#i swear to god I'm not making this up right?

[losers-clvb]

meeting the family soldier boy x female!reader

summary: you take ben to meet your crazy family. you're a bundle of nerves, but ben assures you everything will be fine. he just has to keep his mouth shut -- a nearly impossible task for the supe.

content: swearing, mentions of sex, ben may be slight ooc (he's just not craycray right now), mentions of ben and reader's respective pasts, fluff, surprisingly respectful ben (but he's still makes his own comments.

word count: 4.6k

note: i went a little off-the-rails with this one. i envisioned it as yapper reader from it will come back and talk too much, but there is no outright connection with her. i'm in love with what i've created here, so expect more of this family.

m.list

“Ben.” You groaned out his name, again, when you felt his hands on your hips, again.

Seems like fifth time was the charm, because he backed off.

“You’re no fuckin’ fun.” He muttered with his usual I-need-to-get-what-I-want attitude, rolling his eyes. You swore he was worse than a teenage girl with his small temper tantrums.

“We’re already running late.” You flicked your eyes to the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Which, I’ll remind you, is your fault.”

“Didn’t seem like it was my fault when I woke up with your hand around my fuckin’ cock.”

Maybe part of this, a very small and insignificant part, was your fault.

“Yeah, well, I woke up to it poking me in the back.”

Tousling your hair to try to get it to go the right way -- whatever direction that was --, you felt his eyes rake up your body.

“Not my fault my girl is so damn sexy.” He took a step forward, prompting you to spin around and stick a hand out to stop him.

Ben pouted -- actually pouted -- at your rejection.

If it were any other day, a day that didn’t include you practically biting your nails to the bone in anticipation, you would have been happy to get back into bed, maybe move to the couch or, Ben’s favorite, the bathroom sink so you could watch yourself fall apart in the mirror.

Unfortunately for you both, home was hours away, but your family was just a quick drive across town.

Lucky you!

“I told you to watch that mouth, mister.” You waggled a finger at him, narrowing your eyes to show you meant business.

“ ‘Damn’ is hardly offensive, doll.”

“I’ll show you how offensive I can be if you keep it up.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” He reached for you again. The swat to the back of his hand was instantaneous.

“Behave.” Your voice was stern, but the swallow after betrayed it. “Please.”

It wasn’t as if you were embarrassed of Ben. No, you didn’t give a shit if the old lady at the grocery store thought he was too touchy, or if your boss thought he swore too much.

But this was your family.

The people who raised you, who had to deal with your awkward phase of only wearing green for an entire year, the ones who teased you when you had your first crush. Their opinions mattered, even if you knew some of your aunts were far too judgy.

In theory, the fact that Ben was a supe worked to your advantage. America’s Son as your boyfriend, what girl wouldn’t love to bring that home to mom and dad?

Then the drinking and drugs and stubborn fucking attitude reminded you of all the reasons why they wouldn’t like him. Not to mention the fact that he was older than your grandfather.

Oh God, your grandfather. The eighty year old was going to hate Ben. He had hated your first boyfriend, who was top of his class at the nearby university. Though, perhaps the old man had a point, seeing how you had found the dickhead in bed with his professor.

“You ready, doll?”

Ben’s gravel woke you from your thoughts. He knew you had been thinking too much. He always knew when you were thinking too much. You inspected yourself one last time before nodding.

“I guess.” You sighed, swiping up your purse. You allowed him to sling an arm over your shoulders, but sent him a warning glare when his fingers fiddled with the strap of your dress.

“No need to worry, sweetheart,” he held the car door open for you, kissing the side of your head, “parents love me.”

You climbed into the car and frowned up at him.

There was no way parents loved him. He was the kind of guy they warned against, the one you brought home to spite your mother when she mentioned settling down.

“Don’t look so fuckin’ skeptical.” Ben scoffed when you just looked at him with your I don’t believe you face. Ignoring the amused smile on your face, he sauntered to the driver’s side of the car, slipping in.

“You’re telling me that you, Mr. Fuckin’ Weed and Whiskey,” you imitated his voice on “fuckin’”, he rolled his eyes, “have gotten a girl’s parents to like you.” The last part of your sentence came out with a laugh of disbelief.

“I’ve got it in me.” Ben defended, making another point pop into your head.

“You’ve never had to do this before.” You scoffed, the realization that you had no idea what to expect from this making your anxiety grow.

“Doll, I wasn’t worried about meetin’ mom when I had ‘em bent over the counter.” Ben tried to dismiss while pulling onto the road.

“Yeah, that makes me feel so much better.” You muttered, chewing on your lower lip. He did a double take, eyes flitting from the road to your nervous expression.

Clicking his tongue to get your attention, he brought his hand up to cradle your chin. He wiggled his thumb into your mouth, forcing you to release your skin to allow space for the intrusion.

“You may be my first, but I promise, you’re gonna be my last.”

The words washed over you, coating you in a peace you hadn’t known until you met Ben. He liked to do this, remind you of his love without actually saying it. You’d heard the words a total of two times in your relationship. It never felt like they were missing, not when he held doors open and spoon-fed you soup when you were sick.

His thumb retracted once he was sure you were calmed. Tangling his fingers in yours, the drive was filled with a comfortable silence, something Ben had taught you to be okay with.

Part of the reason why you were so hesitant to introduce him to your family stemmed from your childhood.

Where Ben had been raised as a nuisance, you had been cherished since day one.

Birthdays were filled with off-key singing and cheek-kisses from relatives. Talent shows were another thing in themselves, three rows of chairs taken up by cheering. Siblings grouped together to fight when school bullies dared to mess with you. Your aunts worked around the clock to knit a blanket when you went away to college.

You didn’t want him to see what he had missed out on.

“Christ, doll, you didn’t tell me you were loaded.” Ben chuckled when the looming farmhouse came into view. You made a face, knowing damn well his father had been far wealthier than your family.

Still, you couldn’t deny the fact that your parents weren’t exactly living paycheck to paycheck.

The family farm had been in business since… well, you weren’t all too aware of the specific year, just that the creaky floorboards on the porch had been placed by your great grandfather.

Summers were spent playing in the cherry trees, plucking the sweet fruit from the branches whenever you pleased. No one lived on these acres of land full-time, opting to share the space. Cousins and friends-of-the-family drifted in and out of the farmhouse throughout the months, ensuring there was always fresh lemonade in the fridge.

All of your firsts had happened in the barn off to the side of the property; first steps, first kiss, first time having sex -- though you would take that last piece of information to your grave.

“Don’t touch the good china,” you warned teasingly, a warm smile blossoming on your face when your cousin, Lina, sprinted for the car.

She was younger than you by about ten years, you taking on more of an older sister role in her life. She was a good kid, you told about everyone you came into contact with.

Ben hadn’t even shifted the car into park before you were jumping out to wrap your arms around her. She squealed your name into your hair.

“I missed you!” She pulled away, bouncing on her toes while you looked over her.

“Is that my dress?” You asked. It was something you hadn’t worn in years, but you would have recognized the light blue material anywhere.

“No.”

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Yes.” She admitted sheepishly, looking to the ground.

“I knew it!”

“You left it in the upstairs closet! What else was I supposed to do?” She was on the defensive, a hand on her hip. You laughed and ruffled her hair, causing her to grumble out a complaint, but her own giggle cut through it.

“Who’s this gorgeous girl?”

Ben stepped up next to you, a basket of cookies in one hand while the other rested on the small of your back. Lina immediately blushed, and you didn’t blame her.

Anyone who was attracted to the male species would blush if Ben called them gorgeous.

“Lina-bug.” You answered, making her scrunch her nose up at the nickname.

“I’m not five.” She complained, sticking her tongue out at you despite the words.

“You’ll always be five to me.” You promised, curling into Ben out of pure instinct.

It was at that moment you noticed something dark, almost bruise-like peeking out at you from the collar of Lina’s -- your -- dress.

“What the hell is that?” You demanded, poking at the spot.

Lina paled, pulling away from your grasp. Her eyes flicked from you to Ben, blushing when she realized you both knew exactly what the hell it was.

She wasn’t a child, having turned seventeen just the month before. It was still far too young to be doing anything of this nature, anything that left a hickey on her collarbone for the entire family to see.

Ignoring the larger quantity of much darker marks littering your inner thighs, you opened your mouth to lecture her on why boys were stupid and not worth her time.

The call of your first and middle name made the breath choke in your throat.

“For your sake, I hope my ears just need a good cleanin’ and I didn’t just hear those words come from your mouth!”

Aunt Mavis was bounding her way across the yard, wearing her signature yellow sunhat. You cringed, a memory of the woman flushing soap into your mouth as a child for calling your brother a beach -- you hadn’t heard the word correctly -- flashing through your mind.

“Watch your mouth, doll.” Ben mumbled to you, teasing you with your earlier words. You grumbled out a warning to him.

Lina took the distraction as a chance to get the hell out of there.

“Look at you!” Mavis beamed, throwing her arms out like she hadn’t been ready to lock you in the potato cellar just a moment earlier. “My great-niece, the most beautiful girl in the world!”

Nevermind the fact that she called everyone the most beautiful. It was one of the things you loved about her. Sure, she may be old-fashioned in her childhood punishments, but she loved her family wholly.

You inched toward her, biting down on your tongue to keep from gasping at the subtle slide of Ben’s hand to your ass.

Mavis engulfed you in her rose-scented perfume, squeezing you tight enough to juice you like a lemon. Her eyes must have caught onto the tall frame of the man behind you, because, in an instant, she was standing toe-to-toe with him. You blinked.

C’mon, Mav, you thought, silently urging the woman to say something, anything.

On the spectrum of intensity, she was quite tame. If she didn’t like Ben, there was no hope.

“You’re trouble.” Mavis waggled a finger at him, a teasing smirk tilting onto her face.

It wasn’t a hardcore stamp of approval, but it wasn’t a dismissal, either. You took it as a win, letting out the breath you had sucked in the moment you laid eyes on your aunt.

“Only if you’re askin’ for it.” Ben responded, winking.

Oh my God.

You dropped your jaw, heart stuttering as you thought of all the ways Mavis would berate him.

Only, Mavis didn’t look offended.

She let out a hearty laugh, wrapping her arms around Ben’s torso.

“I like you.” She announced, pulling him in tight.

Ben drifted his eyes to you, smirking.

I told you so, they said.

Not my mom, yours responded.

He had won over one aunt, albeit a very influential aunt, but the real work would begin with the others.

With the intent to officially introduce him to her, you opened your mouth. A pang of sweet drifted to your nose, making your eyes flutter shut.

“Cherry rolls?” You breathed out, sighing slightly. It was an unconscious thing, something you had to thank her for Pavloving you into stopping at the first scent of the baked good.

“This one is practically a bloodhound when it comes to dessert.” Mavis tutted, jabbing her thumb at you.

“You made cherry rolls?” You were getting impatient with her teasing.

“Well, yes.” Mavis answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re your favorite.”

It had been years since you had one of Mavis’ cherry rolls. She’d come up with the recipe herself, quickly using it as a tool to get the kids’ energy out on long days. She would send you and your siblings out with baskets, tasking you all with plucking cherries from the trees. It was long work, especially when the three of you could only reach the bottom branches.

The end result?

Heaven.

You would gorge yourself on the sweet if it didn't mean being bloated for the rest of the week.

Once you moved to the city, your opportunities for eating it were, well, zero. You didn’t have the skill to make it, and every family event was missing either you or her. It broke your heart some days, not just because you missed the taste; you missed the memories it brought back.

The fact that Mavis had so obviously made them with you in mind -- though you were sure the other nieces and nephews had begged for them as well -- had tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Aurora sprung up like a weed, you’ll never believe it’s her.” Mavis babbled, grabbing your hand to guide you to the house. You, not wanting to leave behind the reason this get-together was happening, looped your pinkie around Ben’s, dragging him along.

“And Betsy is on this health-kick, but I swear on dear Rufus’ grave,” Rufus the dog, “that she’s swiping cookies from the jar.”

The worn-wood steps of the wrap-around porch creaked a complaint when you three ascended, as they had for as long as you could walk. Every year, Uncle Jerry promised he would find a way to fix them. And every year, he would be passed out on the porch swing, a beer in one hand, a hammer in the other, the steps remaining untouched.

Deep down you hoped they would always make a noise. It was the soundtrack to your dreams; creaking porches, leaves fluttering in the wind, the creek water’s constant flow.

“Oh. My. God.”

You knew the voice without even looking. Your cousin, Evie, who had nudged her way into the aunts’ circle after turning thirty.

Her words triggered the mob, pulling them from their juices and shit talking to swarm your man. They crowded around him like a flock of chickens -- clucked about just like them as well.

“Look at his hair-”

“Nice facial structure-”

“Thought he’d be taller-”

The poking at his arms and chest was when you stepped in, shooing them off. If you were less kind, or if Ben had made another smart-ass remark, you would have left him to the rolls.

He should feel honored, really, that you were choosing to save him instead of diving into the still-steaming plate of rolls on the counter.

“Back off, ladies. He’s mine.” The words were teasing, knowing that these women loved a good piece of eye candy around.

Ben made a show of throwing his arms over two of your aunts, hugging them in close.

“Aww, c’mon, doll,” you swore they all swooned at the pet name, “there’s enough of me to go around.”

“There certainly is.” A voice in the group murmured suggestively, making the others giggle.

You cut a glare over them, trying your best to be intimidating. Everyone in the room knew it didn’t work. Where your siblings were compared to wolves, growing up everyone called you a bunny. Not even a fully-grown rabbit. A bunny, you know, cute and fluffy and unable to scare even a fly away. Yeah, that was you.

Ben watched over your attempts, an amused smile and raised eyebrow making you frown. He chuckled and stepped over to you, pulling you into his arms.

“Aww…” The chorus cooed from behind him.

He bent his neck down to kiss you, lips moving against yours with a stifled passion.

“Aww!” This was practically a squeal. In your mind, you saw your Aunt Hilly pull out her phone, snapping pictures of the scene. She was a self-proclaimed photographer, though her equipment consisted of a beat down iPhone and the occasional flashlight.

“I know my girl doesn’t share,” Ben mumbled to you when he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. You smiled up at him.

“That is disgusting.”

You spun on your heel to face your little brother, Peter. Not that he was little anymore. The boy -- he’s a year younger than you -- stood taller than you, the same height he had sprung to in middle school seemingly overnight. You scowled at the stupid bunch of hair on his upper lip.

“You’re the one with a caterpillar on your face.” You poked a finger in his face. A noise of surprise came out when he moved to bite at it. There had been a time when he really did bite your finger, leading to an early morning trip to the emergency room for stitches. You still had a little scar running across the knuckle.

“Ladies love this caterpillar, Buggy.”

You frowned at the nickname. Buggy. It made you feel like a little kid again, but you also couldn’t ignore the spark of warmth that came with the familiarity of it all.

“I promise you, they do not. And don’t call me that!”

“They do-,”

“Can you two stop bickering and set the dang table?” Your mother’s voice cut your brother off before he could dig himself deeper into your irritation. It was all in good fun, you would go from yelling in each other’s faces to laughter-filled bike rides in a matter of minutes while growing up.

“Momma!” You ran to her, nearly knocking the older woman over with your hug. You ignored the new wrinkles at her eyes and the peek-through of grey hairs. She wasn’t allowed to get older.

“No makeouts in the kitchen, honey.” It wasn’t the first time she had said it, and you doubted it would be the last -- whoever Lina was spending her time with would learn soon enough.

“We weren’t making out.” You defended, sounding all too much like that teenager that your mother had to drive to college.

A smile crinkled the edges of her eyes again and she smoothed down your hair.

“I love you.” She mumbled. Her eyes flicked behind you, where Ben was being examined by Peter. It was a wordless thing, simply eyes scanning your boyfriend like he was an alien that had been beamed down.

“This is Ben.” You explained, lacing your fingers into his. With all the chaos, you hadn’t noticed his silence.

While he had made his occasional comments, he was more watching it all go down. You bouncing around the place, so happy and free. Your family teasing you with warmth and love in their words.

It was the kind of place he had dreamed of being in as a child -- not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

“Mmm, right…,” Your mother hummed, looking him up and down. She knew Soldier Boy -- everyone did -- but she was more interested in knowing how Ben acted, how he treated you.

You could tell her a million times he’s perfect, so nice and she would never believe you. You were too kind -- maybe her fault for raising you to be as such -- and you would let love cloud your judgements.

When you called to say that her favorite supe from her childhood was your new boyfriend, she felt that ache come on. Vought tried their best to cover the scandal Soldier Boy would get into, but as she grew, your mother reflected on both his words and actions, finding them to be less respectful than she had once thought.

“Momma, stop starin’ him down.” You almost whined, stepping further in front of Ben to shield him from her gaze. It didn’t do much -- Ben towered over you.

To make you feel more important, he rested his hands on your shoulder, the one holding your hand never letting go.

“Benjamin-,” your mother started, but you cut her off.

“Ben.”

“You hurt her and you’ll figure out what we hide under those cherry trees.” Your mother hissed lowly, a contradiction to the sweet smile she gave the two of you after them.

You paled.

“I’m keepin’ our girl safe ‘til the end of time, ma’am.” Ben responded. You could hear him holding back a chuckle. You watched her give him a simple nod, like they had come to an agreement, and turn back to whatever task she had pulled herself from.

“She’s joking.” You laughed nervously up at him. I hope, you refrained from adding.

“She’s a spitfire like you, doll.” Ben gave you a chaste kiss. You melted into him.

The onlookers you called family were back to their own stories, chittering coming from all directions. You caught on to a few names and places, noting the tone in which all of them were said.

“Do you like them? Or do I need to redownload Tinder?” You added that last part as a way to mask your anxiety. Ben saw right through it, as he did with most things you did. There wasn’t anything you could get past him, though it worked vice versa.

Ben didn’t know about all the times you sensed his aggression before he even opened his mouth. He didn’t know about the way you would walk an extra block on the way home just to pick up his favorite biscuits because you knew he was having a bad day. He didn’t know because you liked knowing something he didn’t.

“You keep that damned thing gone.” He grumbled, pulling at your hips. You snorted out a laugh, remembering the look on his face when he had stumbled upon a dick pic -- a very unasked for dick pic -- from some guy. It was before you were officially dating, and you hadn’t actually opened the app in months, but that did nothing to stop Ben from reminding you exactly how much of you was his. Spoiler alert, it was all of you, and his actions left the two of you panting and spent.

“They love you. They must be good people.” Ben shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I love them, and I love you, I just want you all to get along.” You sputtered out, playing with the fabric of his shirt under your fingers.

You’d said I love you many times to him, yet it never stopped the bloom of warmth in his stomach.

God, you were turning him into a soft-ass man, pussywhipped beyond belief.

He’d hated it at first, trying to turn you away for who knows how many weeks in the beginning. You’d never stopped coming back, crawling into his lap, and saying the words again and again until you were whimpering them into his ear while he thrust into you. He’d learned to let you care for him, ignore the bubbling hatred for anything lovely in his life.

“I know.” He breathed, soothing you with the familiar gruff of his voice. You curled into him, letting him hold you until your brother yanked at your arm, complaining that he had to do everything and you always get away with not helping.

Dinner skimmed by without much of a problem, aside from Ben’s immediate reaction to your father’s barbecued meats.

“Holy shit.” He had moaned. You were grateful it was somewhat quiet, only catching the attention of the youngest of the cousins at the adult table. The thirteen year old looked at you with wide eyes, a bashful giggle bursting out. You had shushed her and, after some very skillful manipulation -- you had no idea where she had learned how to do it --, you were signed up to bring her dress shopping for her middle school’s fall dance.

Now, you were stuck on dish duty with your sister-in-law, something that was only bearable because you found common ground in complaining about your sister’s odd habits. You were listening to her complain about how your sibling left a full dishwasher without starting it when the boisterous laugh of Ben’s caught your ear.

“She brought home this… guy.” This was your father, who immediately got along with Ben upon meeting him. You tried not to think of things they had in common. You didn’t want to be dating your father.

“He wouldn’t look at us, he kept sticking his hand up her shirt at dinner, and, the worst part, he ate everything with soy sauce. Even Marcie’s,” Marcie was your mom, “mac and cheese.”

Oh God.

He was telling Ben about that horrid boyfriend you had when you were twenty. You, thinking he was the love of your life despite every conversation being about him, brought him home for a family dinner. It was smaller than this whole thing, but still held your immediate family, including your grandfather, who, now, was sitting out on the porch with Ben and your father.

“Sounds like a real asshole.”

You choked on your breath, sending you into a coughing fit. Of course he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. It was the end of the night, you were so close to freedom from your fairly conservative family, yet Ben had to silence the entire house, children and all, with that fucking word.

Everyone stilled, even if they weren’t on the porch, even if they had only caught the ass part.

All eyes pointed in your grandfather’s direction. The old man didn’t take well to swearing, not with the way his parents had raised him. Your father slipped up sometimes, but never so obvious as Ben had. You cringed in preparation for the lecture on why Ben was the worst person alive and why you needed to find a new boyfriend.

You tilted your head to get a better view out of the window just as a smile wrinkled the skin around your grandfather’s eyes. He let out a gravelly laugh, eyes twinkling like Ben was simply an old friend he had lost touch with.

“The biggest.” Your grandfather agreed, raising his glass of whiskey in Ben’s direction before taking a sip.

That was the last blow to your nervous energy, turning that anxiety into mush. You let out a relieved breath. The family went back to their gossiping or bickering or whatever else they had gotten up to.

You rinsed the last dish, leaving it to dry on the towel near the sink before joining the three men on the porch. You silently settled into your favorite seat -- Ben’s lap --, cuddling into his chest while he held you.

It was a good day, all of your family finally becoming familiar with each other.

Ben had thought it before the dinner, but now he knew. This was his family as much as it was yours. He couldn’t imagine a better place to belong to, a better place to raise up a couple of kids, with you by his side.

jensen ackles taglist: @arcannaa @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery

soldier boy taglist: @sl33pylilbunny

[nabiracha]

Bathroom secrets

Inspired by Pretty by Coco & Clair Clair (Shorter fic)

Synopsis: You decide to go out after getting cheated on just to see your ex there. After a fight, a stranger asks you to do something and you agree.

Warning: Unprotected sex, semi-public sex, first time meeting, Stranger!Hyunjin, fighting (y'all I'm so bad at writing fighting scenes but its okay), alcohol consumption, strangers to ???

(The picture makes me think of Fuckboy!Hyunjin, so I chose it)

Honestly, I thought being cheated on would hurt more. Sure, I was disgusted and angry. But hurt? Nah. He was a lowlife, a no good, leach. I mean for fuck’s sake, I should’ve seen it coming. All ugly men with hot girls end up cheating on them because they get an ego boost. But my girl’s insisted we do something fun, and honestly? I needed some good dick, not that three inch shrimp.

“Coco?” I called from my bathroom, holding the strings to my black  dress up. “Yert?” She slid in the room, wearing her sage green matching lace dress. “Can you tie this for me?” She did, tying it as tight as possible, using the excuse “Gotta show off every curve, girl.”

I didn’t argue, cause why would I when she’s right? “Is Clair ready? And Lis?” Speak of the two love birds. “Yeah, we are.” They come walking in, hand in hand. “Grab my purse, make sure that shit’s got a taser in it.”

By the time we got to the club it was packed. Yeah, glad I packed that taser. Coco came back with neon drinks, no idea the name but it fit the vibe. I took one from her, taking a sip. “Wow.” The strength of the drink was unexpected, making Coco laugh at my reaction. “Fuck, why do you like the sugary ones?” I took another sip, honestly liking it.

Clair dragged me on to the dance floor, Closer by Nine Inch Nails coming on. I laughed as Clar drug her hands down my body, going lower as she smirked up at me. I moved my hips, slip syncing the words. She shot straight up, her finger under my chin. I smirked, raising my chin at her. She laughed, letting me get swept away by someone. The guy wasn’t that attractive, but I danced. 

And then I spotted him, Mark. Of course he’d be here. I sent Lisa a text, since I knew she’d be the only one checking her phone tonight. I saw her in the distance as she read my message, eyes lighting up with slight horror. 

“What’s your deal, cheater?” My voice rang from behind him, his body tensing slightly. “What?” “You’re lucky i let you leave the house unscaved. But didn’t I tell you the next time i saw you, you’d leave with scars?” I smiled, innocently. 

He scoffed, like he had the power here. He was surrounded by women. If I start a fight, Imma make it look pretty. He threw the first punch, like an idiot. He, luckily, hit me in the arm. Why do I say luckily? Because now this fight is self defense. 

I dodged most of his hits, landing more myself. I grabbed my taser, getting him right in the balls with a twisted grin. “Now it’ll hurt when you fuck another woman.” 

I had a bruised jaw, a bloody lip, but I looked hotter than before. The girls ran over to me, mixed reactions. But I didn’t pay attention to them.

A man across the room caught my attention, a small smirk on his lips. He had buzzed hair, his face like a devil with angel eyes. I tilted my head, raising my eyebrow.

Next thing I knew, my dress was hiked up in the bathroom and said man was running his tip through my folds. How it happened? He simply asked to fuck and I said yeah. “I swear to god if you don’t–” My breath hitched when he slammed to the hilt, knocking the air out of me with a moan. “Such a bratty attitude for such a pretty girl.”

I had no time to react, he was moving and I was seeing stars. His dick was long, not super thick but long for sure. He had the hands of an artist, calloused but soft around my neck. He flipped me around, wrapping my legs around his hips so he could rut into me faster, deeper.

I’d never once whimpered during sex, but here I was. I swear I was about to cum, and I’d never cum this fast either. “You close, angel?” I nodded, biting my bottom lip. “‘M on birth control.” He responded by speeding up, pressing his thumb to my clit and rubbing in tight circles.

I was cumming, quick, hard, like a crash. He followed quickly, slipping a note in my bra, handing me a damp paper towel and leaving. After I cleaned myself up and walked out of the restroom, I grabbed the note.

Call me, angel. ***-***-****             -Hyunjin

[infinitelibrary]

So I read this last night hoping for a nice little shot of bedtime reading. What I got was a chapter - yes, a SINGLE CHAPTER - that carried me through a whirlwind of emotions. Everything from awe 😮 to spice 🥵 to angst and heartache 😢 to absolute LOVE (*gasp* the L word!!!)❤️ and happy tears 🥹. And again, I repeat: all this in a SINGLE CHAPTER. I think that speaks volumes to your skills as a writer, so let's make that very clear. I read this no less than 3 times last night itself. And then at least twice more this morning, just so I could take notes and digest and be coherent when I came here to reblog and give you my thoughts. (as you can tell, that was pointless bc I'm still rambling.)

Also fair warning - this is LONG, and I don't feel like putting it under a cut but just know there are spoilers galore. Consider yourself warned.

First off...In the Soop Yoongi at the beginning. oh you can bet your ASS I noticed him! I will always notice him! 😍

THANK YOU!! I know it's such a small detail but I am so grateful to you for indulging me and including him in there, down to the loose collared tee and the necklace (all the better to pull him in close for a kiss or two 😉)

The chapter progressed through the makeover montage. Something many of us can only dream of! Makeup, glitz, glam, outfits at our fingertips, getting dolled up and made pretty even if just for a night. A perfect Cinderella moment. And I'm theorizing based on the characterizations you've offered us so far...but I think as magical as it was, I think that was part of what led MC to have those doubts later on. She was dolled up and dressed up and it perhaps as much as it made her feel gorgeous, she also knew this wasn't who she really was...and so that 'imposter' feeling was perhaps brewing under the surface. Not saying it was or has to be...but just what I gleam from it in hindsight.

The car. The CAR. Dear GOD don't even get me started. Do you know how hard it was for me to get through my workday today? Thankfully today was a wfh day and most of my calls were camera off, but the one that was camera on? The whole time - the WHOLE time - the line "Grind. Make me hard before I fuck you right here right now" was running through my head and I had to constantly jolt myself back to reality. When I tell you I am here for slightly jealous possessive Yoongi who feels like he has to remind you who your ass belongs to...I mean I am abso-fucking-lutely HERE 👏FOR 👏IT👏. I swear I read that line last night and my brain glitched. I had to go back and re-read it like 5 times. That entire scene was SO FREAKING HOT. And then ordering her to 'keep it in'?? JFC...🥵

The party took us on another journey - this one with insecurities and angst. I felt my heart clench with Yijeong's "Still?" comment bc I *know* that feeling. You can feel stuck when others around you are moving up and away, meanwhile you're still in the same job. And it can be frustrating bc change is scary, there's security and comfort with staying with what's familiar. For some, it maybe that they love what they do and don't want to move, though I don't think this is the case with MC, as she mentioned she wished she could, but hadn't been able to. Perhaps she does want to move, but there's something holding her back. Or maybe she just hasn't had the opportunity. There could be any number of reasons. But to have someone unintentionally talk down to her for being in the same role especially at a gathering like this when everyone around her is recognized for their extraordinary achievements...of course it would make her feel insecure and inadequate. Yeah, in her everyday office she's just one among many. But here, she's the "everyday"normal" person in a crowd of celebs and again, it's easy for her to think "Yoongi could have his pick of any of these gorgeous women...why me?" And then add Mina to the mix and I just...sigh

The car ride home, the drop off at her apartment. When she turned him down, my heart was literally aching as she went in alone...then the late night (early morning) text. Him showing up at her doorstep with his confession. The simplicity of it, the urgency of it. I literally cried the first time I read it (happy tears for the both of them). Her reaction, and then reciprocation of his words of affection. Oh my GOD it was better than anything I could have imagined.

The way that you took us through each and every one of these stages was truly a work of art. I feel like I keep saying this about every new installment of your work that comes out, but this may just be one of my favorite chapters of any of your works, EVER. Just...WOW. Everything about it was just....

(I know that's not a chef's kiss but it's the closest I could find to a Yoongi chef's kiss gif bc yes he is 'cooking' in this clip)

I'm excited to see what comes next!! They've made it official outside the office. What's going to happen *in* the office? What shenanigans will that conniving Danbi get up to? How are they going to have illicit office quickies now that their hiding spot is no longer hidden from the camera's view? And what will happen when Wonwoo shows up?

(you can bet I am staying tuned to find out 💜)

Terms & Conditions | Chapter Seven

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: YOONGI IN THIS SUIT. Angst - themes of jealousy, insecurity, Mildly angry car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), The L Word <3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 4.5k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: March 12, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: We’re back after a longish break! Thank you to @glossdebut for beta reading! Enjoy this chapter, my lovelies~ 💕

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“Hi, baby! I’m back…?” Your voice trails off as you enter Yoongi’s apartment that afternoon and suddenly the living room has been transformed into what can only be described as the scene for the makeover montage in movies (or fanfics?). 

Clothing racks line one wall, laden with everything from elegant cocktail dresses to sleek jumpsuits. A makeup station with a massive lighted mirror has been set up near the window.

It’s chaos, but it’s also… kind of amazing.

“What the—” you mutter to yourself, stepping further into the room.

Yoongi appears from the kitchen, a cup of iced coffee in hand, looking unfazed by the commotion. He’s dressed casually in black joggers and a white t-shirt, collarbones peaking deliciously from the loose neckline. Around his neck, a brown necklace draws your eyes to the smooth column of his throat. What gave him the right?

Anyway, he spots you immediately, face softening.

“Hi,” he says, strolling over to you, stuffing one hand inside his pocket casually. Not him acting all awkward again in front of other people.

You try not to roll your eyes before dragging him towards the nearest room and closing the door behind you.

His face is blank, causing you to whisper-shout, “What is all that?” gesturing wildly at the door that’s shielding the activity outside.

He sips his coffee, completely unbothered. “Told you I’d take care of everything.”

“Yah! You didn’t have to go this far!” you exclaim, but there’s a giddy smile tugging at your lips as you slap his chest.

Yoongi captures your wrist and pulls you closer. “Let me spoil you when I want to, mm?” Soft lips meet your forehead.

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks flush at his words. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he smiles sweetly, pressing a quick kiss on your lips this time.

You pull him back in with a loop of your finger around his necklace.

“Hmm, jagi,” he hums against your mouth, a soft reprimand. “Later, okay? They’re here for you.”

Despite your initial skepticism, it’s hard not to get swept up in the excitement. The team from Bit & Boot is professional but warm, making small talk about your personal color analysis. You’re apparently a soft spring, or was it deep winter?

Someone lays out a few dresses, and your eyes immediately gravitate toward a beige cocktail dress with sleek lines and subtle embellishments along the neckline.

“You have a good eye,” one of the stylists says, removing the hanger. Maybe you did understand the color thingy they were talking about, because they looked pleased. Thank God, because you didn’t want to look like a chump.

Yoongi lingers nearby, keeping an eye on everything. When your makeup artist offers him a chair as if he doesn’t own the place, he smirks and says, “Nah, I’m just here to admire.”

You’re seated in front of the mirror as they work on you, foundation buffed onto your skin, hair teased and styled until it cascades in soft waves over your shoulders. Yoongi stays close, occasionally glancing at his phone but mostly watching you, a small, private smile playing on his lips.

When you finally step out in the dress, Yoongi’s reaction is everything you could have hoped for. 

“Wow,” he breathes, his voice low.

“Too much?” you ask, smoothing the dress nervously.

“Too much? No.” He steps closer, his hand finding your waist, pulling you just slightly toward him. “You’re perfect.”

His words send warmth blooming in your chest. 

The glam team packs up quickly, with small smiles that they try to hide. You bow as they go, leaving the two of you alone in the now-pristine living room.

As the door clicks shut behind them, Yoongi turns to you, his hands sliding down your hips as his lips brush your ear.

“Jagi, we don’t have to go,” he murmurs, voice deep and dangerous. “You’re so sexy. Let’s just stay here. I’ll just take care of you.”

You laugh softly, placing your hands on his chest. “Yoongi, we can’t skip your hyung’s party.”

“Hmm.” His lips curve into a smirk, and his fingers trace lazy patterns on your sides, giving it a light squeeze.

“Yoongi…”

“Just let me kiss your lips for a bit…”

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head. “Lip gloss.”

“Not those lips…”

“Yoongi!” You shout, scandalized at the suggestion. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the flutter of something low in your belly as he dips his head to your shoulder, chuckling to himself. He’s such a shithead.

“Fine. But know that all I’ll be thinking about tonight is how soon I can get you back here.” He bites your shoulder for good measure.

“Well, you’d better behave then. Don’t make me regret saying yes to this party.”

He steals the faintest kiss on your lips. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He lied.

You’re just in the car and already he is not on his best behavior. 

Not when he almost tears your panties in half as he hooks it to the side and inserts his cock in your warmth without so much as a prep.

Backtracking—this was not supposed to happen. And yet somehow you also knew it would, if you’d be really honest.. See, you were just making light conversation as you entered his Palisade.

“So who’s coming to the party again?”

He unbuttons his blazer, leaning back on his seat. “Bunch of label people, my members. They know I’m bringing you.”

“What did you say?”

“Told them to not act like idiots. And that they better behave.”

You hum, amused at the hint of green in his irises. Maybe it can be greener… 

“And, uh, Yijeong will be there, too?” 

Silence. Except for the soft whirr of the partition rolling up.

“Get over here.”

“Mm?”

“You heard me,” he says, voice a touch darker. 

You shuffle to sit on his lap, the fabric of your dress gathering on your waist. His large warm hand strokes up your thigh towards the plush of your ass, roughly squeezing.

“Grind,” he instructs. “Make me hard before I fuck you right here right now.”

Before you can protest your body is already acting on instincts, rolling your hips as per his instructions. Your panties are getting more damp as you continue to rub yourself against the growing stiffness under his trousers.

You hear the sound of a metal buckle and a zip. He frees his cock (he is not wearing underwear–this fucker!) and before you can do anything else, he hooks your panties to the side.

A wave of bliss courses through you as he nestles his tip against your sticky folds, prodding your clit ever so slightly. 

“Can you take it?” 

“Yeah...” 

He smirks. “Okay then, take it.”

A moan rips from your throat when he slips inside and pistons up into you. Hard, fast, and furious. There’s no build-up, not enough forewarning. But you love the stretch—the painful, delicious sting as he forces himself to fit inside you like he has many times before.

“Say my name,” he grits.

“Baby…”

“Whose dick are you riding right now, huh?”

“Yours, Yoongi—mmph fuck.”

His grip tightens on your hips, the guitar-calloused pads of his fingers pressing into your skin as he fucks up into you deep. The wet, obscene sounds of your slick walls sucking him in fill the Palisade, drowned out only by your soft whimpers and the way Yoongi grunts against your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he breathes, lips dragging along the shell of your ear, against your piercing. “You always take me so well.”

You grasp the leather headrest, desperate for something to anchor you. But there’s no finding your balance when he’s feral—when his cock is hitting so goddamn deep it knocks the air from your lungs. Your head falls back, mouth parting with a moan as the pleasure crests higher. Every inch of skin on fire.

Yoongi doesn’t slow. If anything, the sight of you, the feel of you—fucked-out and soooo fuckin’ wet—only makes him wilder. His hands shift lower, gripping the meat of your ass, helping you bounce on his cock.

“You want me jealous, huh?” he growls. “Wan’ test me?”

“No, I—fuck—”

His teeth graze your jaw, a warning. “Liar.”

A particularly sharp thrust has you crying out, your nails clawing at his back. His chuckle is dark, pleased. “Don’t worry, jagi. I’ll fuck the thought of anyone else outta you.”

You’re close. You can feel it—the unbearable heat pooling in your belly, every nerve in your body coiling tight. Yoongi knows it too, the way your pussy starts fluttering around him.

“Shit, ‘m close…”

“Yeah, that’s it. I like it when you lose control…”

“Ahh. Please, Yoongi.”

“Lemme feel it, baby,” he coaxes, voice rough, strained. “Let me feel you cum for me.”

That’s all it takes. Your release crashes over you, sharp and white-hot, your body trembling as your orgasm rips through you. Yoongi groans, feeling you squeeze him tight tight tight, milking him for all he’s worth.

“Fuck, fuck—” His grip bruises as he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside, filling you up with every last drop. 

For a moment, all you can hear is the ragged sound of your breaths, the faint hum of the engine beneath you, which you just now realize is already parked. 

Yoongi’s hands smooth over your thighs, as you both come down. Then, with a tired but no less shit-eating grin, he pulls out and pings your panties back into place, pressing his thumb at the seam, before he says: 

“Keep it in for me, jagi.”

You should be scandalized. You can feel his viscous load already dripping from you, but you clench. You hold it in as best as you can. Because you’ll agree to anything when he’s like this.

You shudder, pulse still racing as he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your lips. It’s gentle—so at odds with what just happened.

“Yoongi,” you breathe, still floating.

He smirks, lazy and satisfied. “My pretty jagi.”

As you rest your forehead against his, still dazed, still blissed-out, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear and murmurs, “Now, let’s go to this fucking party before I change my mind.”

The party is already buzzing when you arrive, and Yoongi’s hand finds the small of your back, grounding you as he guides you through the crowd. His friends are scattered across the room, a mix of banter and laughter filling the air. 

You’re honestly a little self-conscious after your little car tryst. Is your dress too wrinkled? Is your make-up a wreck? Do you smell like cum?

“Come on,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning in close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. “Let’s go say hi.”

Jimin is the first to turn to you with a playful grin, “So, you’re the one Yoongi-hyung’s been hiding from us, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, his expression equal parts curious and amused. 

Jungkook grins, leaning in for a casual hug. “Hello, Y/N.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but a small, almost shy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he introduces you to the rest of the members. Everybody seems friendly, acknowledging you for being Yoongi’s plus one. For the most part, it’s Jungkook who keeps close, chatting with you about Chae and how he’s bummed she couldn’t make it tonight. Cute.

At some point in the night, Yoongi gets whisked away into a circle of conversation on the far side of the room. You hang back, still close but giving him enough space to enjoy his time outside of—let’s be real—babysitting you.

You slip toward the bar, ordering a drink, needing something to do with your hands while you surreptitiously take everything in.

Is that Hwasa? Oh my God, that’s Irene of Red Velvet.

The weight of where you are settles all at once. You knew you’d be surrounded by idols tonight, but knowing and experiencing are two very different things. These are people who command stages, who are revered and respected and admired by millions. And then… there’s you. A glorified office worker who stumbled into this world by accident.

You inhale, shake it off, sip your drink.

But just as you think you’re in the clear, your full government name rings out over the music, a curious voice cutting through the din.

“I heard you were gonna be here.”

You turn, and there he is.

“Jang Yijeong. Long time no see.”

He leans against the bar, the corners of his lips curling in amusement. “Indeed.”

The weight of history sits between you. It’s not bad blood, not really, but there’s something about seeing someone from your past in a space that so obviously belongs to your present that feels a little jarring.

Especially because you suddenly meet said present’s eyes from across the room and the motherfucker mouths, keep it in… and you squirm in your seat as a flush of fluid threatens to trickle down your thighs.

“So, Yoongi-yah, huh?” Yijeong tilts his head, studying you and maybe your odd facial expression right now. “Small world.”

“Yeah.” You shift, inhaling sharply. “So how have you been?”

“Really good. Worked on Yoongi’s last album and tour before his service. Now I’m going back and forth between here and the US, trying to do my own thing.”

“Wow.” You blink, forcing a smile. “I’m happy for you.”

His success doesn’t surprise you. He’s always been talented, always had that drive. But hearing it out loud, seeing how effortlessly he fits into this world—it stirs something unpleasant in your chest.

“How about you?” he asks.

You take another sip of your drink, stalling. “Just boring stuff. I work in the Yongsan municipal office.”

“Oh, you’re still there?” His brows lift, his voice light, but something about the phrasing makes your stomach twist.

Still.

Like you should have moved on by now. Like you’ve been standing in place while the rest of the world surged forward.

You force a small laugh, trying not to let it show. “Yeah, still there.”

Yijeong hums, nodding slowly. “Good thing you didn’t leave.” He gestures toward the other side of the room where Yoongi is now laughing at something someone said, looking so effortlessly cool. “Or else you wouldn’t have met Yoongi.”

And honestly, what do you say to that?

Because he’s right. If you had taken any of the other job offers, if you had made even the smallest change to your path, you wouldn’t be here.

But the way he says it makes it sound like Yoongi is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Like meeting him was some stroke of dumb luck, the one extraordinary thing in an otherwise unimpressive life.

Like Yoongi is a prize you won rather than a person who chose you.

You swallow, looking down at your drink. The ice clinks against the glass, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts forming in your head. Is that what people see when they look at you? A nobody who somehow landed Min Yoongi?

Your fingers tighten around the glass. And suddenly, the room doesn’t feel so warm anymore.

As you make your way back toward Yoongi, a voice stops you.

“You must be the famous Y/N.”

You turn, surprised to see a woman smiling at you, her glossy lips curled into something amused but warm. She’s effortlessly chic, her black dress draped elegantly over her frame.

“Oh,” you say, blinking as recognition sets in. His Mina-noona. You’ve heard Yoongi mention her before—a longtime friend, someone he respects. 

“I’m Mina,” she says, offering her hand. You shake it, feeling slightly scrutinized under her gaze—but not in a malicious way. More like she’s curious, trying to piece together the puzzle that is you.

“Yoongi talks about you,” she adds, eyes twinkling.

Your brows lift slightly. “He does?”

Mina hums, taking a sip of her drink. “Not much, but enough. He’s… different these days.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” she muses. “Softer, maybe. More invested.”

Your stomach does a little flip, but before you can fully process it, Mina gives you a knowing look. “You do know what you’re getting into, right?”

The flip turns into a twist. “What do you mean?”

Mina chuckles, shaking her head. “Nothing bad,” she reassures you, waving a hand. “Just… Yoongi’s always been a certain way. Keeps people at arm’s length. Not the type to—” She pauses, then shrugs. “Well. Not the type to bring someone to a party like this.”

You try to keep your expression neutral, but the words settle uncomfortably in your chest. Is she trying to insinuate that Yoongi tends to go for just casual, a typical fuckboi even?

“You must be special,” she adds, smiling. It’s meant to be kind, but it only stirs something uneasy inside you.

You force a small laugh. “I’d like to think so.”

Mina gives your arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “It was nice to finally meet you,” she says genuinely. “Enjoy tonight.”

She disappears into the crowd before you can respond, leaving you standing there, your mind spinning.

When you glance back, Yoongi is already making his way toward you, casually grabbing a quiche from a passing waiter and popping it into his mouth.

“You alright, jagi?” Yoongi’s voice is gentle, cutting through the noise of the party like a thread pulling you back to him. 

You nod, pasting on a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But you’re not. Not really.

Because the moment Yijeong walked away, the thoughts started spiraling. And after that conversation with Mina, it’s like a dull ache has settled into your chest, impossible to shake.

You think back to the office girls months ago, how they teased you when Yoongi first started working in your department. The Blessed One, they had called you. The lucky girl who got to work closely with Min Yoongi. It was all in good fun, lighthearted banter at the time, but now, the words twist in your head.

Do you not deserve someone like him?

Do you not deserve him?

You shouldn’t care what anyone else thinks. You know that. Yoongi is here, with you, choosing you. That should be enough.

And yet, the doubt lingers, wrapping around your confidence like vines, tightening.

A squeeze on your waist brings you back. You blink, meeting Yoongi’s eyes. He’s studying you carefully, his gaze flickering over your face like he can see every thought running through your head.

“You sure?” he murmurs.

You force yourself to nod, offering another small smile as you swipe the crumbs on the corner of his mouth with your knuckle. “Yeah… just a little overwhelmed.”

“Let’s get out of here soon, okay?”

You nod again, pressing into his side just slightly, grateful for the comfort he gives so effortlessly. But the thoughts don’t go away.

And you’re starting to wonder if they ever will.

The drive home is quiet, but Yoongi’s hand wraps around yours, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles. The silence feels heavy, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, but you’re still sifting through the evening’s interactions, trying to make sense of your emotions.

Finally, Yoongi speaks, his voice low. “Jagi-ya. I don’t know what happened, but you can talk to me,” he says, his tone soft but firm. His hand tightens around yours. “Was it something Yijeong or Mina said?”

You swallow, staring out the window as the streetlights blur past. “It’s not just them, Yoongi,” you murmur, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s… I don’t know. Tonight, it just hit me how different our worlds are. I mean, maybe I don’t belong here, in all of this. You deserve someone who just… fits better.”

Yoongi stares, confusion etched in his features.

“It’s just, people look at you, and it’s like they’re trying to see if I measure up. I can feel it, you know?”

He lets out a slow breath, his gaze steady and intent. “That’s… don’t even worry about that, jagi. I’m here, because I want to be with you.” 

A rush of gratitude warms you, but doubt still clings, threading through your insecurities.

“Thanks, Yoongi,” you murmur, squeezing his hand. “Maybe I just need some time to rest.”

As the driver pulls up outside your apartment, he studies you, his brow knitting in concern. “Want me to come up?” His question is soft, unassuming, yet full of care. “I can make you the sriracha grilled cheese sandwich you really liked last time.”

You reach over, cupping his cheek. “Not tonight,” you say, brushing your thumb gently over that little freckle below his eye. “I think I just need a little time. Alone.”

He sighs, long and labored as he presses your hand against his face a little longer before letting it drop. “I don't love this.” He says, his face falling slightly, but he nods in understanding. “But alright,” he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips staying just long enough to make your heart ache.

“Yoongi…”

“Not that. You don’t call me that anymore…”

Realization hits you. “Baby…”

He nods, eyes moist, and the little wobble of his lips almost makes you want to fold. “Good night, jagi.”

With a final, lingering look, you step out of the car, giving him a small wave as you close the door behind you. The weight of your decision is immediate, filling the quiet of your apartment with the complex feelings from the night. 

As you exhale, you realize you’re left to sort through this alone, the silence amplifying the doubts Yoongi’s reassurance can’t quite erase.

It's 4:12 a.m.

You can’t sleep. How can you? 

You haven’t slept in this bed for days. The scent of jasmine is unfamiliar, when you’ve grown accustomed to sandalwood.

Your memory pillow already forgot the slope of your head.

You flip to your other side, staring at the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through your curtains. Just as you’re about to force your eyes shut, your phone vibrates against your nightstand, the screen lighting up the darkened room.

You check the notification and it's him. Of course it is.

Yoongi: you up?

Any other night, you’d laugh at how much it sounds like a booty call. And maybe it would’ve been. But tonight, it’s different.

You: Cant sleep Yoongi: me too

You stare at your screen, thumbs hovering as you figure out what to say next. But another message is already coming through. 

Yoongi: im outside Yoongi: your apt

Socked feet shuffle to the front door. Every step feels heavy, like your body is torn between running to him and running away.

You swing it open to find Yoongi, looking like a kicked puppy. Your heart cracks.

The sight of him like this—eyes tired, lips pressed into a tight line, hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it all night—has you clutching the edge of the doorframe just to keep yourself upright.

You let him inside.

“What are you doing here?” you finally ask, voice quieter than you intended.

Yoongi exhales sharply, his hands pushing through his hair before settling at his sides. 

“I’m here, because…” he starts, then stops, shaking his head like he doesn’t know how to finish the thought. His jaw clenches. His fingers twitch.

You can’t breathe.

And then he says, “I love you.”

The words land like a freefall. No hesitation. No takebacks. Just truth.

“Yoongi…” your voice is barely above a whisper.

“I need you to hear it. Really hear it.” He takes a step closer, trembling hands cupping your cheeks. “I love you,” he repeats, softer this time, like he’s willing you to believe it. “I don’t care how complicated this gets. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I told you before, I’m all-in.”

Your heart is pounding, a chaotic rhythm against your ribs.

Because deep down, you already knew.

You knew in the way he looked at you across the office when he thought no one else was watching. You knew in the way he pulled you closer in his sleep, in the way he whispered your name like a prayer.

But hearing him admit it to it like this—like he was physically incapable of handling a possibility where you didn’t feel the same way, where you would’ve given this up, it’s perhaps the most honest thing you’ve ever heard.

And now, the question isn’t whether he loves you.

It’s whether you’re ready to believe that you deserve to be loved like this. If you deserve to be loved by Min Yoongi…

Yoongi barely has time to register it before your hands are in his hair, yanking him down, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that’s messy, desperate, everything.

He groans into your mouth, his hands flying to your waist, fingers digging into the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.

You press into him, chest to chest, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. His mouth moves against yours with urgency, his tongue sweeping past your lips, stealing whatever breath you had left.

You don’t stop kissing him. You can’t. Not even as he walks you backwards toward your bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind him, his body pressing you against it, trapping you between the cool wood and the solid heat of him.

His hands roam, slipping under your sleep shirt, fingers skimming over your tits, tracing the curve of your spine. Your head tilts back as he trails kisses down your jaw, your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver.

“Jagiya,” he mumbles, voice thick, rasping against your skin.

You don’t have any other words right now—not when he’s sucking a wet bruise into your collarbone, not when his fingers slide lower, dancing along the lace of your panties.

So you just say the only thing that matters. “I love you, too.”

A low curse falls from his lips, and then he’s moving you to the bed, dropping you onto the mattress before crawling over you, eyes dark, hungry.

“Say it again.”

His hands slip beneath your shirt, dragging it up. His lips follow, open-mouthed kisses searing a path up your stomach, taking a nipple between his teeth.

“I love you,” you whisper, voice shaky, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him back up to you.

“I love you, jagi,” Yoongi crashes his mouth to yours again, swallowing your whimpers as his hands slide down—hooking into your panties—slowly, teasingly, pulling them down. “Let me show you what I mean...”

A/N: Whew! ARe wE GoOD??? The L bomb has been dropped and I am soooo happy because these two deserve the world.

Let me know what you think in the comments. Or do reblog if you are so inclined. <3

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! xo

Permanent Taglist Part 1: (The rest to follow in a reblog)

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do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing without my express permission to do so.

[daichiduskdrop]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

• Chapter 51

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: swearing

Words: 3584

Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth @mageprincess7 @lucis-noctiana @danielle143 @osakis-gf @girl-nahh @vintageoldfashionstyle-blog @neverthefirstchoice @juju-227592 @silentreadersthings @i-have-no-life-charlie @everyonehatesshani @iamkookiesforyou @dragonsflareon @fangirl125reader @roseidol @frieschan @popcatx0 @liz67900 @exfolitae @plexcaffeinate @strawblueberrys @massivelyfullenthusiast @iimichie @bts-0t-7 @hannahdinse8 @yoongisgirl69 @carolinexkpop @giianaa15

(open)

Previous:

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

For a few minutes the room was almost eerily still. The leader was the first to get hold of himself, gently shushing your whiney when he detangled himself from the makeshift nest, whispering a soft: „I'm sorry babypup, alpha will be right back, honey go back to sleep...”

Troubling his lip in-between his teeth, he gently petted your hair as he stood up, taking long strides to reach the very clearly distressed maknaes. Taehyung was practically frozen, almost af if not breathing, still and quiet as he stared at his bag with the comfort companion in it.

This was not what they needed to happen - anything but this really.

„Maybe they won't notice, we cannot rush into any conclusions... Here, show me the recording.” Namjoon mumbled, sitting down between Jimin and slumped Jungkook. The youngest's eyes once again shone brighter than usual, a soft sniffle leaving him as he buried his head between his hands.

Only this broke Taehyung from his gaze, the older man gently patting the youngers shoulder. Jungkook was so exhausted of things never going the way they needed them to when it came to you.

You were never meant to be pressured by your classmates like that. You were never meant to be pressed down by their managers with that overly strict NDA. You were never meant to be dropping on them so often. You were never meant to be hurting.

He felt like a failure. He was meant to fix everything, mend and heal all wounds, visible or not, and the youngest felt all control crumble from his desperate hands. It was as if no matter what they did it never seemed to work out.

„It's going to be okay Kookie.” the singer whispered encouragingly, fighting of his own anxiety and worry. The maknae especially seemed to be doing terribly since you'd become sick and everything was just taking a toll on him.

By now, Namjoon, Jimin, Jin and Hoseok were all huddled close as the packalpha fast-forwarded through the entire stream's recording, all of them keeping eyes on the right side corner. Right now, Jimin's body was covering the open part of the back, but soon enough the packmmembers got to an entire few minute section by the end of the stream where it was on full display.

„Alright, well- they will probably not notice it anyway. And if they do we can just make it up, say that it's one of our friend's-, something like that. It will be fine.”

Namjoon rambled, feeling a tremor in his voice. The way it's hardly ever sounded. They didn't even finish courting you for god's sake. You were nowhere near ready to show your new pack dynamics to the public.

„Namjoon-ah, they will tell the type of the plush... And we chose one specifically for 7+ scents, remember? At the store.” Hoseok said, his voice stone cold. His usually cheery expression long gone. This was not good. Not good at all.

The leader only sighed, himself mimicking the pose Jungkook has found himself in, rubbing his eyes, whispering a harsh curse.

„Nothing we can do now.”

He mumbled finally, getting up and once again crossing the room over to you, letting the tablet with the paused recording bounce onto the couch behind where he sat previously.

You were tightly cradled to Yoongi, the older man wafting strong calming pheromones all around the distressed, scared scented room. Not to forget your sickness, still happening.

Squatting down by your face, the packalpha gently ran his fingers over the back of your head, brushing them through your hair with care and worry in his eyes.

„Pup? Pup, please, let's go eat now.” He whispered carefully, Yoongi's eyes staying on him, his expression unreadable. But they all thought the same.

Eventually, you were coaxed into a more awake state by the both of them, the older's hands holding you up as he carried you the little way to the already set up table. The rest of the pack mates slowly trickled in, trying to act natural but clearly unsettled and upset.

When you finally all settled down, a huge glass of plain water infront of you (Jin was far too worried to have you drink anything else) and a bowl of the light soup, you took a good look at everyone sitting by the table.

The tension in the room was thick, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on every member of the pack. They had done their best to keep the atmosphere calm during dinner, but it was clear that something was wrong. You could feel it in the way their hands lingered on your shoulders, the way they kept glancing at you, the way their voices were just a little too careful.

Yoongi, to your left looked somber as he served the thinly sliced pickled radish on your side dish, kissing your temple at your sweet thank yous. Jin, one seat further, tried his best to act normal, but you noticed the light tremble in his hands - he kept on spilling a bit of the soup when he would place anyone's bowl down.

Hobi, further down was no better, you could tell by the way he stayed still and quiet, whenever he would stand up to grab someone's forgotten cutlery or one more cup his hands stayed just for a bit longer on the back of your head, by your shoulder or arm.

Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook sulked and all had borderline tear in their eyes. They only whispered in response to anyone's questions on what they'd like for this or that, and stared at the table, all seemingly in deep thoughts.

And the packalpha, to your right, kept on carefully plating the food, bowl after another bowl, all the packmmembers settling for the calming soup for tonight - they no longer had any appetite, but felt need to show you good eating habits. He himself was deep in thought, brows furrowed and jaw set tighter than usual.

„Wh-at happened..?”

Your soft voice whispered, having all of the alpha's heads shot up in sync. Immediately all their gazes softened when coming over you. You were a precious treasure they had to guard after all. And this was like giving a map to it, marking your location with a giant X.

„Cub, baby...” But Jin didn't continue, the room once again settling into a quietness. The broth no longer tasted calming to your unsettled and scratchy throat, the eldest's shoulders once again high in tension, not the way they relaxed a few minutes before when you mumbled about how tasty it was.

And then, the moment you had been dreading came.

Namjoon set his spoon down, inhaling deeply before turning to you with the gentlest expression he could muster. "Pup," he started, his voice steady but soft, "there's something we need to talk about."

Immediately, your stomach twisted. Your grip on your spoon tightened as you looked between their faces, searching for some kind of clue. But all you found were careful expressions and nervous glances.

"W-what is it?" you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook let out a soft coo, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure if he should. Jimin was already leaning closer, his warmth steady against your side from where he was taking your hardly finished bowl away. They won't risk having you eat any more than you did on your own - far too worried that you'd throw up right away.

Namjoon hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. "During the live earlier... the camera caught something. Your—your little lamb. And people probably saw it."

The world tilted for a moment. Your chest tightened, breathing uneven as your hands curled into your lap. "W-what? No, no, I—" Your voice wavered, and the next words came out in a rush. "I—I c-can’t—! I don’t w-want to—!" You whimpered, your knees curling up to your chest, your distressed scent going all around the already sad room.

Jimin was the first to react from right next to you, quickly reaching for your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Hey, hey, sweetheart, breathe. We’re here. We’re right here. It will be okay princess." His voice was soothing, warm, grounding, even if he felt anything but calm and grounded.

You tried to focus on his touch, on the steady circles he traced against your skin, but panic clawed at your chest. "T-they know? B-but, but I—"

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your body trembling as Yoongi’s arms suddenly wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. His scent was warm, familiar, a cocoon of safety. "Sh-sh-sh, kitten, it's okay. You’re okay, alphas will take care of everything, we will fix it." he murmured against your hair, rubbing slow, comforting circles on your back as he kept on pecking your forehead over and over.

Jungkook’s eyes were glistening, his hands clenched into fists as he looked at you with pure devastation. "We’re so sorry," he whispered. "You weren’t supposed to—this wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Alphas are so sorry babybun."

"It was an accident, sunshine," Hobi added, his voice thick with guilt. "We didn’t realize until it was too late."

"We should have been more careful," Jin murmured, his face tight with regret. "This isn’t fair to you cub. Alpha is sorry."

Namjoon sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know this is overwhelming, but we have to make a plan, pup," he reassured you, his voice firm but still gentle. "After we finish, I’m going to call the managers and discuss the next steps. It’s always better for us to address it first before the public runs wild with their own theories."

Your lower lip trembled. "B-but I d-don’t w-want to be in the p-public yet," you stammered, your fingers tightening in the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt.

"We know, babycheeks," Taehyung whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "We know."

"We're going to do everything we can to keep you safe," Hoseok promised, his other hand coming up to stroke your hair. "You're not alone bub, I promise. Alphas are always here to take care of you."

"But w-what if—" You hiccuped, barely able to get the words out. "What if t-they hate me?"

A sharp sound left Jungkook’s throat, as if the thought physically pained him. "They won’t," he swore, his voice shaking. "They could never hate you."

Namjoon nodded firmly. "ARMY loves us, pup. And that means they'll love you too. We’ll make sure of it."

Jin wiped at his face, his usual composure cracking just slightly. "This isn’t how we wanted it to happen, but no matter what, we will protect you. Always."

Yoongi pressed a soft kiss against your temple. "Kitty, how about you make another pretty nest for all of us now? Would you like that? Our pack to sleep together tonight?”

Sniffling, you nodded against his chest, your heartbeat still unsteady but no longer spiraling. The warmth of your pack surrounded you, holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart.

„Okay cub, let's go... Come, hold alpha's hand...” You slipped off of the older's lap, the man sneakily wiping off his own tears when you weren't looking, taking Jin's already outstretched hand.

The oldest alpha gently lead you to your room first, while the rest of the packmembers cleaned up, the packalpha leaving to call the managers while closing himself off in his own studio.

„Here cub, your PJ's. Do you feel okay to shower on your own? Not too wobbly or tired..?” He smiled softly at you, his eyes even more worried and caring than usual if that was even possible as he cupped your face in his hands. He felt his chest tightening at the thought of you, passing out from that terrible sickness while showering. Sure, you seemed better after the medication, but you were still so pale and whimpered at any sudden movements and strong lights...

„It's okay oppa...” You whispered, taking the monogram pyjamas from him, neatly folded as you hurried to get a fresh pair of underwear on you own while the alpha calmly waited for you at your bed.

You took a quick shower, brushed your teeth and gently scrubbing your face with a cleanser provided by the alphas now that you knew you could actually use it. Quickly changing, you slowly walked out of the bathroom once more, the eldest's eyes meeting yours after they abandoned his phone screen from where he was quicky texting.

„I got your brush for you already little cub, let's go rest up for now... You had a long day peaches.” he comforted, hugging you carefully as he scented the top of your head once more, too anxious after the shower took some of his scent off.

When Jin took you back to the living room, the first thing you noticed was the calming music playing - it was a mixture of ocean waves and white noise, the sound coming from a MacBook by the coffee table infront of the enlarged couch. Jungkook and Yoongi kept on playing with the audio settings, the youngest's shoulder's sagging when the audio started to come from the TV speaker set up instead, naturally circling the entire room.

„Nice hyung!” He whispered, his usual excitement peeking through just a bit. Yoongi only mumbled something in response, turning around to face you both, taking in your cute self. He felt his heart ache at your plump, pink cheeks.

„Kitty? Come look at what alpha's got for your nest?” You followed his words, Jin's hand rubbing a soft circle on your back as he calmly whispered that he'd be in the kitchen for now.

Taehyung was by the front of the couch, by now changed into loose grey sweatapants and a simple white tanktop. His hoodie he wore previously was layed on top of the pile of scented tops, pillows, blankets and duvets, a mingle of their scents.

„You're so cute like this babycheeks...” He whispered gently, in awe at just how comfortable you seemed, softly shuffling in their way. He stood up better, caring eyes set on you as he watched for a little while at how you adjusted and moved every single thing, creating the perfect little nest for them to indulge in, all together as a pack.

„Come on Tae-ah.” Yoongi almost whispered, tugging him along with the youngest from being too close while you were setting the nest up, an extremely vulnerable act for an omega - and you have been disturbed so many times by today that he didn't want to take any chances.

And so as you adjusted and fluffed up every single thing to just the perfect position, the rest of the pack members waited around either by the kitchen just behind the couch you were at, or doing their nightly routines somewhere around the villa.

Just then Namjoon emerged from the studio, his heavy scent having them all perk up. Even you looked up, your big eyes peeking over the backrest, having someone coo loudly.

The packalpha seemed to be just about to speak, but when he noticed you, a soft, comforting rumble left him. And it only increased when you mumbled a soft: „Will we all go to n-nest now..?” unsure, if you could even call whatever you made a nest. But they kept on referring to it that way, so surely that was right? You started believing it too. It felt right.

„Of course sunny.” Hoseok said gently in response, finishing his glass of water, taking the full one with himself, as he along with the other members came over, all of them shuffling close.

One by one, each made a careful eye contact with you, individually asking permission for entering the soft nest, having them thank you profusely when you'd let them in. Jungkook was already behind you, having you sit on his lap, his hands gently laying on your tummy under the silky top, warming it up when you'd whimper to him that it still hurt.

„Here, oppa will make it all better babybun.”

Hoseok caressed your hand in his, fingers tightly laced with yours as his nose nudged your jaw, gentle pepperkisses left to your cheek. Taehyung stuck to your other side, caressing your tight along with Jimin.

The three others seated themselves at your feet, watching over you with caring eyes, the way only a worried alpha would look at their omega.

For a few minutes, the only sounds filling the nest were the quiet rustling of blankets and the slow, deep breaths of the pack trying to steady themselves. The weight of what had happened still sat heavy on everyone’s shoulders, pressing into their very bones.

Namjoon finally exhaled deeply, shifting slightly to sit up straighter. "I just got off the phone with management," he started, his voice low, but there was an edge of frustration beneath it. He dragged a tired hand through his hair before continuing. "They already know. Twitter is already discussing it."

A ripple of tension moved through the pack.

"For fuck's sake," Yoongi muttered, rubbing a slow hand down his face.

Jungkook stiffened behind you, his arms tightening just slightly, his grip unconsciously protective. You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to will yourself to stay calm, but the sheer panic coiling in your chest made it feel like you couldn't breathe.

Namjoon glanced at you, his face softening instantly at the way your small fingers curled into the blanket. He sighed again, more gently this time. "Babygirl, I know this is scary, but listen to me. Management said that one way or another, we were going to have to say something eventually. It was only a matter of time before people started noticing things. This just... sped things up."

You swallowed hard, throat tight. "B-but I— I’m not r-ready," you whispered, your voice shaking, eyes glassy as you peeked up at him.

Hoseok made a soft noise, shifting beside you, his fingers threading through your hair with slow, methodical strokes. "We know, sweetheart," he murmured, brushing a particularly stubborn tangle free. "And we’re so, so sorry. If we could take it back, we would."

"You shouldn't have to deal with this yet," Jin added softly, his face drawn with guilt.

Namjoon reached out, cupping your knee gently. "Management thinks the best thing for now is to lay low and see if the discussion picks up more. If it does, we’ll release a statement tomorrow. If it doesn’t… we’ll just keep quiet. Let it blow over."

Silence.

The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating, and for a moment, the only thing keeping you grounded was the feeling of Jungkook rubbing slow circles against your hip, the soft sound of Hoseok’s brush moving through your hair.

Your heart was hammering. "B-but w-what if—what if people h-hate me?" Your voice cracked, fear raw in every syllable.

Jimin let out a soft, distressed noise, his warm hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb stroking over your cheek. "Oh, princess," he whispered, his voice breaking a little. "They won’t. How could they ever? You’re our baby omega. You’re perfect."

Taehyung’s jaw clenched, his grip on your thigh tightening just slightly. "You don’t have to be scared, babycheeks. We won’t let anyone hurt you."

"But w-what if—"

Jungkook suddenly pulled you in tighter, tucking you securely against his chest, his breath warm against your temple. "No 'what ifs,' babybun," he whispered. "It’s not gonna happen. We won’t let it."

Namjoon watched you carefully, reading every minute expression on your face, every twitch of your fingers. His gaze softened, and he gave your knee a light squeeze. "Pup, I promise you—no matter what happens, we’re here. We’ll handle everything, okay? You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to speak, you don’t have to come forward if you don’t want to. Alphas will protect you."

You swallowed hard, your throat bobbing. "B-but the internet… they s-say things—" Your voice wavered, and you could already feel the ugly, anxious thoughts crawling into your head.

"They can say anything they want, it doesn't matter," Yoongi said quietly, his voice calm but firm. "But at the end of the day, we know the truth. And so do you my kitty."

"Exactly," Jin nodded, his lips pursed. "We will not let them take you from us. We won’t let them scare you."

Hoseok pressed a soft kiss to your hairline. "Sunny, if this gets worse, we’ll be right there, every step of the way. You won’t be alone in this."

Tears stung at your eyes, your breath hitching slightly. It was overwhelming—the suddenness of it all. Even though a large part of you was still terrified, another part felt the tiniest bit more at ease.

You hiccupped softly. "Y-you promise?"

Jungkook was the first to answer, his voice trembling as he whispered, "I promise, baby."

"So do I," Jimin murmured, stroking your cheek.

"Me too, cub," Jin said gently.

"Always," Taehyung whispered.

"Forever," Yoongi added.

Namjoon’s eyes were warm, filled with quiet strength. "Pup, you are ours, our perfect little omega to take care of and cherish. And alphas will never, ever let anything happen to you."

The room fell into a hush, only the sound of the waves playing from the speakers filling the space.

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Next:

[puppysuke]

Hii! Could you please do if the tulpar crew was dating an autistic reader? Or someone with neurodivergent traits? (As in like would they understand it/know how to handle them.) So sorry if this is a difficult ask!

oh my GODS i love this one so much being someone neurodivergent. i am so excited for this, it's not difficult at all! i'll get to my other asks after this one, but i'm just super excited for this one :3 thank you for the ask anon!

notes: continue reading under the cut!

tulpar crew dating autistic reader.

꒰ curly .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 he really tries his best to understand everything ans make you as comfortable as possible.

𖦹 he honestly makes a lists of what your sensory needs are, like what you don't like to touch and when textures you're okay with.

𖦹 he doesn't fully understand what you feel, so he often asks you to explain how you feel.

𖦹 "what are you thinking?" curly asks, noticing you seem farther away from your mind than usual. "is something too loud? not feeling right?" he asks, talking in a soft and quiet voice.

𖦹 curly does a lot of research on what you have and how to customize things for your needs.

𖦹 he also asks you a lot about your opinions. like how you feel about things, how your brain works.

𖦹 he doesn't realize at first that autism is different for everyone, so he kinda gets you basic autism special interest things like dinosaurs things, especially.

𖦹 if that's not your special interest and you tell him and explain autism a little more to him, he panics a little.

𖦹 "i'm sorry, i swear i'm not ableist!" he says quickly, eyes wide. "i just wanna do this right!"

𖦹 he treats you like a normal person when you explain everything to him, because you are a normal person. and he knows that.

𖦹 loves to listen to you info dump and gets you things based on the things you ramble about, he loves seeing how excited you get.

꒰ jimmy .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 he actually knows a lot about different disabilities, including autism due to studying a lot about it.

𖦹 he hates that he sees a lot of himself in you, certain things you do and traits. he doesn't like it.

𖦹 but he loves you (vine boom sound effect), so he tries his very best to not do anything wrong.

𖦹 jimmy is honestly pretty chill about it, i think. he just tries to read you and figure you out without having to ask.

𖦹 he lets you ramble to him about your hyperfixations / special interests, but he doesn't particularly listen, it's in one ear and out the other.

𖦹 he doesn't push you to talk when you're nonverbal and enjoys just sitting in silence with you when you're not talking.

𖦹 he makes sure to wear things that have textures you don't mind if you have bad sensory issues. he doesn't wanna drive you away from touching him.

𖦹 he likes to lay on you like he's a weighted blanket tbh and gets you a weighted blanket for when he isn't around.

𖦹 overall, he understands and knows how to help you, he just has trouble adjusting to dating you.

꒰ daisuke .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 "woah, you're autistic!? i got a touch of the tism myself!"

𖦹 you guys share interests and stuff so yap sessions all the time.

𖦹 he definitely knows what he's doing when it comes down to comforting you, whether it's with over stimulation or lack of understanding social cues or something else.

𖦹 he literally learned sign language with you for when you're non verbal tbh.

𖦹 not really much to say about daisuke here i think, he's just also autistic/nd, i wish i could say more but he def just gets it.

꒰ anya .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 she didn't exactly study psychology or brain things, but she does just to learn more about how to care for you and help you out.

𖦹 it doesn't take long for her to get used to dating someone nd, she just makes sure to read up on it a lot.

𖦹 again, i feel like there isn't much to say about anya. she learns quickly and spends lots of time trying to figure everything out to help you.

𖦹 she does pay attention when you talk about the things you like and tries to learn about those things too.

꒰ swansea .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 honestly, i don't think he handles it all that well at first, saying some ableist shit like "oh we're all a little autistic."

𖦹 yeah, turns out he also is autistic, just refuses to acknowledge it!

𖦹 he finally decides to research a bit and ask you about your own experiences and starts to handle it better.

𖦹 he babies you a little at first but soon starts to realize that's not the thing to do and treats you normally.

𖦹 gets more well versed with neurodivergencies as time passes and figures everything out and is pretty good with it after a while!

i hope you enjoyed! if you liked this and have anything you'd like me to write from this fandom, or any other fandoms listen in my intro post, my requests are open! just ask me in my inbox and i'll write / make hc for you <3 thank you for reading!

[mzminola]

Reread Warrior's Apprentice for the first time in ages, fresh off of Shards of Honor and Barrayar, and see parallels between Miles-Arde and Cordelia-Bothari.

When Cordelia is a prisoner of war about to be tortured, she projects onto Bothari as a form of control over the situation, repeating There are two victims in this room, to herself mentally, and telling Bothari out loud, "I believe that the tormented are very close to God. I'm sorry, Sergeant."

Which is when he recognizes her, and is able to mentally supplant Aral Vorkosigan's Rules For Prisoners over Ges Vorrutyer's rules, first refusing to hurt her, and then stopping Ges from doing so.

Bothari's actions in that moment could theoretically happen even if Cordelia said nothing, if he simply looked at her face and Aral's rules kicked in. And Piotr, at Aral's request, making him a Vorkosigan armsman puts him in place plot-wise to do things.

But Cordelia reaching out to him, speaking, empathizing, is what forms the connection between them, leading to Bothari picking Cordelia as His Person To Make Rules. Their senses of identity & personal destinies are intertwined after that.

Almost two decades later, we get Miles & Arde. Miles is a teenager with a lot of cultural & personal baggage that make flunking out of the Imperial Military Academy entrance exams The End Of The World. He's wrapped his entire identity up in getting in & excelling.

When Miles fails the exam, when that path is barred to him, he has no back-up plan. Nothing. He refuses to consider anything. Full on depression spiral, worsened by his grandfather dying. The space adventure starts because Miles wants to help & impress Elena, but if they'd done that a couple years earlier he wouldn't have shattered his imagined future yet, and probably wouldn't have latched onto Arde.

Arde Mayhew is a Jump Ship Pilot. He has implants in his brain to do this work, he & other jump pilots can never truly describe their experiences to non-pilots. His class of ship is being decommissioned, his ship just got sold to a scrapper, he's medically ineligible for updated implants. We meet him holed up in the decommissioned ship refusing to come out, with no plan, just despair.

Miles feels like his entire world is over. Arde's actually is.

Miles empathizes. Miles projects. Miles cannot change the universe to get back his dream, but he can throw himself into finding a solution for Arde. He shoves himself into the situation, digging himself a deeper & deeper hole, never truly considering backing out until they are all literally in an active war zone multiple wormhole jumps away from home.

And one of the first things he does, to protect Arde from arrest, is swear him in as an armsman.

Arde, for his part, is befuddled by Miles' involvement, but latches on too. Miles gives him the chance to keep his calling, and Arde, in turn, risks that very calling ramming his ship into a hostile vessel to protect Miles. During the course of the book, Arde is slowly reshaping his identity from solely a jump pilot to jump pilot & Miles' Armsman.

Our original misfit Vorkosigan armsman is right there judging both of them for it. Arde doesn't understand Barrayar at all. Bothari is extremely pissed about the entire situation; swearing in outsider Arde is only eclipsed by Miles swearing in military deserter Baz Jesek. Bothari eventually comes around on Arde, thanks to the ship-ramming and Arde's reasoning for it, but never on Baz.

Naismiths: insane levels of projection, insane levels of resulting loyalty.

[threelittlerooks]

This kind of posts have been popping up to me a lot and like, I'd like to add, as your latina demisexual kinky auntie that spent too much time thinking about the Dellamortes:

Everytime someone makes Lucanis tall Spite loses his wings. DO YOU WANT A WINGLESS SPITE??? NO, SO STOP IT. Also, like, if this is your case, please think a little as to why you think men should be taller than women, maybe? "It's a personal preference!', IS IT THOUGH???

"He ain't gonna be your dom daddy mafia boss in bed, sorry." - In the beginning, I agree, but there's room to learn!! Add this to your fics, if you wish, Rook and him learning together what he likes and what he doesn't like. While I don't read Lucanis as this type (for me he's service top, and he would be the bestest of boys and just fold at the first praise, ANYWAY), it would be interesting to see this development and how it would mirror his personal development (like, getting control of his life and beginning to make his own choices and discovering what is him and what is his training/grandmother influence?).

I don't know if it's because I'm a latina (born and raised and living in a latin american country) but like, usually people think latinos are suave flirts just because we smile too much. I swear to God I have made gringos blush just by being my NORMAL self. So, maybe Lucanis is a suave flirt for Vints, I don't know, just because he's funny as fuck and this is read as flirting. He sure is attractive, this is stated in the game. Like. Play with this!! Play with the trope within world! People perceive him as something he's not just because of his culture. Maybe antivans have this fame because they're more open than other countries? I don't know. But there's a lot of room to have a lot of FUN with this. Desconstruct that trope!!!

And, like, please? Like, leave Illario alone? Please???? Whenever someone says LUCANIS IS NOT THE LATINO LOVER TROPE someone always pops up and says AND ILLARIO IS RIGHT THERE. Illario is NOT the Latino Lover trope too, he's a classic Telenovela Villain! He's Felix throwing his own baby niece in the trash so his mom won't prefer his sister to him in the succession, he's Nazaré pushing Cláudia down the stairs, he's Olavo saying "you're the dumbest bitch in this street because you're the only one that can't realize I love you". He's Paola Bracho, he's Soraya Montenegro. He's the Raquel to Lucanis' Ruth (but in this case, the one who is presumed dead and comes back is Ruth, not Raquel). He's charismatic, he's tragic, his actions are unexcusable, we understand why he did all he did and probably in his place, would've done worse. His ambition is his downfall. We all love to hate him, we all love him. He uses seduction as one of his weapons and a means to get what he wants, which is classic Telenovela Villain. You can ascribe the Latin Lover trope to him with the same caution you ascribe to Lucanis. Will Illario woo someone because he's a playboy? No, he'll woo them because he wants something out of it. It's a transaction. He can use the trope and expectations to his favour, and it can give really interesting nuance to this exploration!

None of these men are heterosexual. They can be with women, but they are still queer, don't forget this. it's not a switch, oops, now I'm gay! Now I'm heterosexual! Bi/Pan people are bi/pan despite their current relationships.

Anyway!! Just some additions and ideas to help fic writers!! And if you have a fic that is Lucanis learning what he likes (in all senses!!), sent it my way ASAP.

important things to remember about Lucanis

the man is a short king, between 5'5"-5'7"

He is panromantic demisexual. Which means when he feels sexual attraction, he probably panics and wonders if he's dying for a second. (that's a joke.)

He in a canonical virgin. He ain't gonna be your dom daddy mafia boss in bed, sorry. And it does make sense with the Crows and if you read the Wigmaker job. It's hinted at that it's mainly elven assassins who are trained in seduction, not human. (now, if you wanna write him as having experience, that's your welcomed interpretation. But he does mention Rook being his first and only relationship. You can take that how you will.)

He is not your latino lover trope. Just because he's brown, doesn't mean he's sexual promiscuous and a suave flirty dreamboat get that out of your head. He is a fucking nerd who likes to cook, knit, and is obsessed with wyverns. He's got too much anxiety and feelings of needing to be good enough to be suave before confirming a relationship. Not to mention the shit ton of stuff he's dealing with.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a goodbye kiss - Javier Peña

900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts

bio : This story is part of the 900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts.

person ordering: @underneath-the-sky-again

warnings : +18, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, mentioning sex, just a lazy morning with this guy, some swear words

[my masterlist]

This wasn't what you expected right after waking up. The morning sounds from the street barely reached you as your body arched and then lightly pressed into the mattress with pleasure that spread through every corner of your body.

Every nerve, every cell was dominated by this feeling. And it was a thousand times better than any drug.

"Ohhh...fuck..." you moaned, your hands clenching the bed frame and your eyelids squeezing shut "Sweet Jesus..."

Strong hands lay flat on your stomach, stopping your hips from escaping. Yes, you would be able to escape him, you were already so overstimulated.

This night marathon he gave you made you both drop dead. The sheets were wet with your sweat, your throat sore from moaning and repeating his name like prayers that would never be answered by any god, because they were too sinful.

The hand let go of the bed frame and went under the sheets, between your thighs to slide into Javier's soft hair. You clenched your fingers tighter as another wave of pleasure flooded your body.

"I'm so close...so close..." you whispered.

Fuck, you were sure he smiled. You couldn't see his face, but you were fucking sure of it. Soft lips sucked your clit with such intensity that you saw stars, and when he grunted in satisfaction, you felt the vibrations go even deeper.

His big fingers curled, hitting the perfect spot he wanted to find. Warm thighs squeezed his head a little tighter. You were already on the edge, and he was going to push you into its depths without the slightest hesitation.

"Javier... Javier... Fuuuuuuck!"

That was it. Your back arched, your thighs squeezed tighter, pressing him against your pussy, the place he wanted to stay forever. His cock, his mouth, his fingers, all fit there perfectly, and you gave him more than anyone else.

He sucked your juices not wanting to waste a single drop, and his cock twitched intensely. He managed to throw off the thin blanket and look at you with his calf-like brown eyes.

Javier was sure that if you could see yourself in that moment, you would be as delighted as he was. Your body bathed in the morning rays of the sun, your hair disheveled, your muscles tensing under your delicate skin. You were a fucking goddess.

Your chest was heaving with rapid breaths, but you finally opened your eyes and looked at him, still between your thighs.

"Morning, hermosa." he greeted with a smile.

"Morning, Agent Peña." You replied in a dreamy voice. "What was that?"

"Breakfast."

He kissed your swollen pussy and you chuckled, trying to free yourself from his lips in fear that you wouldn't survive another time with him. Contentment and satisfaction were written all over his handsome face as he stood up and reached for the shirt lying on the chair.

"What about you?" you asked.

He noticed your gaze fixed on the bulge in his pants, the corner of his lips turned up teasingly. "You can take care of it tonight. I have to go to the office now."

You rolled onto your stomach and pouted. "That's not fair."

"What's not fair, hermosa?" his fingers quickly buttoned up and straightened the rumpled shirt.

"I'd like to have you to myself, in the mornings too. And repay you for waking me up like that."

Javier walked over to the bed, took your face in his hands, his nose brushing yours. "Soon, hermosa. Soon we'll have plenty of time together. I promise you.."

He kissed you, still tasting like you. His soft lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You moaned quietly, hoping it would make you manage to hold him a little longer.

But this was Peña. As devoted as he was to you, he knew what he had to do.

"See you at work." he said quietly before he brushed your lips again. "Goodbye, hermosa."

"Goodbye, handsome."

And he left, leaving you in the sheets smelling of him, you, and sex.

[persephone1700]

The boy is mine- Michael Gavey x Reader

Hello! This is the finale of the 3 part story of Michael Gavey x Reader.

I'm sorry it took so long for me to publish this. I had a couple of rough months last year and when 2025 started I made it to my purposes to write more, learn to do it better and publish more things I have in mind.

Special Mention to: @anukulee

Please enjoy!

Remember English is not my first language so be kind:)

Warning Tags: +18 ONLY , Smut, explicit content, Oral Sex (male receiving), Oral Sex (reader receiving), sex, swearing.

Part 1 Part 2

Michael’s POV:

By Saturday evening, Michael was seriously considering whether he was losing his mind or not. He had spent half the weekend recused in his dorm, staring at a math problem that didn’t make sense.

When did math become difficult for him?

Oh yes, around the same time he’d been foolish enough to start daydreaming about a spoiled brat who clearly wasn’t wasting a single thought on him.

The problem wasn’t just math, gods knew it was the easiest assignment he had this semester, but the constant stream of memories about her… The what ifs clouded his mind and derailed every attempt to focus.

Sighing, he made his way down to the nearest pub on campus. Soon enough, Michael found himself nursing his third pint, a petty attempt to drown his shame and stop thinking about her.

As he took a sip, he noticed you and Felix at a table in the background, drinking and laughing with your friends. 

The sight made his blood boil.

God, what’s next? Were they going to appear on his morning cereal too?!

His frustration bubbled over and he knew he needed to do something, anything, to get his mind back under control. 

The memory of your touch, your laughter, was too fresh… too intoxicating to let go.

A spark of boldness flickered within him, likely fueled by the pints he'd nursed earlier so he gathered up every ounce of courage to approach your table.  He expected to be ignored, or worse, laughed at. But when he reached the table, his words stuck in his throat. 

Farleigh spotted him first. “Go away, you little perv.”

Your gaze met his, and Michael’s jaw clenched.

“Knock it off, Farleigh,” you snapped, then turned to him with a smile. “Hey, Michael. How are you?”

“Oh, is this the creepy math genius Ollie’s been talking about?” Felix chimed in, his curiosity piqued.

Michael’s eyes zeroed in on Felix’s arm draped over your shoulders. The sight struck him like a gut punch, heat rising from his chest to his neck. His fists clenched at his sides as his focus narrowed on how Felix leaned in closer to you, laughing in that effortless, casual way that grated on Michael’s nerves.

All logic abandoned him, replaced by a smoldering jealousy that twisted in his stomach. Seeing someone else so comfortably close to you…it was driving him mad. 

And it was Felix, of all people. The wanker would tire of you eventually, discard you when he pleased. You deserved better. Someone like him.

Before you could step in, Michael’s words broke through. “Yeah, that’s me. And you’re the plonker failing every class and paying off teachers for grades.”

The words left his mouth easily, bitter and satisfying, and though it wasn’t the greatest insult, he knew Felix would hate the truth in it. For a fraction of a second, Felix’s brows furrowed before his grin widened, clearly entertained by Michael’s bluntness.

“Well, aren’t you charming?” he chuckled. “What can I say? I’m all about enjoying life.”

Farleigh snorted. “ Oh Felix but our little perv right here wouldn’t know about that, he is the one who needs to loosen up and stop watching us from the dark corners. "

You shifted in your seat, preparing to stand and pull Michael away from the situation.

Felix raised an eyebrow, catching the movement, and added, “Tell you what, Miguel… that's your name, right mate? Why don’t you come to the party at the student hall tonight?” He left cash on the table, flashing Michael a smug smile, the mispronunciation of his name landing with a deliberate sting.

Michael rolled his eyes, his suspicion flaring. He’d expected hostility or indifference from Felix, not this casual invitation. 

Was it a setup? 

Another ploy to humiliate him?

Farleigh’s laughter faded, replaced by a scowl. “What? Are you serious?”

A silence fell over the group, everyone waiting for Felix to reveal the joke, but it never came.

Farleigh snorted again. “What is this, a freak show?”

Annabel got up with a huff, walking over to Felix. “Come on, Felix, you can’t be serious… haven’t you already befriended the other one?”

“Besides, that one is a scholarship kid!” she sneered. “It’s pathetic! People will think anyone can just join us, and they can't!”

You cut in, your tone sweetened with fake kindness. “Oh dear Annabel but I thought you hooked up with that ‘scholarship kid,’  the night Felix dumped you?.”

Annabel’s mouth opened, but she had no comeback. She sighed, grabbing India’s arm, and stalked off with Farleigh trailing behind.

----

Michaels head was working hard as he tried to come up with an answer that may as well determine his future.

Did he really wish to hang out with Felix and his stuck-up friends? No, obviously. 

He wasn’t Oliver. 

But he cared about getting closer to you, even if it meant stepping out of his comfort zone for a night.

Does he have anything better to do? Certainly not. 

He would just be in his room, eating scrunchies and staring at that stupid problem due for Monday.

It was a choice: drown in his loneliness for the rest of the weekend, or take a chance and figure out what the hell was going on with you. He needed to know where he standed.

So he agreed to go.

To his first party. Ever.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Felix's POV:

Of course Felix's intentions were not innocent at all. Normally, he would never have invited a tosser like Michael to a party, but what Ollie had told him about the "weird math genius" was hard to ignore.

You’d taken a peculiar interest in Michael, and it was driving Felix mad with curiosity and suspicion. 

It had been a long time since the two of you were together, but somehow, Felix found himself missing you in more ways than just a friend would miss another friend. He started feeling neglected and he needed to know why.

Just that week, you had fought over something, and when he kissed you, you pulled away. It was a surprise for sure, it hit him like a bucket of cold water. Not a single one of the girls he had kissed ever pulled apart, so  he realized then that you must have your eye on someone else, like a predator eyeing a small animal.

He couldn’t help but feel both curious and possessive over his best friend.

He hated that he missed you, hated how you lingered in his mind, and hated even more that his curiosity was shading into something darker, a desire to control the way you looked at him again.

Were you seriously  drifting away from him?

And because of that?

He thought back to Saltburn and all the years the two of you had been close. Your families were friends and he couldn’t even remember a time when you weren’t around. His mother, Elspeth, always beamed when she saw you, gushing over how you’d grown.

Of course he’d noticed it too. How could he not?

It was hard to miss the soft curves your body had developed.

And as he grew older, that easy friendship turned into something that fed a different kind of need. Yet, no matter how many times he tried to turn it into more, you insisted on keeping it simple: you knew his reputation and you wanted to prioritize your friendship above every other feeling, no matter how amazing the sex was.

Despite the countless girls he held in the palm of his hand, he found himself missing you lately. The sting of you pulling away whenever he got too close,  left him with a frustration he couldn’t shake. 

He needed to know if Michael had something to do with this. As much as he hated the idea, he wanted to confirm his suspicions.

And so, here he was, extending an invitation to a guy he barely tolerated, for all he knew this Miguel guy may turned out to be a sociopath or a killer… Still he did it all for the chance to know what was really going on between you and the little bastard.

Venetia got up from the  table and followed Farleigh and the others outside. Just as Farleigh passed Michael, he tossed him aside and Felix felt a little satisfaction watching him press his lips in a tight line. Then he swung his arm casually around your shoulders,  and steered you towards the door. 

Just for the fun of thinking how much it would get to the tosser.

“Oi! You're just gonna sulk there all night, or are you coming, Miguel?” Felix called back with a grin.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Michael’s POV:

Michael's fists clenched as he reluctantly followed. The cool night air brushed against him, and the dim street lamps cast long shadows along their path to the student hall. He could already hear the faint thump of music, getting louder as they approached, mingling with the sounds of laughter and murmurs from people smoking on the lawn. For a moment, he hesitated, feeling the sharp sting of being out of place.

Rich kids and their privileges. 

He forced himself forward, but a nagging thought kept clawing at him: Why the hell did he agree to this?

Too deep in his thoughts, suddenly  he looked up and realized he’d lost sight of the others. Panic clawed at his chest, and his gaze jumped from one unfamiliar face to another. Strangers laughed around him, louder than they needed to, shadows seeming to mock him. 

Even Annabel’s presence would’ve been a comfort. 

What if this was their plan all along, get him here, then ditch him, expecting him to disappear? 

The thought dug in, but his resolve only hardened. No way would he let Felix Catton play him like that.

Just as his frustration began to simmer into anger, he spotted you near the building, pouring a drink and locked in a heated argument with Felix. Felix's scowl said it all: he was not enjoying himself. Curious, Michael moved closer, catching the tail end of the conversation.

Felix’s voice sliced through the thumping music. “Why do you care so much if we make fun of him?!”

Your answer was sharp, a tone Michael hadn’t heard from you before. “Because not everything is a joke to me, Felix! Maybe you should try taking people’s feelings seriously for once.”

Felix's bitter response came instantly. “You want to talk about feelings? What about mine, then?”

“Oh, come on, Felix! I’ve known you for years! Do you really think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” You shook your head, frustration flashing in your eyes. “You don’t feel that way about me, you’re just upset I turned you down.”

Felix’s voice dropped, his gaze hardening. “Come on, you can’t really like him… he’s a knob. Besides, when we are at Saltburn this summer you know I am the one you will be fucking!”

“Well, I do like him!” you shot back, your voice firm. “So quit the act.”

A small, twisted satisfaction curled in Michael’s chest as he watched the exchange unfold. Seeing Felix squirm was rare, and he couldn’t help but savor it. But then, as if sensing him nearby, you turned and spotted Michael.

“Come on, Michael,” you called over the music. “This party is dead boring. I’m sure we can find other ways to make our own fun.” You snatched a bottle from the table, giving Felix a pointed look, before walking over to Michael and taking his hand, pulling him toward the building.

Michael stole a glance back at Felix as he let you lead him inside. Felix stood there, fuming, looking every bit the fool he was.

Oh my my my, how the tables had turned.

The atmosphere inside was hazy, a faint scent of smoke clinging to the air, the hallways were only partially occupied, with a few students smoking, flirting, and sipping on drinks, you were barely paying attention to your surroundings as you led Michael deeper inside the hall into the dorm rooms.

When you finally reached your room, you opened the door and let Michael in. He took a look around and noticed the wooden floors, your desk beside your window along with a big bookshelf filled with books, the closet on the opposite wall, and in the middle a big bed with lavender sheets.  

The room looked pristine. As he had imagined it would look like. 

Not that he had ever imagined or fantasized how your room looked like. Nope.

Definitely not that.

You released his hand and popped open the Champagne bottle, sending the cork flying into a nearby couch. The fizz bubbled over, spilling onto your hand. Without hesitating, you took a deep sip straight from the bottle and held it out to Michael.

“Excuse my manners,” you said, a trace of anger lingering in your voice. “I’m not in the mood to be questioned.”

Surprised but saying nothing, Michael took the bottle and drank. Your eyes danced over him as he took a careful sip, the slight burn of the champagne catching him off-guard.

“Are you mad?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“At me? For coming here?”

You shook your head, a scoff escaping. “No, not at you. Actually, I was hoping you’d show up.” Your expression softened slightly, though a hint of irritation remained. “It’s my friends, the ones I am mad at. But you... I think we have some unfinished business, don’t we?”

Michaels cheeks turned pink and he awkwardly nodded.

“Don’t hold back on me, Michael,” you said, your gaze challenging. “I didn’t bring you to my room just so you could stand there.”

He swallowed a big gulp,  flush creeping into his cheeks, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he set the bottle down and took a step closer, bolder than before, drawn to you by something he couldn’t name.

The air thickened between you both suddenly aware of the thrill of the moment, the faint sound of muffled laughter outside.

Your fingers traced a line up his arm, slowly, lingeringly. “Tell me,” you whispered, voice teasing as you leaned close, your lips barely a breath away from his ear. “Do you still think about… last time?”

Michael’s breath hitched, his hands twitching as if he didn’t know whether to pull you close or keep his distance. The memory of your touch, the intensity of it, filled his mind, making it harder to think clearly. He felt the darkness closing in, a dizzying pull of desire and fear all tangled together.

“Y-yes,” he stammered, barely able to meet your gaze. “I can’t… I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“Good,” you said, drawing out the word, letting him see the hunger in your eyes. You moved closer, pressing your body against his, feeling his breath catch, his hands tentatively settling at your waist. 

“Then let’s not waste time,” you whispered, reaching up to tilt his chin, pulling him into a kiss, slow, searing, as if you wanted to torture him.

For Michael, it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Every sense was heightened, the soft scrape of your nails on his chin, the warmth of your breath against his skin. You moved with practiced ease, guiding him, teasing him.

You let your hand trail up Michael’s chest, feeling the nervous tremor beneath his shirt. “Do you want to pick up where we left off?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper.

Michael swallowed hard, his eager nod unmistakable. “Y-yes… yes, please,” he managed, his voice a raw edge of desperation.

You gave him a smirk, brushing a finger along his jaw. “Good boy.” Your voice softened as you gestured toward the plush bed. “Go sit down, right there.”

He obeyed, settling into the bed with a quiet intensity. The dim lights of the lamps cast long shadows over you as you slowly lifted your shirt up, revealing your breasts, then you began to undo the buttons of your skirt, letting it slide down to the floor. 

Michael’s eyes followed your every movement, wide and hungry, his breath hitching with each piece of clothing you let fall to the floor. His gaze devoured you, lingering on every inch of newly exposed skin until you stood before him, wearing nothing but a pair of black lace panties, an unspoken invitation hanging in the air.

His lips parted, awe and disbelief flickering in his eyes.

"Touch me," you murmured, stepping closer, positioning yourself between his knees. His hands hovered for a moment, unsure, trembling slightly as they found your skin. His touch was light, almost reverent, until you guided him, his fingers trailing over your breasts, growing bolder under your silent whimpers.

A mischievous spark lit your eyes as you sank to your knees. Michael watched, his breath shallow, as you unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down, along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, already hard and eager for you.

 You wrapped your hand around him, stroking him slowly at first, teasing him, before quickening your pace. His head fell back with a deep groan, but he lifted it again, needing to watch you, the sight of your mouth taking him in, inch by inch, making his hips twitch involuntarily.

Tears pricked your eyes from the stretch as you worked him with your mouth and hands, your gaze never leaving his. The muscles in his stomach tightened, his abs flexing, and you knew he was close. But you weren’t ready to let him finish. Not yet.

With a final, deliberate suck, you pulled off him, leaving him throbbing and desperate. His eyes snapped open, confusion and frustration flashing in them.

You rose to your feet, sliding your panties down and stepping out of them gracefully. He barely had a second to take in the sight before you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He helped you, yanking it over his head and tossing it aside. It was that stupid burgundy shirt with the "That's how I Roll" joke written on it. You rolled your eyes, such a dork.

The moment his mouth was free, he claimed yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. His lips tasted like champagne, sweet and heady, while yours carried a saltier flavor, his own taste lingering on your tongue.

His hands wandered, gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him. His cock pressed against your wet folds, and you moaned softly into his mouth, the friction deliciously unbearable.

When you broke the kiss to catch your breath, his lips trailed down your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone and chest. Your head fell back, fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked lightly around your nipple, drawing a gasp from you.

You pushed him back against the mattress, taking control once more. Grasping his cock, you lined him up, teasing him by rubbing his tip along your slick entrance before slowly sinking down.

Michael groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. His hands gripped your hips tightly as you adjusted to his size, the stretch burning in the best way.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured, voice strained.

You began to move, rolling your hips, setting a slow, deliberate pace. His hips bucked beneath you, meeting your thrusts, his awkwardness melting away with each rise and fall.

Michael’s hands slid up your waist, guiding your movements, his confidence building until something darker flickered in his eyes. Without warning, he sat up, wrapping an arm around your back and flipping you beneath him.

You gasped, the sudden shift leaving you breathless. He hovered over you, his eyes locked on yours,  hunger written all over them. He spread your legs wider, positioning himself between them, and thrust into you hard.

A broken moan escaped your lips as he pinned your hands above your head, his hips moving with newfound determination. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, blending with your gasps and his ragged groans.

Sweat beaded along his neck, a single droplet trailing down to his chest as he pounded into you. With a new and deeper thrust, you moaned beautifully and he knew he had found that perfect spot inside you , the one that made you see stars,  and he hit it over and over again, making your body tremble beneath him.

"Right there, Michael," you begged, your voice barely a whisper.

His lips curled into a wicked smirk. He doubled down, driving into you with relentless precision, his cock dragging against that spot until you were a writhing mess beneath him.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach. He grabbed your hips, lifting you up, and landed a sharp slap on your ass. A startled moan escaped you, and he chuckled darkly.

"Such a brat," he murmured before pushing into you again from behind, filling you in one smooth thrust.

You cried out, the new angle making you feel him impossibly deeper. His hands gripped your hips tight enough to bruise, guiding your body back against him as he fucked you harder and faster, chasing both your releases.

Your body trembled, thighs shaking as you felt the coil in your belly tighten.

"I... I’m close," you gasped, voice breaking.

Michael groaned, thrusting even harder, his rhythm faltering.

Your orgasm slammed into you, walls pulsing and tightening around him. He cursed loudly, his hands digging into your hips as he followed, spilling inside you with a final, shuddering thrust.

He stilled, his breath ragged and uneven, before slowly pulling out.

"Shit... I didn’t even ask if I could cum inside," he stammered, his voice shaky and unsure.

The shy boy resurfacing.

You laughed softly, turning to meet his worried gaze. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess, and his glasses had slipped down his nose.

"It’s okay. I have an IUD," you reassured him with a smirk.

Relief washed over his face, and he smiled sheepishly.

"Wanna get cleaned up? You can stay the night" you asked, nodding toward the bathroom.

Michael’s smile shifted into something more mischievous. His hand curled around your waist, pulling you down against him.

"Who said I was done with you, spoiled girl?"

 You raised a brow, smirking. "Didn’t think you had it in you, nerd."

His grin widened, eyes dark with promise.

"Oh, I’ll show you just how much I’ve got left darling," he murmured against your ear, his voice low and teasing before trailing kisses down your body.

He slid off the bed, sinking to his knees between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs wider. His eyes never left yours , dark, hungry, as his tongue dragged slowly along your slick, sensitive folds.

A shiver ran through your spine, your body arching into his touch, his name falling from your lips in a breathless moan.

Gods… what have I gotten myself into?

[monsterhunterthings]

Very particular MH Wilds comment:

Why is there no Carbalite Ore in the volcanic area (Oilwell Basin)? This has been the case in most other games, right? I ran around the map for so long I looked it up and went like 🙃

[moon-light-bow]

I don't know how to explain it, but I think it's SO interesting that Fiddleford keeps the photo of Emma-May and Tate visible on top of his desk to "keep him grounded" (whatever THAT means...), while he kept the photo of him and Ford at BMU hidden in his desk (which he brought with him to Gravity Falls for ABSOLUTELY NO REASON).

I mean, the text doesn't outright say that it was hidden, but considering that Ford had to RANSACK Fiddleford's notes to even find it after living with him for MONTHS....

[kexytimes]

Do you ever think about the fact that since she was the only illegitimate child of Zeus, that he didn't cheat to create, Athena might have been the only one, of them that Hera would ever consider accepting?

[deoidesign]

Hello! I just discovered your blog and I immediately became captivated by your webcomic, but I'm unsure where to read all of it. I know it's on Webtoons, but I can see it hasn't been updated for a while, and you still post about it.

Are your physical novels just prints of the webcomic? Are they a continuation? Is the story complete? Thanks in advance!

Hi there!

Glad you found me and are enjoying my comic!

It's only on webtoons, and the story is not complete yet! We're 2/3 of the way through right now. It's currently on hiatus, and it's scheduled to come back in about 2 months!

I'll explain why it's been so long if you're curious, but also for my followers who might also be wondering about it under the cut. Sorry, it's pretty much just me complaining haha

I took a month off I took 2 months to get the books printed I took a month to prepare my next comic and I took 2 months to write the rest of the series (I knew the character arcs I wanted, but not the time periods or mysteries!!!) I've been working on actual episodes since then

I had to take some time off because of some pretty extreme burnout due to the sheer amount of work it was to draw over 800 pages and write 6 complete stories in a year and a half... I was getting sick almost weekly due to the overwork, it was really really bad honestly. I was having to work 60+ hours every week just to keep up...

The nature of the comic itself is also difficult... Each of the arcs is a complete, self contained story which can be read (ideally) without context, and my arcs need to be about 10-13 episodes each... And since I have an exact number of episodes to work with, it's even harder.

It takes a ton of planning and a ton of refinement, and working week to week with no breaks I was forced to put out second or even first drafts, so I just wasn't happy with the work I was doing... And to do that for the rest of the series? I wouldn't be proud of the work I did.

Plus... To be entirely honest, webtoon has treated me quite badly IN MY OPINION... They deprioritized me before I launched (I had to beg for more promotion, I'm not exaggerating), they outright denied me the opportunity to even ask for a raise, I don't make any money on fast pass and they pay me less than my partner makes working at trader joes. My first editor left me completely hanging, my second editor (who I loved) was fired... And they told me I wouldn't get a third season before my first season even finished. So it was just repeatedly completely demoralizing.

I'm sorry it has taken so long, it'll have been 10 months by the time I come back. But I realized... I won't get promotion either way. I won't get more episodes either way. I won't get more money either way. So to finish everything, to make it feel good, to make it something I'm proud of, I chose to take longer to make it better.

I am fully aware I will lose a significant amount of my readership for this and it might genuinely affect my career moving forward. But it's what I had to do! So I'm sticking to my guns on it, and I'm confident long term it'll be worth it. It never could have been this good if I didn't take this much time.

[kismetconstellations]

Reminder, because it seems like some people need it, even though it's been six long, Godforsaken years since this series ended: Shiro is Voltron: Legendary Defender's gay male lead and representation.

Not Adam. Not Keith. Not Lance. And, most certainly not the piece of human-shaped set-dressing Shiro was married off to at the absolute last second for the sake of combatting "Bury Your Gays" accusations and trying to garner praise for the hack showrunners who killed Shiro off, in the first place.

Shiro was conceived as a gay man from the very beginning. Which is what makes him promising to keep Pidge's true identity a secret so significant. It's what makes him, specifically, encouraging her that, "Owning who you are is going to make you a better Paladin", so important and special.

If you can't see the value in the Team Leader, a conventionally masculine ace pilot forcefully turned exceptionally skilled gladiator, who survived just about every sort of Hell imaginable, from illness to imprisonment to torture, who had his arm taken from him and replaced with a weapon, who canonically suffers from debilitating PTSD, and still, in spite of all of it, manages to be warm, compassionate, gentle, and willingly dedicate his life to saving others, being a gay man, you need to confront your own biases, and stop making everything about ships and shipping.

Shiro didn't need to be in a romantic relationship for his identity as a gay man to matter. Shiro's ex dying didn't negate that identity, and suddenly render Shiro heterosexual.

Voltron: Legendary Defender's Takashi Shirogane is a gay man. That fact, in and of itself, is special, significant, and worthy of celebration. On his own, Shiro is enough.

Shiro is enough.

[akai-anna]

Round 6

Round: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

[vaguely-concerned]

I was just ambushed within the turbulent halls of my own mind by some headcanons about rye ingellvar's childhood that did 15000000 points of psychic damage to me and my heart personally and also made me almost sure of how I want to play it all at the end (very very differently from how I imagined going in!). some 'oh holy fuck this changes everything' rocking my own world bullshit going on in my neurons right now I'm reeling