourth anon ask 11. Fifth anon ask 12. Sixth anon ask, thread 13. Disclaimer to not misuse my posts 14. Follow-up regarding Samurai's continued hypocrisy
I will be referring back to these post in the normat "no. #".
There are multiple key players in this whole thing but seeing as this post contains primarily my words and take on things (and the others involved have honestly had enough stress about this for one month) I've elected not to tag them. You can find them in the posts I linked to. However, I will note the abscence of any real response from Samurai. I'll get into that further down.
A big thank you to everyone who's contributed to this discussion. It's been wonderful finally getting all this stuff out in the open.
Break for those who want a usable dash or don't care. But I encourage you to do so because this does matter for your fandom experience going forward.
So first, what happened? Well, the first thing to understand is that this whole thing started a long time ago, and the reason it's becoming a big thing now is pure chance. It was going to happen eventually. It happening now is just how it went. But for the sake of cohesion, I'll approach it from where the situation itself arose, especially since it displays some of the behaviours I'll be highlighting later pretty well.
The way this all kicked off was that Samurai posted no. 1 in response to an ask about the canon vs. fanon spelling of Yuuri and Viktor's names. In this response Samurai was pretty rude and demeaning towards Japanese name translation inconsistencies. There was also a minor spelling error. I pointed these things out in a reblog of Samurai's post which can also be found in no. 1. Now, Samurai did respond to this, but not in the way you'd think. She didn't reblog my post. Instead, she quietly edited the spelling error in her original post (just became incorrect in a different way), and then reblogged that new version of her own post and tagged me in it. Strange, but okay, I guess. In her response she apologised for the cultural insensitivity and explained that English was not her first language which, sure, that's fair. However, she also went on to explain the spelling error was actually just a misunderstanding, and then was even more wrong about Japanese in her explanation of that. Go to no. 3 to get an explanation as to why she was doubly wrong. I couldn't be bothered to start anything about this poor response, so I reblogged it so people could see it, said "sorry if I was harsh, have a good day", and went on my way.
Later that same day I then got an ask (no. 3 and 4) about that last reblog which said that I shouldn't have apologised for being right, and explained that Samurai was not a stranger to poor behaviour and bad takes. I was already tired of Samurai and had been for a while, so I answered the ask by explaining that I just apologised to keep the peace, but I was over trying to do that anymore.
And this is where the situation took off from. People started reblogging my post with their own grievances about Samurai, including bad experiences from interacting with her, and I began getting asks where people corroborated these claims and shared their own frustrations. I won't explain those asks and reblogs here since they're in the links at the beginning, and their main points can be boiled down to the following:
Avoiding accountability Samurai has a knack for worming their way out of taking accountability for their actions. She'll divert attention from the issue at hand, she'll use whataboutism to point fingers back in your face, she'll fabricate a sympathetic angle of her actions and use your natural tendency to want to see the good in people against you, she'll make sure you know just how sad and insecure she is, and she'll do it all while talking like she's an expert. Like when she responded to my post but didn't actually admit that the spelling mistake was just that. A mistake. She didn't have some advanced knowledge that she proceeded to explain. She was just wrong. Twice. And she couldn't even just say "Ah sorry, my finger slipped."
Victim complex She's also always the victim. She doesn't get enough engagement? The fandom doesn't understand her. She's trying so hard, why are worse posts getting attention when she makes such high quality stuff? The fandom must be rotting from the inside with no academics left to admire her supreme intellect. Someone posts an anylisis similar to hers? Plagiarism! Thievery! Piracy! It could never be because there are only so many scenes and conclusions to draw about said scene in a show that people have been analysing for eight years. Someone disagrees with a conclusion of hers? Well they're an acephobe, of course! A bigoted Karen who's trying to erase the real academics in the fandom! God forbid someone criticises her? Blocked, blocked, blocked, the fandom is so toxic, omg, she needs to get better at recognising fake friends, smh.
Manipulating the narrative As you might not be surprised, she also loves being in control of what her audience sees of the discourse she gets into. See: her not reblogging my post and instead making a separate post when that was more work than just responding directly. She's also notorious for editing her posts so when people criticise them she can feign ignorance and claim she never said that. And in terms of the individuals who've been intimidated into silence by Samurai and her entourage, if their stories got out, that would be a catastrophe, right? It would hurt her precious reputation after all.
General Manipulation and Gaslighting And yeah, that leads us to the big one. Now, these are hefty accusations and I'm especially bringing up the latter a bit dubiously. However, I think it needs to be said that many of the tactics she uses are manipulation strategies. I'm saying that as someone who's been at the receiving end of these methods. They get you to shut up. They get you to doubt your own judgement. They get you to think things you wouldn't have otherwise. And, most importantly, they get you to forgive things you never would. They worm themselves into your brain and get you to question your own ability to make decisions and understand the world. And that right there where it becomes gaslighting. Again, I'm not saying Samurai is being all that extreme but I am saying that she's leading people down the slippery slope of accepting this type of behaviour by convincing them that it's actually okay because she said so.
Insincerity This overlaps a good amount with manipulation, but I thought it was necessary to point out separately, because she's notorious for it. As was mentioned in no. 12, she has repeatedly displayed disingenuous behaviour across social medias and has used those different behaviours to twist the story into what she wants it to be, so she comes out of it looking either like a victim or like an underdog and saviour of the fandom. Is it a crime to want to look good online? Of course not. Does she use that liberty to fabricate a benevolent image of herself despite repeatedly not living up to said image? Very much so.
Bullying and Namecalling This goes back to how I mentioned her accusing people of being acephobes for not agreeing with her very important and perfectly correct analyses. Beyond this, she has also called people illiterate for not agreeing with her analyses as if these "academic" takes of hers are so obviously right that only someone incapable of accessing the source material would disagree, has called someone a Nazi for using the actual current DSM-5 medical term for autism (as far as I've been informed in private, see no. 3, 4, and 5 for partial context), and has recently become very fond of calling people dicks.
Superiority complex This all of course comes down to the actual issue at the bottom of all of this: Samurai thinks she's better than the rest of us. She thinks she's more academic, more literate, more intellectual, and laments the lack of people who can match her frea- I mean, level. No weird takes on her blog as she says (no. 4). This is a "dick" move to use her own vocabulary but is even worse when you realise that she's not all that academic or intellectual herself. Which, by the way, is completely fine! You don't need a PhD to discuss anime men. However, she makes it sound like that. She belittles posts that aren't as "academic" as hers simply because they upset her or have more interactions. She belittles the entire fandom simply because other people don't subscribe to her lonely intellectual narrative and enjoy fandom casually. She insists that her analyses are better than other metas when the academia she's so proud of isn't even really there in a lot of them. And she will absolutely make you feel worthless for thinking you can contribute to the fandom on her level because no one is as good as her.
Do I really care much about some arrogant loser on the Internet? No. Do I care that she's belittling her entire community by ridiculing their contributions and positioning herself as the one true deliverer of gospel? Absolutely. See, the issue isn't just that she's arrogant. It's that that's not enough for her. She pushes the rest of the community down so that she can feel even more superior. She also routinely complains about her lack of engagement which, wow, what a mystery, what might be scaring them away? But secondly, she's indirectly belittling the support the fans of her content are giving her. No. 11 is from one such fan who experienced this. Let it be made clear that Samurai might genuinely want to form a community and be social, but she does not see herself like the rest of us when it comes down to it. She sees herself as better. Or, at the very least, she posts as if she does.
Okay, that's all well and good, but Arom, why does this matter? Isn't it just petty fandom drama? Why should we care? Well, you should care because the people who've been hurt by this behaviour and those who've left the fandom to be free of it are your peers. They're not random Internet strangers. The next one could be your close fandom friend. The one after that could be you. The reason I'm making this post is so that you can understand how Samurai operates and not fall for her tactics. They're incredibly easy to start forgiving. I've been there. You have to catch this stuff before it turns into something legitimately damaging. I also want you guys to be able to take this situation with you and apply what you've learned to other actually dangerous people. I don't consider Samurai dangerous. To be frank, I consider her an immature embarrassment. Can she hurt you? Of course, but the scope will be limited. However, there are plenty of people of there who are much better at doing these things and do them far more insidiously with far worse goals. I want you all to be able to realise before it's too late. I was in one of those much more insidious friendships once even if the goals weren't any worse than Samurai's. They sneak up on you so damn fast.
And now, because I know some of Samurai's entourage might be itching to hit me back with this: Why is this public? Shouldn't stuff like this be kept private? Isn't this just us bullying Samurai in the hallway where everyone can watch?
Now, if you're a specific person, you'll likely recognise these coming points because yes, they're lifted directly from your ask. However, seeing as this ask was not sent to me (I'll leave you guys to ponder why that is considering all other asks were) and has not been published because the recipient didn't want to spend their energy on it, I'm not going to say who the asker is nor am I going to be speaking to them directly in this part. Rebutting a statement no one but me and a few others have even read wouldn't be fair to the asker. However, the ask brings up some very common points in discussions like this that I want to catch right now before anyone starts thinking those points are good.
So first: Why is this public? Now, on the surface this seems quite reasonable to ask, right? I personally agree that private beef should stay private and that there's no need making a bigger scene out of things than necessary. But this beef isn't private. It's not a one-off thing, and it's not new. It's been happening for at the very least months and has been happening both publicly and privately on different social medias. Oh, also, it has already been attempted to be handled privately. Doing so did diddly squat. People have actually been scared into silence by attempting to handle it like that. Some things just cannot be handled one on one because one party is entering it with malicious intent.
Allegedly Samurai has also been called out in a Discord server before (no. 12) which I can't confirm but wouldn't surprise me. Guess how much that did. Nothing. Nada. Nul og niks. But then you might be asking why a second call-out is supposed to do anything, and that's where I get to the real point of this whole thing: Getting the word out. This and all the previous posts aren't about actually getting through to Samurai because I'm acutely aware that she won't actually change by being told off. She's demonstrated time and time again that she'll simply wait the situation out and then vaguepost about how much of a victim she is and how toxic her ex-friends are.
So, instead of getting her to own up, we're trying to reach everyone else. If we can make people aware of her tactics so that they can avoid her or at the very least be wary around her, I consider that a success. If we can limit her access to victims, we'll have done what we set out to do.
Second: What about Samurai's mental health? Aren't we hurting her by destroying her reputation? Well, dear reader, what about everyone she's hurt? Do they not deserve to talk about this stuff simply because it'll make Samurai upset? This might be a kind of wild suggestion, but there's a very easy way to not be publicly called out for being an arse: just don't be an arse. No one made her do these things. Like mentioned in no. 12, she destroyed her reputation all by herself. If stating aloud what someone has done ruins their reputation, then the person who did said things is at fault. Spare the messenger. They've already been hurt enough. If Samurai had simply owned up to her behaviour and apologised and made a change when people had called her out in the past, we wouldn't be here. She made this necessary. Don't feel bad for her that she's getting what was always coming to her.
Third: Why are we digging up old posts? Isn't it unfair to hold Samurai's past against them? Now, I want you to notice what this whole situation is actually about. Is it about a single incident? No. Is it about a set of repeated behaviours which are harmful and manipulative? Now you're onto something. I agree that digging up unrelated dirt on someone just to slander them for their past when it has no or an at best flimsy relation to what's actually being discussed is mean and unnecessary and should not be done.
However, the point of showing those older posts is to make it clear that this isn't a new thing, and it's repeated and unchanging. Bringing up their posts about being insecure and being sad about not getting traction isn't about those posts, it's about showing how much Samurai clearly cares about interaction and to point out a repeated behaviour of deflecting criticism by hiding behind insecurity and making their own fans feel bad about not being good enough. It's not about the posts. It's about explaining why Samurai is uncomfortable to be around.
Oh and fourth because this is the funniest thing: What about the new fans? They'll think we're all mean and negative! Okay so first of all, and please excuse my French, absolutely dogshit take. "What about the new fans?" Dude, what about the ones who are already here and are being driven away by Samurai's awful and demeaning behaviour? What about the people who've been hurt and are finally being heard? What about when the new fans see Samurai calling others acephobes and Nazis for disagreeing with her? Is that not driving them away? Is that not projecting negativity?
Now, yes, that was targeted towards the asker because oh my fucking stars, I haven't seen a take that bad in a while. If you want to ignore or criticise this point of mine, go ahead because I can't source it and the asker's full statement isn't publicly available so I'm aware that this is a weak argument. But I want everyone to know that if you've been ignored and demeaned and called names for simply trying to assert yourself, you're allowed to be negative publicly. You're allowed to publicly make it clear that someone isn't listening privately and so you're speaking in the only place they can't ignore. You're allowed to not be peachy and positive at all times just because a new fan might come across your post. You don't have to treat every post and word you make public as an exhaustive representation of the entire fandom.
And so, with all of this outlined, I have a personal message for Samurai and Co.: Do. Better. I know you can because I've seen you interact amicably with the fanbase multiple times. I'm not here to tell you to get off the Internet and I'm not here to get you to stop participating in fandom. What I am here for is to get you to treat the fanbase with the respect it deserves. You're not better than people just because you're queer. It's the Yuri!!! On Ice fandom. Basically everyone is queer. Get over yourselves. Develop some maturity and accept that you can be contradicted. Accept that not everyone will agree with you. Accept that just because you point really hard at canon, your analyses will still just be theories. And that's okay. You don't need to be an academic to be part of fandom. You don't even need to be right. You can be straight up wrong and still be allowed to be here. However, you also have to let others do all that stuff too. You can't tell people to be nice and then not be so yourself. Fandom is collaboration which means that sometimes you have to just accept that some members of the group have takes you disagree with or find straight up stupid. However, that does not give you the right to tell them they're doing fandom wrong or claim that your way of doing it is better. Because that's how you come across. Whether intentionally or not, that's the message you're sending. Stop acting suprior. It's actually very easy and frankly embarrasing that you haven't figured out how to not be insufferable yet. You're adults. Act. Like. It.
Finally, and I promise this will he the last thing: What do we do now? Samurai has been exposed, hasn't responded, and will probably just wait for this to blow over. What are we supposed to do with all this information? Well, you're free to choose of course, but my suggestion is to simply keep an eye on her and her entourage. They've so far showed no sign of wanting to change, and if you see them misbehaving, don't be afraid to hold them accountable, or, if you'd rather not be mixed up in this, feel free to shoot me a DM or even an anonymous ask. If I get enough reports or the reports are egregious enough, I might make a follow-up post just to keep people updated.
And if keeping a 40+ year old (yes, Samurai is really that old, I was shocked too) on an Internet leash seems extreme, just remember that she made it necessary. She clearly won't listen when people tell her directly how she's hurt them. In my opinion, some social pressure to behave is in order. All she has to do is be nice and nothing more will come of this. It's up to her. It takes a village and sometimes the entire fanbase.
So, it's up to you, Samurai. Your behaviour will be the direct catalyst for whatever I and others choose to do or not do. All you need to do is behave. If you can do that, we'll get to go our separate ways. If you can't, well, you've seen what that results in. But if you do legitimately make a visible effort to change, I'll gladly make a post about that too. I'm all for a redemption, but you're the one who has to put in the effort. Not your friends, not your fans, not your victims, not me.
Your choice. I'll be waiting.
And to anyone who's dying to tear my head off: Please read all the posts linked to at the top before responding. I'm not naming any names. You know who you are.
#that got long but is anyone surprised anymore?#anyway i hope everyone is having a good start to the new year#yuri on ice#arom antix
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a mission of liberation. 1995. part one
Pairing: Winter Soldier x Red Guardian
Warnings: none, so far.
Summary: Four years after meeting the Winter Soldier, Alexi Shostakov finds himself face to face with the man he once knew. SHIELD assigns him the mission to find and liberate him.
Word Count: 1k
notes: I don’t know where exactly this is going, I usually don’t do this, but I’m so excited about this ship I had to do something. I'm shrugging right now but in a way that i definitely know instead of what the shrug implies. tee hee. because it's so clear they should fuck so it will happen, trust. also this is unedited. i don't have time for that.
edit: why didn’t any of you tell me I was spelling Alexei wrong? I am betrayed and hurt. next chapter postponed.
┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐
Alexi had a good life, doing what he loved. A nice house, a dog, a job that he loved more than anything in the world, students that maybe hated him, even a potential girlfriend. Everyone knew him to be a kind spirit, maybe annoying at times with his loud personality, but after he walks through the doors of his beautiful house, feeds his dog, eats his homemade all american meal, and lays down to sleep in his goose feather bed, he thinks of someone he misses so dearly.
Someone he knew as his best friend.
And it didn’t feel good to think about him , like Alexi would die for it to be. His chest eroded anytime his existence was uttered by his subconscious while his mind was at rest. His “good life” kept the thoughts of him at bay, but every night, the guilt only made it worse.
A smile shouldn’t haunt a man. Often, when the Red Guardian thought of the brutal brainwashing his lost friend had been subjected to, he couldn't help but think of his smile when he resisted it.
The worst part, somehow, was that he didn’t even know his name. Neither of them did- but at least “The Coney Island Hero” wasn’t subjected to remembering that someone had given him that nickname. Alexi was left to suffer that.
But there are many distractions from this- one being that he now leads a double life, working for SHIELD, doing hero-work, an umbrella term to describe anything from shutting down Nuclear Cold-War weapons and saving people from burning buildings- sometimes even cats. The bastardly things.
Until one day, on a mission, he saw someone he’d been dreaming about.
Alexi never went a day without seeing the shadow of The Coney Island Hero, which is why he almost brushed it aside, but then, he slapped him right in the face- which proved nothing. He was seeing The Winter Soldier now. The Shadow of The Coney Island Hero laid in him, even if he might not remember it.
There’s one who does though, and Alexi knew that this time, he wasn’t going to lose him. He was going to liberate him, in a true American fashion.
Brainwashing goes both ways. Alexi was going to brainwash the winter soldier back to the man he knew. The man that deserved to live a life free.
And for reasons unknown to him, there was something deeper stirring under the surface of this fundamental belief. Something… personal.
MISSION REPORT. 1995.
“Get that crying baby out of here, I’m trying to talk to the woman,” Alexi ordered, slamming a fist on Peggy’s desk with a scowl. “This is important, little girl!”
The baby mirrored his scowl. “I’m thwee,” she said, sticking out her tongue and holding her Dad’s hand a little tighter.
“You are a very cute baby, I cannot stay angry for long,” Alexi gave in, waving as she walked out, grinning ear to ear at the sight. “Goodbye baby.”
Silence wavered between them as Alexi smiled silently, staking in the sights of the stuffy brown office that overlooked the streets of New York City, various noises fading into white noise as he let himself drift away to another place. It was subconscious at this point.
Coney Island. He’d been there several times hoping to run into its hero.
He stayed there until a British accent woke him back up. “Alexi, you came here very passionate about something, would you like to… elaborate further on what you saw?”
“Uh, what?” Alexi stuttered, “oh, yes. The Winter Soldier. I saw him there, Agent Carter. I knew him, yes I knew him well. He liberated me.”
“The Winter Soldier? He’s a myth.. An urban legend. What makes you think you know him?” Peggy inquirered, grabbing her reading glasses from the desk in front of her, holding her files out far enough to see.
Alexi laughed. “You cannot fool me, Agent Carter. I know you know what you say isn’t true. You may be the supreme leader of SHIELD, but I was a supreme leader of the Red Room. I knew of the Winter Soldier. But then, I knew him. He didn’t know himself though.”
She looked at him through her glasses. “Alright, fine. He does exist. But you aren’t supposed to know that. It’s what we’d all like to keep a secret.” Peggy became somber, setting down her files. “What do you mean he didn’t know himself?”
“I mean,” Alexi began. “We bonded. He got us French fries, we had jokes, and I tried to help him remember what his name was. The best he could do was Coney Island. That means he was the hero, no?”
“The hero? I doubt he was ever a hero. I don’t know who-“
“But he doesn’t remember. He used to be someone! Someone who is no one wouldn’t remember Coney Island,” Alexi said in confidence, his eyes traveling to outside the window once more. “Even if he wasn’t, he deserves to live free.”
“You’re saying that the Winter Soldier was brainwashed?” Peggy asked, practically in disbelief as her soldiers squared, only slightly looking down at her feet when Alexi earnestly nodded his head.
She got up and walked around the room, seemingly deep in thought about something, in such a manor that made him twist his fingers anxiously in wait for whatever she was going to say next. Perhaps “you’re crazy, we’re taking your job and your money.” or worse, “there’s nothing we can do.”.
Finally, she said, “Alexi, I’m giving you a mission.”
Alexi shot up like lighting to his feet, turning around the face Peggy, who had her hands neatly clasped behind her back, a serious look of final determination on her aged face.
“Yes ma’am?” Alexi asked, his heart practically breaking through his ribs.
“Find and free The Winter Soldier.”
<> part 2 out now
#a mission of liberation#writing#my writing#writers on tumblr#writeblr#fanfic#creative writing#mcu fandom#Winter Guardian#Red Soldier#alexi shostakov#the winter soldier#bucky barnes#winter soldier#james buchanan barnes#the red guardian#what if season 3#marvel cinematic universe#marvel#avengers#mcu#marvel mcu#mcu fanfiction#gay marvel#gay content#yaoi
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