#i think about these two in relation to each other more than i should

[thetrasha]

Hello there, it's me again! The one who asked for the ideal types.

I hope you feel better soon, and let me know if you need a break, I don't want to bother with too many requests!

Have you finished Dressrosa? Today I'm here to request something for a specific character. This ask will be even vaguer than the previous ones; I'll give you a lot of creative freedom because I don't even know what I want :')

The only thing I know is that I need something fluff whit Corazon (Rosinante). We need more content of this man here on Tumblr!!

This feels like ages ago but just to confirm: Yes, I'm not sick anymore lol hooray

I can't believe it myself, but I'm ALMOST done with Dressrosa!! :D "Almost" (25 episodes bye). We're so back (Well, I wasn't ever gone, but you had to wait a long time to have this request fulfilled so I do hope I did it justice)~ Take care and without further ado: Rosinante requests are officially allowed on this blog‼️😤

I hope you like this <3 I think it's pretty good (❁´◡`❁) But long!!

Still Waters Run Deep

feat. ROSINANTE

“You look ridiculous, Commander.”

“Thanks for your input, (Y/N)…”, Rosinante grumbled, practising his new makeup routine over and over again. He couldn’t quite get the look right, the blue star beneath his right eye not coming out as symmetrical as he’d hoped. The painted grin on his face was also pretty lopsided. Sengoku started laughing right at his face yesterday morning.

You could all but giggle at your friend’s strange change in appearance. This wasn’t like him at all…

You were found mere months after Rosinante was – your home island had fallen victim to natural disasters, leaving it totally uninhabitable. Most people, including your family, eventually chose to flee from the elements for your own safety, but you all got caught in a vicious hurricane that beat down on your rudimentary rafts that should have carried you far and wide, away from such a hostile environment. By some miracle, you survived, but were now stranded at sea… with no one to talk to, hungry and broken.

That is, until a marine vessel almost crashed into your tiny sailboat as you were slowly dying of thirst. It didn’t even register to you that you’d been saved, you’ve started hallucinating ships on the horizon days ago, so this was just another hopeless fever dream to you. After it’s been confirmed that there had been no other surviving relatives, Sengoku had personally ordered that you’d be taken into Navy custody after you’ve confirmed your own age under wails and hiccups, suddenly desperate to re-socialise his traumatised foster son Rosinante… with a friend he could relate to.

You grew up together as a package deal, experiencing each other’s highs and lows through your teenage years and early adulthood.

Maybe that’s why you were the only other person who knew about his secret mission – despite only being a mere Lieutenant. You firmly disagreed with his choice to contain his older brother’s madness. In the North Blue, the Donquixote Pirates were rampaging like the lunatics they are… and you genuinely thought that Rosinante was going to regret this mission and get backed into a corner, even if he was steadfast in his conviction. This was the only point of tension between you two – and the arguments kept piling up in recent months, especially after he’s officially requested to be sent on “extended medical leave for sustaining severe injuries”…

Yeah, right. Like he’s ever cared about that in the first place. HQ was so damn naive!

“If only you chose a non-smoker as your persona instead of… whatever this is.”, you commented dryly, watching him cough and double over as soon as he inhaled a bit of dark blue eyeshadow dust. He even tripped over his own feet and landed right into your arms. Luckily for the both of you, you were strong enough to hold his entire frame in place for a short moment.

“It’s called stealth.”, he said directly into your ear, making you shiver for a moment.

“Uh-huh. Evidently, it’s not called ‘health’. You’re going to set yourself on fire if you continue smoking in this absurd attire, Rosi. Look at that coat. Horrible. You’ll die before you even get there.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance at his decision to leave soon, groaning as he slowly moved away from you, using your shoulders as leverage to stand up to his full height. Since he suddenly stood a lot closer to you, you had to crane your neck up to look into his copper-coloured eyes.

At least his eyes were still the same ones you knew. Other than that, he might as well have turned into a caricature of his older brother – extravagant feather coat, dark shades and a bizarre suit. The only thing that was kind of cute was the dark magenta beanie with little heart tails.

“I won’t die, I promise.”, he smiled, trying to manoeuvre you into a sweet hug, but you didn’t want to hug him when he looked like this.

You pouted, pushing him away, at which he frowned. The sad, red grin on his cheeks became even more uneven as the corners of his mouth turned upside down in disappointment.

His large hands found your shoulders again, squeezing you as he pulled you flush against him. The intensity of his hug might as well have crushed your bones, but you wrapped your arms around his waist in return, knowing that he needed it right now. But when he pulled back, he looked visibly sick.

“You might. Sengoku sent me away to work with Vice Admiral Tsuru, she operates near Spider Miles, you fool! What if we have to fight each other?!”

He breathed out shakily, flashing you a trembling smile that couldn’t have been more of a lie if he tried, “You’re transferring to… Spider… Miles?”

“Don’t faint, Rosi…”, you cooed in a gentle voice, but watched the sway in his step with a gulp before he came crashing down upon you, “Ah- Help! HELP!!! He’s- crushing me!!”

What you didn’t know is that evening, on that very fateful day, marked the only time Rosinante ever screamed at Sengoku for even entertaining the idea of you being anywhere near the Donquixote Pirates. His foster father explained that he thought his son would love to, at the very least, see you around on his undercover mission, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Rosinante didn’t ever want to have you watch him commit sins right under your nose while you’d have to try to contain him and the other Donquixote elites. He especially wouldn’t forgive himself if you ended up hurt because of him. Worse if it was at the hands of his brother. He would see red and be blinded by rage, no rational thought left. It would… jeopardise this whole thing.

The next day, the cancellation of your transfer sat on your desk.

One week later, you’d be seeing each other for the last time in a long time.

“So this is it...”, you said quietly, looking at a new version of the man you’ve spent your life with. He nodded, swallowing a dry lump in his throat.

Now Rosinante would become a pirate, commit the unspeakable and… work under this madman of a brother. Nothing you said could have convinced him to stay – you tried so many things, so many times. It was pointless to attempt to sway him now, all you could do was accept fate at this point. It wouldn’t ever be the same again; he… might as well have died that day.

He’s been such a steady presence in your life… you don’t even know whether you could live without him.

Maybe that’s why you never confessed your feelings to him. Rosinante was destined to fell his own brother’s evil empire. Every choice would have eventually led him down this path – it was in his kind nature to try and mitigate the damages Doflamingo might cause. Hell, it was in his nature to try to save the world, even if he was but one man; even if it was hopeless, he would always try… just on the off chance that it might do something. He is an extreme idealist who dreams about leaving the world a better place than he found it. And you’ve fallen for this sentimental idiot, knowing that he’d exchange his life for someone else’s. Loving him was futile, even if he secretly longed to experience it – his calling would be his death sentence. You just knew it…

So you gave him one last look, blinking away tears. Rosinante wouldn’t have to see you cry for him, it would just weigh on his mind and make him feel guilty for leaving you behind, but this was what he trained for. All those years spent rigorously training… He’d been ready before he decided to go on this undercover mission in the first place.

You spoke up, burying your face in his chest to hide your sorrowful expression from his view, your voice cracking with heartbreak, “If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”

...

Two years.

Two wretched years.

Rosinante hadn’t talked to you for two years, but he’s thought of you every single day of his new life. It wasn’t easy, being a commander of the Donquixote Pirates… among such vicious and callous men who’d kill anyone who stood in their way. Worst is that, on the surface, he has become just like them, even if they believe ‘Corazon’ never changed – that he’s always been cruel. That… couldn’t be further from the truth. It was so, so hard to leave you. This mission might have cost him everything. The beauty of growing up with you was witnessing the person you became. You were a deity in every way – benevolent, gracious, just… you really looked out for your people, always keeping an eye on your best friend. How could he not fall for someone like you? Someone who’s held him when he suffered through nightmares that soaked him in a cold sweat, someone who hummed a sea shanty whenever he saw a vessel of World Nobility pass by, someone who… came to him – only ever him – when there was an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption or a tsunami… because you saw a protector in him.

You knew Rosinante wasn’t meant to destroy, he was always meant to defend.

God… how much he loved you for that alone.

How pathetic.

You’d probably moved on with your life. While your best friend was stuck in the same Hell he chose two years later, you were probably a Commander these days, perhaps you even outrank him now, maybe you’d gotten… married – and forgot about him.

He tripped over a raised root of an oak, rolling down a steep hill until he fell right in front of Law’s unimpressed face, holding a bunch of unknown fruit he deemed edible… maybe not delicious, but edible.

Rosinante had probably broken a rib or two by crashing into their camp like that, but he didn’t even think about the pain because you’ve been haunting him.

“If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”

Law wasn’t improving at all and they were running out of time. He chose to save that boy’s life three months ago, but no doctor was willing to help him… if anyone could help him at all. The papers continued writing about a child with Amber Lead Syndrome showing up in different parts of this ocean, always somehow evading the World Government – all thanks to the Calm-Calm Fruit.

Rosinante has bound himself to this dying child now. He… felt responsible for him. He was sure that this was probably how Sengoku felt about him when that little blond boy couldn’t stop crying his heart out all those years ago.

“If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”

All Law had known the past few years was pain and suffering. The fact that the kid could sleep at all was a miracle. If Rosinante wasn’t aware of the wound inside his young soul, he would have thought that he was just a normal child. A bit sickly, but normal. Oh, how wrong he was. That amount of torment would have ripped anybody else apart.

This was Law’s chance at life! He’s been fighting his own demons for years and wants to be set free so bad, but neither Rosinante nor Corazon had the power to do that with time running against them.

“If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”

Maybe… just maybe… if Law was truly dying – not that he is! Of course… there is a cure out there, probably in the shape of a Devil Fruit – he deserved to be with… family.

You genuinely thought you were starting to hallucinate as soon as Rosinante stood in front of your door, a little boy right next to him. Your mouth was so wide open that your jaw might have hit the floor… you can’t recollect that moment all too well because you couldn’t stop a river of tears flowing down your cheeks as desperate wails rang through the dead of night. The man you’ve been waiting for embraced you sweetly, shushing you with gentle hums as you squeezed him tight. You were suddenly glad that you lived so far away from the base… it did make your commute to work living Hell, but Rosinante wouldn’t have ever gained the courage to come there if you chose a different living situation– because of that little boy that stared at you two.

The kid’s expression was unreadable, but there was some sort of longing in his eyes.

“And- who’s this?”, you smiled through the tears before you crouched down in front of Rosi’s companion. Meanwhile, your best friend sniffled but it turned into a pained gasp when he hit his head on your door frame…

“I’m Law…”

“Hello Law, I’m (Y/N)…”

“…” He just stared at you.

“…”

“…” His gaze filled with hope turned into a glare, his face pulled into a snarl.

“Everything alright?”, you asked quietly, trying to come closer but the strange child pulled back immediately. He briefly shot a mean look towards Rosinante, who’s started smoking behind you, before his eyes zeroed in on you again.

“Aren’t you scared?”, Law growled.

You blinked, causing him to scoff. The man who could resolve all of this stayed quiet behind you, but you did hear him put out a fire with a yelp… sigh. You told him!

“Why would I be scared?”

“Are you stupid or blind? I have Amber Lead Syndrome.”

“Ah, now all those reports make a lot more sense… Rosi, you- you idiot! Do you know what you’ve done?! Are you insane?!”

Your scolding did cause Law to slump, looking at who he affectionately referred to as Cora-san with fury in his eyes now. Of course you’d blow up at Corazon and then at Law himself. You’d think he was contagious and call the Navy-

“I promise I didn’t mean to make your job more difficul-”

“QUIET! We’ll talk in the living room, you monumental--- gah!! I can’t even insult you anymore. I’m too happy to see you. GO! And don’t… fall… I… uh… first aid’s still in the bathroom, Rosi.”

Law stood on your welcome mat, almost shedding tears upon being abandoned by the man he’s come to respect the most. This was the final straw, it was hopele-

“Law, are you coming or do you want to sleep outside?!”, you shouted from a room inside your home… and that little boy couldn’t believe his own ears.

…In fact, he couldn’t even trust his own eyes when you were sitting on your knees on the plush cushions of your couch trying to suture the fresh laceration on Corazon’s forehead with shaky fingers, a cup of hot cocoa in his tiny hands while… that walking fire hazard of a man looked at you like a lovesick fool.

“What is going on here?!”, Law screamed, pointing at you two after taking a sip of the hot beverage you’ve just made him.

“What do you mean?”, Rosinante echoed, hissing when you disinfected the edges of his cut before you went back in with the needle. He was a lot bigger than regular people, meaning that he sustained even larger injuries if he got hurt. The amount of stitches this took was ridiculous…

“Why are we here?! She’s not a doctor! She doesn’t even know how to properly treat a minor cut!”

“You’re a rude brat, you know that?”, you chuckled, patting the child’s spotted head, “But you’re really cute, so I’ll let it slide…”

Law blushed, huffing in frustration while Rosinante wore an overjoyed expression, pointing at you two with sparkling eyes.

Since it was the middle of the night, you both told the child that suddenly entered your life to go to sleep and rest well. You had no guest bedroom, so you gave your bed to Law. Rosinante smirked, dramatically showing off his Devil Fruit powers by making the entire bedroom soundproof with a dorky thumbs-up. You shook you head at him with a bright smile… This guy…

And then you went back into the living room, silently staring at each other. You bit your lip and rubbed your arms, not knowing what to say.

Neither of you had to say anything because the blond man fell to his knees, hugging you as if you were going to disappear. And you couldn’t help but fall into his arms and kiss him. Your lips desperately moved against his own. You knew you were getting lipstick all over yourself, but you didn’t care one bit. Rosinante’s hands found the small of your back whilst yours circled his neck before throwing his hat away. You buried your hands in his blond locks.

A surprised squeal left your mouth when he lifted you up in his arms, tearing away from you with an undoubtable hunger in his eyes. His pupils were blown out and he almost looked properly smitten, perfecting mirroring your own expression.

His strength allowed him to easily move his hands under your thighs while you clung to him, resting your head against his buzzing chest. Rosinante panted like he crossed the entire North Blue on foot, but looked as content as ever.

He squeezed you and kissed the crown of you head lovingly.

You looked back up at him with a sheepish smile.

“Today I learnt that I could have done this ages ago.”, he mumbled, nuzzling his head against yours with an airy sigh.

“Today I learnt that Amber Lead Syndrome isn’t contagious. Poison?”

“Uh-huh.”, Rosinante clicked his tongue, letting you back down, “Thanks for being so nice to him. He needs it.”

“I can imagine. Poor boy. He’s got that look, you know?”

He tilted his head, his fringe falling into his eyes – a sight that suddenly made you nostalgic.

“The look you had in your eyes when we met. Sad and broken.”, you confessed –

– and Law’s heart stopped for a moment.

“I’ll help you find a way to help him. Don’t know how, but… I will.”

“I love you.”, Rosinante whispered, running his hands down your sides.

You were at peace… finally. Even if times will definitely get a lot rougher from now on.

Law was about to tip-toe back into your bedroom, but you spoke up again, making his breath hitch in fear.

“Love you, too. Let’s wash off your eye make-up, Rosi.”

“About that…”

“Face paint?”

“So…”

“You didn’t get a tattoo.”

“…”

“God help you once Sengoku finds out. He’s going wish you never enlisted.”

Rosinante smirked, stealing yet another kiss from you.

Law could just watch you… – mildly disgusted – but mostly trying to hold back sobs and whimpers. You… you were so kind, as kind as Cora-san. You didn’t let your prejudiced mind treat him badly, you would have accepted infection if it meant that little boy would be at ease around you. You touched him without fear…

And you were both marines.

It… didn’t make any sense, but… what did make sense at this point? Two marines were now taking care of him as if he were one of their own so maybe there was a cure waiting for him after all.

…What a silly thought!

But he didn’t embrace death anymore.

[logan-but-not]

A Theory about Susie and The Last Prophecy

The biggest question left by Deltarune CH4 was the last prophecy. And there have already been a lot of theories of what exactly it entails. But the thing is, I think it's actually the opposite of what everyone is expecting.

Keep in mind, this is purely speculative, and just my personal theory. But I do have a decent amount of actual evidence and narrative theming to support my claims. So just keep an open mind and hear me out for a second. 

Let's actually do a brief recap of the prophecy so everyone is on the same page. From what we can tell, most verses can fall into one of three categories: The Heroes, The Villains, and the Narrative.

The narrative prophecies are the full version of the Legend that Ralsei told us. Depicting the worlds of light and dark, the Roaring, and the three heroes to meet the challenge. The Last Prophecy also falls into this category, as it's literally meant to be the end of the tale. 

The second category is the predictions of each chapter's primary antagonist or most noteworthy character. Lancer, Queen, Tenna, and an unused icon depicting Gerson.

From this pattern, as well as all the evidence to point to a Flower King Dark world, we can pretty confidently assume that the Asgore mural is also a part of this category. Leaving only Chapters 6 and 7 without a mural.

The last category is the specific prophecies about the three heroes. Kris, Susie, and Ralsei in that order (as far as we know). We can assume that each of them goes in depth about their depicted hero, like what we saw with “The Girl”.

It's worth pointing out that there are a few outliers. Such as the music notes, Gallery, Roots, and Jockington. But even they can still pretty easily be explained away. I think it just goes to show that the prophecy speaks in riddles and not everything said should be taken at face value.

But out of these murals, one in particular stands out to me. “And Last, was the Girl. At Last, was the girl.” 

That specific wording is really interesting. Because unless there are four heroes, and two of them both just so happened to be labeled as “the girl”, this seems like a contradiction right? Well, it would be… if it was referring to the heroes. 

I propose this. What if the girl from the rude buster mural, is instead depicting an antagonist from a later chapter. Maybe even the final one.

And that antagonist is Susie.

This is what I believe that Susie was shown at the end of the chapter. She was shown that she is going to be the villain. 

And there's a lot of little details and context clues that point to this conclusion.

MURALS - Like I mentioned before, there are already two murals relating to the girl. And the one with the silhouette with the sword fits with the heroes far more than the rude buster icon does.

But the Rude Buster icon actually does fit with the antagonists and how they are often described. Short verse with prose and describing the major characters of a chapter. Which would potentially explain the “And last, …”.

It's important to remember that the order of these murals is completely jumbled, so key positions like last have to serve as our fixed points. This is why I don't believe that this girl is being referred to in the same context as the heroes.

GERSON - So much of Susie's interactions with Gerson focus on her learning to be who she wants to be, instead of just fulfilling her prophesied role. And how she's naturally an embodiment of hope that Ralsei and Kris desperately need right now.

So think of how crushing it might be to see Susie come to the realization that she's not really a hero. That no matter what she does, she'll always just keep hurting people. We see this insecurity play out in her personal dark world.

She thinks that she's a massive screw up. And she doesn't know how to take failure very well. It leads to her occasionally self doubting herself and it leads to her lashing out at others. It's been a character trait literally since the beginning. So what happens when she is pushed to her limit?

And that's not the only thing that Gerson has to say on Susie.

DRAGON - Gerson specifically called Susie “The Dragon” when referring to which Dragon Blazers character she was. This could just be an unimportant detail but I actually think it matters a lot. 

Gerson describes all the chapters of Lord of The Hammer, and they all parallel the chapters of DR. But there really isn't a “dragon” equivelant in chapter 1. Not in the traditional sense. 

But who else had been a violent, insatiable wild card? Who else wreaked havoc among the fantasy world? And who else had to be subdued and eventually came around to work with the heroes?

Ms. Violent Axe Susie

And think about Dragons in most literature. Looming monstrous threats that are the ultimate menace to the protagonists. Hell, there's even a trope in writing called The Dragon that refers to secondary antagonists.

I think The Dragon could represent what Susie is going to become. A wrathful monster pushed to the brink by the actions of the Knight, and the continued violation of her trust. Only to be quelled by the heroes.

THE TRUE MEANING OF LOVE - One of the other murals depicts The Girl with love. I draw attention to this because almost everything about the prophecy up until this point has had significance. So why would the prophecy specifically call out Susie's affection?

Well, maybe because it plays into the final tragedy. If susie truly does have affection for someone (probably Noelle), it would make her inevitable fall to darkness all the more tragic. Or maybe it even means that “the love” is what breaks her out of it. Again, I just feel like it's important because it's called out explicitly, and given a lot of focus. Along with Susie's whole status as a hero in general. She wants to be the savior of the world, and that might blind her to who she truly is.

LAST PROPHECY MURAL - Which brings us back around to the Last Prophecy. Before Susie reads the final verse, we see a depiction of the Deltarune shattered. However, the way it is shattered is very telling. 

The angel is completely broken, as is the leftmost triangle. But the center and right triangle remain intact. Is it a coincidence then that Deltarune in Kris’ room, made by Ralsei, depicts the left triangle as Susie?

SUSIE'S REACTION - And here's the big one, and the thing that got me started on this theory in the first place. Why did Susie react the way she did when she saw the prophecy?

You could say it's a sacrifice, and there is evidence to support that. The most prominent being Ralsei's panic. And Susie definitely would be pretty shaken learning that one of her friends, or even herself, is destined to die.

But that wouldn't explain why she gets so defensive. And why she feels the need to confirm with Kris that she does want to keep being friends with them. Whatever Susie sees shakes her to her core. She doesn't even entertain for a second that it might happen, almost like it's an insult. And then… she laughs. She's just been faced with her entire world crumbling to dust… and she smiles in response. This is something deeper, something personal.

So let me posit this. What if the reason Susie gets so aggressive… is because the prophecy just confirmed her worst fears about herself? 

She's so excited to be a hero, to have friends, and find a place she feels like she belongs in. Kris, Ralsei, Noelle, Lancer, Gerson, they all mean everything to her. She would never want to hurt them.

And now she's just learned that she is destined to never change. To always just break everything she touches. To always hurt those she cares about. To always just be a freak.

THAT would break her.

I WANT TO KEEP BEING FRIENDS WITH YOU - This is why I think that the moment after is so important. Susie has just met all of her insecurities face to face. And the first thing she does after learning it is tell Kris that she wants to stay friends. That no matter what happens, everything can go back to the way it used to be.

It's a display of hope that flies in the face of everything logical. That even after everything, it's still just you.

I think it's meant to represent not just reassurance to Kris, but reassurance to herself. A promise that she will never allow what she saw to come to pass. The girl is starting to realize the meaning of “Love”.

CHARACTER ARC - And just… think about this from a narrative point of view. Susie right now is at her worst mentally. She learned something that made her question if her friends will always be with her. Her unbreakable will has started to show signs of cracking. And if this keeps up, I don't see her taking it well. She's already had to deal with so many lies and false promises. One more bad revelation might be enough to make her snap. 

A revelation such as… Kris is working with the Knight.

So where does that leave us? Well here's my take.

I believe that Susie, in an attempt to defy prophecy and break the predestined story laid out for her, is going to inadvertently follow it to the letter. She's going to either willingly or unwillingly be put into conflict with us. Whether that “us” means Kris or the Player will depend. But regardless, she will stand in our way. And because of this, our quest to seal the fountains will fail.  Seeing this, Susie will come around and make amends for whatever she did. This could potentially include a heroic sacrifice to save the world, hence her being shattered in the mural. And that is the final tragedy.

But I don't think that's where the narrative ends. Susie is just too strong of will to accept a destiny like that. And we've seen before that she is the one who can break control. That's what I believe her character is building up to. I think that through sheer willpower and determination, Susie is going to break the prophecy. Whether to save her own life, or inspire one last act of divine intervention.

She's going to prove herself the hero of this story. Just not in the way she thinks.

[pennyserenade]

I almost strained my neck from nodding in agreement so hard fyi (not really I’m being dramatic but !!!!!! YES!)

i'm so glad you understand this and agree bc this is such a niche thing i've been thinking about FOREVER lmao

but the similarities don't end there: both ran off to foreign countries to avoid the grief that lingered at home, both avoid intimacy on platonic and romantic levels, despite the fact that they are both deeply caring individuals (javier gets away with this more than mulder, but i believe that's only because mulder has scully and she so perfectly suited to him, and someone he is happy to confide in, whereas javi got steve). they both indulge in sex work/sex as a means of emotional release, even when it doesn't make them feel better (javi in the beginning of season 3 with that girl and mulder when scully got abducted, with that vampire). they blame themselves more than they want to admit, and they believe that they, singularly, were destined to solve these problems they find despite the fact that these problems are all bigger than themselves, and go so deep no one can see the end anymore. they get burned and burned again and they go back for more because they think that this one time will absolve their guilt, and yet the guilt is never absolved, it only grows. they are men who feel they cannot be understood or wanted by 'normal' people because they've seen and been through things that have removed them so from a normal existence it makes them sick sometimes. what they wouldn't give for the suburbs and a simple life, but also what they wouldn't give to find the answers, the truth, no matter how bitter and wrong and horrid it might be. this is their forever catch 22

[bibi-the-pooh]

I'm starting to think that we actually cracked the code. Like, they cannot do better than this.

I also think that Nevermore will be full of insiders from MS/WH, and that theory about Laurel being supposed to bring Tyler to MS (or maybe WH, but I’m kind of convinced they’re tied) but exploiting the mission and using Tyler for her own revenge plan just fits her character definition: slippery, because like you assume, there’s a good chance she didn’t question her resources as long as she got her way; selfish and egotistical. She might have actually thought, “They’re going to use him anyway, why not unlock his Hyde a little earlier?” God, I thought I couldn’t hate her more, but here we are.

Maybe that redheaded girl is actually part of MS and the stalker. She had Laurel’s bangs and hair color, and she is somehow obsessed with Wednesday. She is probably influenced by her family members or MS devotees. They would want to stalk Wednesday and send death threats because they were annoyed that she got in the way and eliminated one of their members. One of the inspirations for this season was Carrie. In that story, Carrie’s mother was a very strict Catholic and a control freak. I’m guessing Annie (I think the redhead’s name was that?) has parents who will be like that too.

I wonder what will happen in that Nevermore lockdown and who will die. Someone we know? Maybe the Prom Night inspiration comes from here. Will they lock down the school on the night of some sort of homecoming party? And the masked killers will take down people one by one, and one of them will turn out to be someone we know. In the original story, it was the main character’s brother. If we adapt this to the Nevermore setting, it might be someone from the werewolf packs. Maybe one of Enid’s brothers? I think she had many of them, lol. This would also explain why Principal Dort would want to cage all of the werewolves.

But I think I’m starting to lose track of the main motive here. Why would MS want to obliterate Nevermore if they already have the reins of WH outcasts—or should I say Hydes? Because of their hunger for power? Do they want to control the other outcasts too? I wouldn’t be surprised if Faulkner was one of them and actually found a way to subdue Hydes. I won’t buy that “Every Hyde has a master” nonsense. (Sorry, Hunter, I love you so much, but WE ARE BEING MISLED!)

OKAY, I swear I’m wrapping up here: the only loose end we have is Owen Painter’s character. I despise those leaks, and I won’t follow their “He’s a Frankenstein-type monster” theory either, because there are already so many outcast types around here. Currently, my best bet would be him being another Hyde who found a way to escape from WH. Maybe he’s not a Hyde, but when he escaped, he must have been in a bad situation. Pugsley might have found him near death, and he probably electrocuted him to save him. He woke up, got away, but maybe some part of Pugsley’s energy stayed inside him. Even if Wednesday doesn’t want to visit Tyler at Donovan’s request, I think an escapee who has a connection with Pugsley would leave her with no choice.

OR Pugsley’s not related to Owen Painter’s character at all; he’s related to Annie. We’re assuming she’s a villain, after all, but she could also be a misled kid like Tyler. Ugh, wouldn’t it be awesome if the two siblings found solace in each other through their deceiving exes? Lol jokes aside, I really want to watch Tyler and Pugsley together and see their banter. It would be even better if Pugsley tried to protect his older sister and judged Tyler by his past, projecting Annie’s betrayal onto him, but once he saw the real Tyler, he’d start to see him as this scary and unpredictable but cool as hell brother-in-law.

The concept of Wednesday visiting Tyler at Donovan’s request (or begging?) is weighing heavily on my mind right now, because what could Tyler possibly know about Wednesday’s new case if it wasn’t related to Laurel?

Yes, there is a strong possibility that Tyler knew about Laurel’s connections and that he might have seen the bigger picture but what exactly is the bigger picture here?

That Laurel was part of this outcast-hating society, and that this society owned Willowhill? Let’s not forget the resemblance between the names 'Willowhill' and 'Thornhill'. Did they fund her to carry out her plans while they tortured outcasts under the pretense of treating them in that psychiatric hospital?

And who funds them? Who would have endless resources? I’ll answer that: a cult of scammers. Was it really a coincidence that Laurel was incredibly skilled at faking her identity and getting accepted into Nevermore?

If she had a siren on her side, she could have forced people to do anything she wanted. That’s where the alliance begins between the Willowhill outcast-haters and the Morning Song cult. Hence, the alliance between Bianca and Wednesday, and them letting Tyler out of Willowhill.

Morning Song would be eager to exploit outcasts, especially Hydes. Plus, they are loyal only to their own cult, not to other kinds of outcasts. It’s plausible to think that they would act together.

It’s only inevitable that Donovan would desperately seek help from Wednesday for his son. Last semester, she was the only person Tyler had any real connection with. If there were two people in that town who saw Tyler as just a boy, they were Wednesday and Donovan.

But what does Donovan want Wednesday to do? To see for herself the state Tyler has been kept in? To prove that his son is still somewhere inside the lunatic serial killer they turned him into? It remains to be seen.

[obligatory-name-change]

thinking about superheroes unfortunately

[froggibus]

Dating Wade & Logan

Pairing: Wade Wilson x reader x Logan Howlett

Genre: hcs, mostly fluff, some suggestive content

Summary: how it would be in a relationship with these two

CW: poly? relationship, mentions of harassment, mentions of injury, jealousy, good luck dating these two, suggestive content, struggles with emotional intimacy, it’s been three years since ive read an xmen or deadpool comic sorry,

spoiler free!

it has been over a year since i posted anything marvel related but i saw deadpool & wolverine today (fantastic film, would recommend seeing it if you can!) and all i could think about the whole time was being in a relationship with these two ^^ if anyone has any thoughts, thirsts or requests for Wade & Logan, i will gladly take them rn!!

these motherfuckers (affectionate)

anyone who is bold enough to date one of them (let alone both) deserves a medal

however it is probably the safest you could ever be in a relationship

neither of them are that good at sharing but they are trying their best!! 

Logan can be so possessive and it does not help that Wade likes to push his buttons 

you will end up mediating a ton of fights ( & hopefully talking them out of a few) 

whenever they start yelling and getting into each other’s faces, you’re probably the only person in the world who can step in with no consequences 

most of the time it WILL end in sex and the only thing they will ever agree on is that they should fuck you right then and there

God help anybody who hurts you 

seriously both of these men are so protective and willing to throw down with a creep at ANY moment 

Wade will probably make a big joke out of whoever is bothering you and if they don’t back off, well…

rip to them 

Logan on the other hand has absolutely NO patience 

he’ll give them about 2 seconds to screw off before he’s knocking them out in one punch

neither are necessarily great with feelings so you’ll have to do a lot of the heavy lifting 

sometimes you’ll start crying and they’ll both be standing there side eyeing each other like ‘what do we do’

Logan will almost always offer you a drink the minute you seem stressed, tired etc 

meanwhile Wade tries to cut the tension and deflect with humour 

however if all you really want is a hug, all you gotta do is ask and they can never resist you 💓

you will have a lot of movie nights with them 

Wade or you will usually pick the movie  & Logan just sucks it up and watches

you’ll be snuggled up on the couch between them, your head on Logan’s chest and Wade’s head in your lap

if you fall asleep watching the movie, they’ll move heaven and hell to get you to bed 

but if either of them fall asleep? the other is shrugging it off and leaving them on the couch 

strong mfs love teasing you whenever they can too 

they’ll sandwich you between them just to watch you get flustered

both are clueless when it comes to the scale of injuries 

stab wounds are like paper cuts to them so neither really fret when you get hurt

there’s at least one incident where you get hurt pretty bad and neither of them realise it 

(it doesn’t help that you brush it off either) 

one trip to the hospital and two very stressed boyfriends later, they’re a lot more cautious afterwards 

you get to meet SO MANY cool people 

Jean and Scott especially love you, they think you settle the crazy that is Wade & Logan 

you’ve probably spent more than one drunken night on a couch at Xavier’s School 

one or both of them are also prone to disappearing randomly, sometimes for up to a week 

please call them out for it 

you’ll get so much attention you won’t know what to do with it

Logan especially can’t keep his hands off of you (even more so after a bad mission) 

he always needs to have a hand on your waist, a hand on your lower back, grabbing your thigh etc

Wade is a lot more casual and outward with his affections 

hand holding, resting his chin on your neck, standing behind you while you talk 

both LOVE holding you in their laps & have gotten into at least one (1) argument about it 

god help you if these mfs ever get jealous too 

Logan can be terrible whenever he gets jealous 

bonus points if it’s Scott that’s making him jealous too 

he’ll probably get all gruff and short with you

that or he’ll stride over to you and make a big show of shoving his tongue down your throat 

Wade will probably just make jokes when he’s jealous 

he’s not really a possessive guy so it’s pretty rare he’s genuinely jealous 

if he does get really jealous, he’ll probably make some weird threats that he passes off as ‘jokes’ (no one thinks he’s joking) 

it’s such a rare occasion that Logan probably films the whole thing cause it’s such a dumpster fire 

if they’re both jealous however?? 

you are in for a crazy night (JEALOUSY SEX JEALOUSY SEX)

masterlist

if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! ^^ likes, comments & reblogs are much appreciated !!

[chronicowboy]

Eddie calls him about ten minutes after he finishes unpacking. And Buck doesn't—panic. He doesn't! He has no reason to panic. Tommy doesn't know a damn thing about him and Eddie. And Maddie, well. She doesn't know anything either. Not this.

Nobody but him and Eddie—and Chris—understand what they are to each other, and that's okay. Buck made his peace with that long ago. Long before he even knew he liked guys. Which. Not that that matters or has any sway on his perception of his and Eddie's relation—friendship. They're just BuckandEddie. Doesn't need to be any more than that. Just his best friend.

All this to say: when Eddie calls, he doesn't panic. He takes a very respectable three deep breaths, tries not to grimace at the leather squeaking under his ass and hits the green button with a hand that absolutely isn't shaking.

Because he's not panicking. He's happy. He's so happy. He gets to talk to Eddie. For the first time since he left. Why would he be panicking? Because of some stupid assumptions from an insecure ex? Sure, right. Like he'd ever let that touch him and Eddie.

Competition, he thinks, like Tommy ever could have competed with Eddie Diaz.

"H-hey, E-eddie." Buck isn't sure why he stumbles over Eddie's name. He's had enough practice over the past few days. Said it enough times in his life that it should be able to slip out seamlessly every damn time.

"Hey, Buck." And there's Eddie sounding sure and confident and a little tired and warm and soft and so much like his best friend. Buck aches. "Just finished unpacking. Told myself I couldn't call until I was done. Incentive, y'know?"

And Buck grins. Grins so big his face hurts and he forgets all about the stupid leather couch underneath him. He imagines the two of them unpacking at the exact same moment, finishing in the same breath, still in sync even 800 miles apart. And then the second part of it hits him. Calling Buck his reward for menial, mind-numbing labour. The idea of hearing Buck's voice getting him through all the organising and reorganising and rereorganising. Fuck, he misses him.

"I, uh, I-I actually just unfinished packing too," Buck replies. A beat too late maybe. Doesn't matter. Eddie huffs a laugh, nothing matters but that.

"No shit. Should've known it'd take us a while to shake off the synchronicity." And Eddie's voice is so warm, so fond, it soothes the ache of the inevitable loss of their bond. That special tie between them that never let them stray too far soon to be severed. And then, like Eddie can hear him, "still a team even two states apart, huh?"

"Always a team," Buck replies, too soon this time probably. Doesn't matter. Not when he can hear Eddie's smile.

"How's the house treating you?" he asks, words shaped into something beautiful by the curve of Eddie's lips. But still, Buck's heart drops right out of his ass.

How does he answer that?

I missed you so much I couldn't sleep here without you. I didn't unpack because the house still feels like yours. The house still feels like yours because I wish it was. Yours. I couldn't sleep because you weren't snoring down the hallway. And the one night I did sleep here I had to fuck my ex as a distraction just to try and forget that you should be the one in that bedroom.

But he can't say any of that. He can't.

"Uhhhhhh." He blinks. Has forgotten every word in the English language.

"Buck?" Eddie's smile is gone.

"Why'd you stop talking to Tommy when we broke up?"

Silence. Fuck.

"He broke your heart, Buck," Eddie says slowly, evenly, too controlled. Hiding something. "Why the hell would I talk to him?"

"B-because. You guys were friends before me and him got together."

Eddie's straight. Tommy scoffs. Friends.

"And I promised to have your back five years before I even knew he existed," Eddie replies simply. "There was no competition there, Buck."

Oh. Oh, shit.

"How, um, how did you find out about that anyway?" Eddie asks when Buck's silence stretches on too long. "Not that it was a secret or anything. I just... I didn't tell you because I didn't think it mattered. And I know you didn't call Tommy, so..."

"No, n-no, I didn't call him." And he didn't is the thing. Didn't call him to apologise like he said he would to Maddie. Just. Let it lay.

"What aren't you telling me, Buck?" Eddie sighs. Buck misses his fucking sighs.

"Ravi called him. Well, found him. At the bar. And brought him over."

"Jesus Christ." And Buck can see him clear as day, bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "Remind me to send Ravi a strongly worded e-mail on how to be your partner."

Buck kind of really wants to read that fucking email.

"We slept together," Buck blurts out.

Silence. Fuck.

"You and Ravi...?"

"No." Buck barks out a laugh. A startled sound. "No, not Ravi."

"Okay, okay, good," Eddie breathes out. "Because that would not be one of the points of the e-mail." Buck snorts again. Sobers instantly. Gets a sharp little pang in the pit of his stomach. No reason. "So. Tommy."

"Yeah." Buck ducks his head. "Tommy."

"Did you..." Eddie struggles with something for a moment, and Buck finds himself sitting up straighter, bracing for whatever comes next. "I mean, did you... When you... y'know, did you go to his or-or... yours?"

Buck bluescreens. Blacks out maybe. What the fuck?

"Um, y-yours or, no, mine. M-mine. It was closer. To the bar. And I—" And he what? What? What is it lurking in the shadows of his brain, slipping through his fingers like sand every time he thinks he's close enough to hold?

"Okay." Eddie says it like he's taking a punch.

"Is-is that, I mean, th-that's okay, right?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd classify sleeping with your ex as okay." Eddie makes some sort of noise. Half anguished and half furious. "Where the hell does he get off—" your bedroom, Buck thinks deliriously "—hooking up with the guy who's heart he broke?"

"He didn't break my heart, Eddie." Says it. Realises it's true.

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"He was scared I was gonna break his, remember?"

"Dumb," Eddie says succinctly. Buck snorts.

"I'm not getting back together with him or anything. It was just a one time thing. You don't have to worry about me showing up on your doorstep to brood again."

Silence. Again. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

"I think I'd be okay with it, if it brought you to my door," Eddie whispers.

Tears sting in Buck's eyes. He presses the bottom of his phone into his forehead until it begins to hurt. Clears his throat.

"How's the fixer-upper?"

Best friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. But.

[jupiterpiss]

remmick being a prone bone enjoyer is a sentiment that just feels very real and canon to me. The intimacy, vulnerability, and closeness of it all would make him go crazy

AHHH AHHHH AHHH

*the nurses take me back into the hospital*

Listen.. he would. Ugh. He so would AHH AHHH okay.

Warnings! Smut duh u stupid motherfucker(i love all of u im gonna eat all of u). FEM READER RAHHHH. Cozy again idk man i cant stop. Im for Remmick suffering matter of fact.. he should, BUT he’s treated nicely here guys. So. Uhh he smacks her ass a shit ton.. hand holding AGAIN I love it.. andddd thats all I think. Weird ending.. idk I had no clue how to end this LMAOO. Not proof read AT ALL. Okay.. a little.

The air is cold against your feet. There’s a soft breeze that tumbles through your open window, nipping against your toes. Licks its way across your calves, and between the open space of your thighs. The same place that holds a slick heat, the only place on you that is actually warm anymore.

You would be more concerned of potentially cramping if you weren’t preoccupied with the body on top of you.

The one that isn’t any warmer than the breeze, matter of fact, it’s colder. Forces goosebumps all over your skin, the kind of coldness that makes you shiver violently, teeth rattling around in your closed mouth.

However, each time you try to close your mouth, get rid of that chatter in your teeth, another moan is ripped out your throat. Slips itself across your esophagus, past your uvula and straight between your teeth.

Then, back to chattering.

Chatter chatter chatter

You feel him before he speaks, the way his stubble brushes against your jaw, cold flesh pressed against you, sucks all the warmth away.

“You cold?”

You nod, “you’re not the warmest person around.”

Remmick laughs, something genuine. It isn’t loud nor obnoxious, it even cracks mid way through. Cut off by a groan of his own, his arms flexing as he gives another hard thrust.

“Wouldn’t be a problem-“ another thrust, this time both of you groan, “if you just let,” another one, “save you.”

He rests his head against the space between your shoulder blades, breath heavy and almost warm against you.

You give a small sneer that he can’t see, but hears, which earns you a smack on the ass. Not that it actually swerves you away from breathing out a small, “ow— shut up.”

Neither of you follow up with anything after that, far too busy with trying to chase your respective releases to really give a shit if you're cold or not. Not that it ever matters, you’ll let him in either way, have been for about a year now.

But it’s definitely a down side, no one could really relate to either. How often is it that a person is sleeping with a cold bloodthirsty monster? Maybe two.

But the price of warmth was one you were willing to give up within a heartbeat. Did give up, because how he holds you— cradles you in his arms, stomach pressed against your spine, his forearm purposefully rested under your head, hand placed against your hip to slide you back and forth against his dick. He practically caged you underneath him, a desperate way to keep you near.. to give comfort. Not warmth, but he could give something else.

Pleasure to distract from how cold he is, how he’ll never feel heat brewing underneath his bones, never be able to warm you. Distracts by using his weight to sink you further into the bed, the only part sticking up is your hips and ass, prompted up by the pillow under your pelvis. Distracts you from the lack of a thump in his chest by angling his hips just right, pounding down into you.

Forces your heart to spike and pound for the both of you. Can’t comfort with heat, but can with his mouth. Speaks pure filth and praise, spurs you on.

“Gonna‘ take this dick? Huh? Gonna’ take this dick-“

Or

“Ever sleep with anyone else- jesu- they’ll fuckin know I’ve been in er’. Know this pussy needs som- fuck- something bigger.”

He talks. A lot. More than any other man you’ve been with. Usually, there’s the occasional grunt and praise, small, “yeah, yeah,” or, “right there.”

That’s about it. But Remmick? Doesn’t shut the fuck up. Basically has full blown one sided conversations with you, about anything and everything. It’s like he has to tell you how you’re making him feel, how tight you are, how well you make him fit.

How well you two belong. Shaped around each other, perfectly cut out. From the ridge of your spine to the curve on his jaw. He swears up and down that you were born to be together. Went as far to go on a whole tangent about it mid way through back shots, his hips pistoning against you while you could only give lazy nods in return.

Not that you never heard him out. At first, you were on the fence about how true that is. Realistically, he was supposed to be dead far before you were even thought of, and you highly doubt the Gods meant for this to happen.

But when he pulls you close, like now, with his arms locked around your figure, his hips rolling against you and sniffing at your hair— you think some of it rings true.

You two fit somewhat well. Not perfect, but well.

“Ain’t anyone else gonna take ya now.. look at ya, look,” he shifts again, prompts himself back to rest on his knees that lie on either side of your thighs.

Sits back to watch how you press yourself against him, desperately seeking out his cock. Trying to thrust up, your ass jiggling each time. He coos at your sad attempt, lands another smack on your ass while grinning, “fuckin slut, huh.”

You can only whine in return, another desperate thrust. But it doesn’t hit as deep, doesn’t punch him far into you. Not like when he does it. Frustration starts brewing between your teeth, numbing your gums. Forces you to call out to him

“Remmick!”

He lands another smack, “yeah, baby.”

“Fuckin-! Do something lazy ass!”

His mouth opens slightly, brows furrowing creating that little divet between his brows, the one you tend to kiss away whenever you annoy him. Not that you can now, can’t even see it now given how he shoves your face down into the bed.

It’s a look of offence, one you always push for.

He gets rougher that way.

“Lazy ass?” He presses himself back against your back, squishes you down under him to the point it almost hurts.

It becomes slightly harder to breath, given his added weight and the comforter not giving you any grace. Don’t have long to focus on that though, because he thrusts. Hard.

Hits deep, right against that spongy bit no one else can really hit. You squeal, feeling kicking up, knocking against the back of his thighs.

He gives a small huff and slips all the way out, leaving you empty. Watches as you clench around nothing, quivering for something he can only provide.

“Shit.. ain’t that something?” He whistles low.

You whine again, “Remmick-“

He shakes his head, adjusting himself again onto his knees. Doesn’t wait to land both hands onto your ass with a loud smack, “wait yer’ fuckin turn.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what he meant, whatever the fuck ‘waiting your turn‘ meant. But you feel something wet drip onto your heat, followed by his thumb slipping into your cunt. He rubs his saliva into you, hums at the small sigh you give with being filled just a little. Even goes to use the same thumb to slip from your hole to your neglected clit.

Gives the small bundle of nerves a small tap that makes your shoulder twitch, left foot flinching. He watches as you try to grind yourself against his thumb, which he doesn’t oppose. Instead, he places his free hand against the curve of your spiner, keeping you in place.

“Go on. Get what you need.”

His fingers tap against your spine, small goosebumps forming there as well. You shake your head, “want you inside.”

He clicks his tongue, “well you got my thumb right now. Go on.”

Another rumble of frustration passes over you, stops that chatter in your teeth and makes a small huff leave you. A sound he ignores while he patiently waits for you to start grinding against him again.

“Said I don’t do shit— go head. Show me what you can do.”

You huff again, “I didn’t fuckin— I didn’t mean that. Just- please? Please.”

“Now yer apologizing, now I ain’t doin nothin?”

“I didn’t mean it! Please-“

He shifts for the final time, places his complete weight back on you while simultaneously shoving his dick back inside.

“So fuckin indecisive,” and he fulls shelves himself inside, hitting right back against that sweet spot, choking you on your own moan.

“Rem-!”

He places a hand over your mouth, “shut it, said enuff’ for now.”

Not that you were going to say much, not with the way he keeps tapping against your g spot to the point of tears. Ones you manage to hold back, but hardly given how out of it you are.

Despite the roughness of his thrusts, making sure each time his balls slap against your clit, and his hand fully covering your mouth with his pinky just under your nostrils— he still praises you. Mouth pressed against your shoulder, muffled broken sentences of how good you're taking it. Whimpers against your flesh and reaches out for one of your hands, pats you on your left wrist twice when you don’t give one up.

You only do it when he moans for your hand, making you break your hold onto the bed sheets and interlock with his own. He squeezes it, hard, as if trying to ground himself.

Trying to get closer to you even when he’s tucked into your heat.

It’s not long before you can feel that tug of your orgasm creeping on you about to shove you over, the wet squelches of your cunt sucking him in again and again. He presses a kiss against your hair.

Then another against your cheek, and another against your ear.

He mutters, “Gonna’ cum?” And you can only nod.

Remmick tries to coax it out of you with soft mutters and whimpers, his legs becoming shaky and his nose knocking against your head with each thrust.

With his hand, he slowly turns your head to face him on your right, eyes immediately searching for yours. He gives another low groan when you stare up at him through your lashes, the sight of you damn near making him cum.

He’s always had a problem with seeking out your eyes when you two came. Always needs to look into your eyes, needs to see your face as you squirm underneath him. He does it as a way to plant you further into his mind, to burrow you deep in his memories for nights when he can’t have you.

He needs you to ruin him for everyone else.

“Fuck.. I’m gonna’ cum.” He breathes out, eyes slowly washing into a vibrant red, “Gonna cum so deep, feel me for weeks. Gonna smell me on ya—“ he’s cut off by his own moan, dick twitching at his own imagination.

You two are so close to each other your nose’s almost nudge, breathing in each other’s scents and swallowing each other’s moans. His thrusts are no longer persistent or precise, grown to be lazy and not his usual frantic pace before he cums. He takes it slower, a means to enjoy it, to let this moment mingle around you two. Lets the quiet whimpers, moans and groans speak for themselves— the pleasure he brings to comfort, the intimacy of breathing in each breath you release just so he could have another part of you.

It allowed his obsession with you to run rampant, allowed him to be close and breath in all of you without being shoved away.

Allows him to gawk at you like you're worth everything and more in this long lifetime of his.

“Cum baby,” he mutters, “cum for me, cum, cum.”

You give a slow blink, hardly able to focus when you can feel yourself just right there. On that edge. Just need—

As if he could read your mind, he removes his hand off your jaw and goes to slip it underneath you two, where he uses the collective wetness from between your thighs to give another rub to your clit.

His hand is squished between the pillow and your skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit, doesn’t even stop him in any way.

He feels you tense, your grip on his hand tightening as your feet kick up against him again. He gives quick circles around the nerves, pace faster then the one he’s fucking you in.

And it completely destroys you. Rips you clean off the cliff and straight down to the abyss. Your body tenses to the point of almost cramping, and your stomach does a complete 360. It plummets you straight down, eyes rolling back as you slowly place your head back onto the bed.

You give a long whine, cursed coming out shaky and broken, legs shaking under his. And that sight alone, to see you fall apart completely, reduced to a whimpering mess shoves him straight over as well.

He hides his face in your neck, tucked away between the crook of your shoulder and jaw. His moans are only slightly muffled but you can still hear him call out your name, several times. Jumbled between curses in English and Gaelic, he calls your name, whispers it like something holy.

It’s then, between his slurred speech that you feel the press of teeth. Fangs, to be exact. Bones that lightly graze your skin but don’t penetrate. It isn’t a warning of any sort, just a simple habit. The pleasure is so intense, it forces them fully out, ripping through gums and shifting human teeth for something monstrous.

You don’t dwell on the lack of a bite for long. Don’t need to when you feel the warmth of his cum deep in your cunt, plugging you full of himself. Even with you being so full he continues jerking in and out, cum slipping out every time he moves out letting it drip onto the sheets.

He shakes on top of you, body no longer having the ability to not crush you, fully laying all his weight down.

This time, you make your discomfort heard, “ow- you're crushing me.” It’s more or less muffled to shit by the comforter, but he catches some of your words.

but he doesn’t move. Just nuzzles closer.

“Remmick-“

“A second. Let me breathe in you.”

He takes a long inhale, nose pressed against the skin of your neck. You think back to his fangs but your tongue remains tight against the roof of your mouth, tell yourself to give him a second. To just enjoy it, don’t remind him of what he already grieves over.

You take a deep breath and give a strong squeeze to his hand.

He exhales, deep and long, as if your added comfort of a squeeze on the hand was enough to coax him out the moment. To let it slip away.

Not that his dick got the memo, apparently.

There, still wrapped in the slick of your folds and tucked deep in your womb, he remains hard.

Stupid fucking vampire stamina.

[vilonnie]

I think because ann is often brushed off as a token cheerful, airheaded girly character there's a tendency to limit her insight to the areas that are expected of her (i.e. relationships, fashion, pop culture, etc) which doesn't account for the way she is deliberately and consistently established as the most insightful character in the game time and again. on fashion – ann notes her appreciation of harujuku subcultures at one point because it is unconventional and earnest, and as someone who has always stood out she understands the value of expressing yourself proudly without being weighed down by others opinions. also, during yusukes social link, ann is ultimately the one whose thoughtful reading of the sayuri and the understanding she's able to glean from it allows yusuke to reorient his perspective + break out of his slump. she has an interest in art and her perceptiveness lets her identify yusukes internal conflict with unerring accuracy from an abstract painting with no explicit details. and with yusuke in general she is the most preoccupied with his feelings and his needs during that entire arc and even when he pushes back against them she is the one constantly extending her hand and checking in on how he's doing.

but really throughout the whole game she is always approaching other people with extremely careful consideration to the point where it's a defining trait. out of all the phantom thieves, it's her relationship with makoto that is arguably the most centered in makotos arc. and during the conflict between those two ann is nowhere near flatly positive – on the contrary, the part of her that is brimming with rage, melancholy, and compassion is fully in the spotlight. her criticism is only so cutting because of her ability to see straight to the heart of things. but the resolution demonstrates what ann is capable of more than the conflict itself, pairing her ferocity with the gentleness and kindness that permits makoto and her to relate to + support each other. later ann is able to compare futabas mental state with shihos and her conviction drives her to once again relate to futaba, approaching her where she is at. it's ann who hesitates to leave haru when the spaceport starts collapsing. it's ann who lashes out so furiously, and so pointedly, at shido primarily on akechis behalf.

and of course anns uniquely discerning eye comes from the same place as the rest of her strength – her integrity and honesty of character. in fact ann is a person who knows exactly what her values are and is so sincere and unwavering in them that it is naturally impossible to sway them. when ann is faced with cruelty and derision her immediate response is to reframe it as a challenge and use it to reaffirm her respect for both herself and her opponent, something that takes incredible emotional maturity. notions of who ann should be or what she should prioritize cannot touch her because she knows to live her life on her own terms – she acts on admiration for the women in her life and already understands strength and beauty as going beyond appearances without having to be taught. she is inspired by and inspires those who support her every day; when the phantom thieves are unsure, she is always, always, the one who is continuously driven to help those in need and stand up for the weak, and she will never forget that. I didn't even say anything about alice hiiragi.

ann is a character who has to contend in universe with incorrect perceptions of her as shallow and substanceless, but she is feminine and doesn't get good grades, and so fans still often fall into the trap of depicting her as lacking critical thinking and a complex interiority – which is a shame for a character who is never once treated that way in the original game itself (for all its other problems with her writing.) ann is frequently vital to problem solving and her choices are often directly responsible for driving the plot forward, filling a role that no other character could perform. idk just. hello have you thought about ann takamaki on this fine day

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 23

˗ˏˋmatching threads ˎˊ˗

"You didn’t expect Jungkook’s birthday to end with soft talks about Mayer, thunderstorms and stupid craft projects. And yet, here you are."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 9.5k

content: delayed gifts, hand brushing, subtle comfort, emotional hypervigilance, miscommunication, clashing attachment styles, slow understanding, quiet intimacy, unexpected softness, bittersweet memories, trauma-informed reactions, symbolic objects, real conversations, familial grief undertones, perceptive but clueless boys, warmth in small gestures, psychological contrast, vulnerability denial, casual closeness, accidental meaning, rain metaphors.

Kiki Nation’s official discussion thread for FMU 23

✧ author's note ✧

This chapter made me feel some type of way, and not in the thirst-posting way for once (shocking, I know). There’s a softness to it that snuck up on me. Like I sat down to write what I thought would be a moment of transition, and ended up face-planting into the kind of quiet, delicate intimacy that’s so often overlooked both in fiction and real life. So here I am, feeling dumb and raw and tender over two forks.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Chapter 21, specifically that hand-touch moment—how subtle it was, and how I never explicitly addressed it in the narration because I didn’t want to. That’s the thing with psychologically driven writing: you’re not meant to be spoon-fed emotional meaning. You’re supposed to notice the tiny things. The almosts. The unspoken. The instinctive kindness that isn’t necessarily romantic, but still manages to get under your skin. That’s what that subway touch was. Not Jungkook being in love. Not a declaration. Just him, in his purest, most unaware form—being soft. Gentle. Deeply perceptive in a way that hurts because it’s so unconscious.

And that’s what this whole chapter is circling around. It’s not about a confession. It’s not even about clarity. It’s about conflict—internal, relational, unintentional conflict between people who are shaped by opposite emotional mechanisms.

Jungkook isn’t emotionally open, but he acts open because he’s thoughtful. Reader is emotionally hyperaware, but she reacts closed-off, because she’s scared and guarded. He acts without thinking deeply about it. She thinks deeply and then doesn’t act. They miss each other again and again not because they don’t care, but because their blueprints don’t match. And yet—they try. Or maybe, they accidentally try. And isn’t that so real?

One of them touches without thinking. The other flinches while overthinking. One gives a gift like it’s nothing. The other interprets it like it’s everything. They’re both right. They’re both wrong. That tension? That’s the story.

This chapter doesn’t show love blooming. It shows understanding struggling to sprout in barren soil.

They have so much ahead of them, so many versions of themselves they haven’t grown into yet. This moment is not culmination—it’s foundation. It matters. It matters more than if they’d just fucked again. Because emotional timing? Matters. And this wasn’t the time for sex. It was the time for emotionally loaded shit I can’t name because you haven’t read the chapter yet, but is now haunting me forever.

Read slow. Read deep. Look for the invisible thread. That’s where the truth is.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Walking back into the karaoke room feels like entering a different dimension—one where rooftop confessions and ex-girlfriend confrontations don't exist.

The noise hits you first, a wall of sound that's almost physical in its intensity. Hobi is mid-Mariah, belting out a note that should probably be classified as a war crime, while Ryan and Seth egg him on with increasingly chaotic dance moves. Tessa's doubled over laughing on the couch next to Diana, both of them recording the spectacle on their phones. Yeji and Irya are engaged in what appears to be a heated debate with Jimin over whether Britney or Christina had the better 90s catalog. Yoongi watches it all from his corner seat, expression caught somewhere between amusement and exhaustion.

"Holy shit, he's alive!" Kevin shouts when Jungkook steps through the doorway. 

The room erupts in cheers and catcalls, like they're welcoming a returning champion rather than someone who disappeared for half an hour.

"Dude, we thought you fell in," David calls out, raising his drink in salute. "World's longest bathroom break."

"Nah, he was definitely sneaking in a Clash Royale marathon," Kevin argues, tossing an empty cup that Jungkook easily dodges. "Probably hiding in a stall like a true gamer."

"You wish your stats were as good as mine," Jungkook fires back, slipping effortlessly into the friendly banter like he wasn't just having some kind of existential crisis on the rooftop. 

It's impressive, really—the way he can flip that switch, become this version of himself that fits perfectly into the chaos around him.

While everyone's attention is focused on Jungkook's triumphant return, Taehyung makes a beeline for Yoongi and Hobi, who've gravitated toward each other in a corner of the room. 

You're not trying to eavesdrop, exactly, but you happen to be standing close enough to hear the urgent whisper:

"He was on the roof."

The effect is immediate. Both Yoongi and Hobi snap their heads toward Taehyung, their expressions shifting so quickly it's almost comical—except there's nothing funny about the naked fear that flashes across their faces.

"It wasn't like that!" Jungkook interrupts, appearing beside them with surprising speed. His voice is a harsh whisper-shout, barely audible over the music but intense enough to make all three of his friends freeze. "I just needed air. Seriously."

"Bro..." Yoongi's voice is low, the single syllable carrying more weight than it should.

"Jungkook, you know how that looks to us," Hobi says, softer but no less serious. 

"I know. I'm sorry," Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you're starting to recognize as his nervous tic. "But it wasn't... that. I swear. I just went there to think."

"After seeing her?" Taehyung presses, still tense.

"Yeah," Jungkook admits, "but it wasn't—look, can we not do this right now? It's fine. I'm fine."

There's clearly more to whatever ‘it’ is—something significant enough to make three grown men look like they've seen a ghost. 

But Jungkook's expression makes it clear the discussion is over, at least for now.

You should probably stop pretending to be fascinated by the karaoke song list and move away before they realize you're listening. 

But before you can, Jungkook abruptly changes the subject, his voice rising to a cheerful pitch that sounds slightly forced.

"Alright, alright!" He claps his hands together, turning to face the room. "So... birthday gifts for the birthday boy?"

The tension shatters as the crowd erupts in excited chatter. Seth whoops loudly, and someone (Ryan, you think) starts an off-key rendition of ‘For He's A Jolly Good Fellow’ that quickly derails into chaos. Jungkook's shoulders visibly relax as the attention shifts from whatever just happened to the much safer territory of presents.

One by one, people approach with gifts—some wrapped beautifully, others clearly hastily stuffed into whatever bag was available. 

Taehyung goes first, handing over a sleek black box tied with a simple red ribbon.

"Don't make it weird," he warns as Jungkook takes it.

Inside is what appears to be a ridiculously expensive camera lens. You don't know enough about photography to identify it, but based on the way Jungkook's eyes widen and his mouth forms a perfect ‘o,’ it's something significant.

"Dude," he breathes, lifting it carefully like it might shatter. "This is—holy shit, Tae."

"Yeah, well." Taehyung shrugs, but you catch the pleased smile he tries to hide. "You've been whining about needing a better wide-angle for your urban shots, so."

Jungkook looks genuinely moved, holding the lens like it's made of gold. "I can't believe you remembered."

"I always remember," Taehyung says simply, and the way he says it that makes you think he means more than just camera preferences.

Hobi goes next, presenting a sleek box containing what looks like high-end wireless headphones. 

“For all those late-night production sessions," he explains with a grin. "So we don't have to hear your trash music taste through the walls anymore."

"You love my music, asshole," Jungkook laughs, already testing them out.

"I love peace more," Hobi retorts, but he's beaming as Jungkook gives an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Yoongi's gift is less physical—a card containing what appears to be a voucher for studio time. 

“Booked you sixteen hours at Blueline," he says with characteristic understatement. "For that soundtrack project you mentioned."

Jungkook looks up from the card, something like disbelief crossing his face. "Dude, Blueline is impossible to get into. How did you—"

"I know people," Yoongi shrugs. "Just don't waste it making crap."

"I would never disrespect the temple," Jungkook promises solemnly, pressing the card to his heart with mock reverence.

The gift-giving continues, a parade of thoughtful items that speak to genuine friendship: rare vinyl records, vintage film books, an artisan coffee setup that makes Jungkook actually bounce with excitement. 

It's sweet, really—seeing him surrounded by people who clearly know him well, who've put thought into what he'd like.

And then it hits you.

Fuck.

The Mayer vinyl. Sitting on your dresser at home, still in its brown paper wrapping from that record store in Williamsburg. 

Because okay, first of all—who brings a fragile vinyl record to MOMA and then a karaoke bar? 

You simply had no way of bringing it without raising suspicions. 

And maybe asking Yoongi for help bringing it over would’ve made it look like you cared, so.

The gifts are winding down, and Jungkook is making his rounds, thanking everyone with what seems like genuine gratitude. He looks happier now, more relaxed—whatever happened with Mia and on the rooftop temporarily forgotten in the warmth of celebration.

You're contemplating whether you should make up some excuse about your gift when suddenly he's right there, appearing in your peripheral vision like he materialized out of thin air.

"So," he says, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leans just a bit too close. "Where's my present, Pyx?"

The nickname rolls off his tongue, familiar enough now that you've stopped rolling your eyes every time he uses it. (Mostly.)

"At home," you admit, trying to sound casual and not like someone who completely failed at basic gift logistics.

"Oh?" 

His lips purse, fighting back what's clearly a smirk. 

The glint in his eye is positively dangerous. 

"At home?"

Your cheeks heat up against your will. 

“Not—I don't mean it like that," you stammer, realizing too late how your answer could be interpreted. "I mean I literally left it at the apartment. It wouldn't fit in my bag."

"Big gift, huh?" he murmurs, leaning even closer. His breath brushes your ear, warm and smelling faintly of vanilla. "I'm intrigued."

"It's just a thing," you say lamely. "Nothing special."

"I'd honestly be happy with the other interpretation, for the record," he continues like you haven't spoken, voice dropping to a register that should be illegal in public spaces. 

"In your dreams," you scoff, but it comes out weaker than intended.

"Every night," he confirms, that infuriating smirk spreading across his face now. "Detailed, technicolor dreams. Sometimes you even—"

"Boundaries, Rogue," you cut him off, pressing a finger against his lips. "We're in public."

"That didn't stop you earlier," he whispers, gaze flicking to your lips for the briefest second. "On the roof?"

"That was different."

"Different how?"

"We were alone then."

"We could be alone again," he suggests, voice casual but eyes anything but. "Plenty of dark corners in this building."

"You're incorrigible."

"You like it."

Before you can come up with a suitably cutting response, Ryan's voice cuts through the general noise of the room: "Yo, I'm gonna crash out! It's getting late!"

The announcement triggers a cascade of similar declarations. 

Suddenly people are gathering coats, exchanging final birthday wishes, making plans to meet up later in the week. The energy in the room shifts from celebration to conclusion, that particular lull that comes at the end of a good night.

As people begin filing out, Seth materializes beside you, a confident smile plastered across his face that probably works on most girls but just makes you want to step back a foot or three.

"So," he says, leaning in close enough that you can smell the tequila on his breath, "I was thinking I should get your number. You know, to hang out sometime."

"Uhhh," you stall, searching for a polite rejection. "No thanks."

His smile doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. 

“Come on, we had fun tonight, right? Just give me your number. I promise I'll only use it for emergencies." He winks, like this is some clever line that's going to change your mind.

"I said no thanks," you repeat, firmer this time.

"Don't be like that," he persists, stepping even closer. "Just your number. What's the big deal?"

You're about to tell him exactly what the big deal is when Jungkook appears at your side, his expression suddenly hard.

"Bro," he says, annoyance coloring his tone, "can't you see she ain't interested?"

Seth blinks, looking between you and Jungkook. "I'm just asking for her number, man. No harm in that."

"Except she already said no. Twice." Jungkook's tone is still light, but there's an edge to it now. "So maybe take the hint?"

For a moment, Seth looks like he might argue. Then he sighs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. 

"Fine, whatever. Your loss," he adds, with a final glance your way before merging back into the departing crowd.

"How is that your friend?" you ask once he's safely out of earshot, genuinely baffled that someone like Jungkook would hang out with such a persistent creep.

"He isn't, technically," Jungkook shrugs, watching Seth's retreating back with a slightly disgusted look. "He's Ryan's friend, who sometimes hangs out with Ryan, and so with us too. Definitely not my pick for the squad."

"Thank god for small mercies," you mutter, and he laughs, the tension from the Seth encounter dissipating as quickly as it arrived.

Jungkook steps back from you, that heated moment dissipating as he slips back into social host mode. You watch as he makes his rounds, thanking everyone for coming, accepting final hugs and handshakes. He's good at this—making each person feel individually appreciated, remembered. 

It's a side of him you are staring to recognize more and more often. 

When he reaches Tessa, you notice how his posture softens slightly. He says something that makes her laugh, tucking that perfect auburn hair behind her ear in a gesture that's both shy and flirtatious.

"You need a ride?" he asks her, and you barely manage to overhear. "I can call an Uber."

"No need," she smiles, gesturing toward Diana. "We're sharing a car. Diana lives just a few blocks from me."

"Good," he nods, looking genuinely relieved. "Text when you get home safe?"

It's sweet, the way he's concerned for her safety. Not what you'd expect from the guy who leaves his dirty dishes in the sink for days and thinks changing the toilet paper roll is optional. 

But then again, tonight has been full of surprises when it comes to Jungkook.

"Will do," Tessa promises, then hesitates before leaning in to give him a quick hug. "Happy birthday, Jungkook."

You watch them, something jittery settling in your chest. 

His lucky ass might actually score someone genuinely nice and put-together, who seems to actually like him beyond just his face and body. 

Good for him. 

Good for her, even, if she can't see that she's way out of his league.

Ten minutes later, the room has mostly cleared. Only your strange merged group remains—Yeji and Irya saying their goodbyes to Jimin by the door, while Taehyung, Hobi, Yoongi, Jungkook, and you linger in a loose circle near the couches.

"Subway?" Yoongi asks, addressing both you and Jungkook with his usual economy of words.

Jungkook nods, glancing at his phone. "Still running for another hour."

"I'll walk with you guys to the station," Taehyung offers, but Jungkook shakes his head.

"Nah, you're uptown. That's the opposite direction."

"I don't mind."

"I'm fine, Tae," Jungkook says firmly, and there's a weight to the words that seems to carry a conversation from earlier. "Really."

Taehyung doesn't look convinced, but after a moment of silent communication, he relents. "Text me when you get home."

"Yes, mom."

"I'm serious."

"I know," Jungkook's tone softens. "I will."

The farewells are quick after that—Hobi heading uptown with Taehyung, Jimin walking Yeji and Irya to their car, and the three of you—you, Jungkook, and Yoongi—making your way toward the subway station that will take you back to your shared apartment.

It feels like you've been gone for days rather than hours—like the person who left the apartment this morning for her first day at Barnes & Noble somehow isn't quite the same one heading home now.

But that's a thought for another time, when your head isn't fuzzy with tequila and your feet aren't aching from standing half the night.

For now, you just follow your roommates through the city streets toward the subway station, the quiet between you comfortable in a way it hasn't been before.

The subway car at this hour is practically abandoned—just a few night owls and the occasional service worker scattered across the seats like human tumbleweeds. 

Yoongi claims a seat by the door, immediately slipping his AirPods exactly like someone who's perfected the art of social avoidance. Within seconds, his head is tilted back against the subway wall, eyes closed. 

Either he's fallen asleep that quickly, or he's just really committed to pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist.

Jungkook drops into the seat beside him, legs splayed wide in that uniquely male way that screams ‘my balls need their own zip code.’ You take the spot next to him, trying to claim whatever minimal space is left.

Like seriously? There are literally twenty empty seats.

You nudge your knee pointedly against his. "Do you mind?"

"Wha?" He glances down, genuinely confused.

"The manspreading, bro," you gesture at his legs. "You're taking up enough space for three people."

He grins, completely unashamed. "I need to air out the jewels."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" You swat his arm, genuinely annoyed. "That's exactly the problem with guys like you. Public space isn't designed for your testicle ventilation system."

"Guys like me?" He raises an eyebrow, still smirking but at least looking slightly less smug.

"Yes. Guys who think their comfort is more important than the space of everyone around them." You're on a roll now, the combination of lingering tequila and genuine irritation fueling your feminist rant. "Women are literally conditioned to take up as little space as possible, to cross our legs, to fold ourselves into tiny spaces, while men just spread out like they own the world. It's literally a physical manifestation of patriarchal entitlement."

His smirk fades slightly, replaced by something closer to actual consideration. 

He glances down at his legs, then at the way you've automatically tucked yours together to accommodate his sprawl.

"Shit, I sound like a TikTok right now, don't I?" you mutter.

"No, no," he says, actually shifting his legs together. "You're not wrong. I didn't really think about it that way."

Wait. What?

"You're just saying that because it's your birthday and you think you get a free pass," you say suspiciously.

"No, I actually get it," he says, looking strangely thoughtful. "My mom used to call me out for the same shit. Called it 'man space disease.' Said my dad had it too."

And now you don't know what to do with yourself. 

Because what the actual fuck? 

How are you supposed to maintain righteous irritation when he just... listens? Takes criticism? Brings up his mom in a way that makes him seem like an actual human person with a past and stuff?

Goddammit. Now you can't even properly be mad at him, which somehow makes you even more annoyed. 

"Anyway," you say, desperate to change the subject before you lose all moral high ground. "Happy birthday again or whatever."

"Thanks," he says, and then adds, "for everything. The museum was actually cool. Didn't know you had taste, Phee."

"I'm literally an English major."

"Yeah, but that just means you read boring-ass books from dead white guys."

"That's... not what English degrees are about," you sputter. "And I bet 90% of your film classes are just Scorsese and Tarantino circle jerks."

He laughs, a genuine sound that echoes in the empty subway car. "Fuck, you got me there. Though Tarantino is—"

"If you say 'ahead of his time,' I will push you onto the tracks at the next stop."

"I was gonna say overrated, actually. Everyone loses their mind over Pulp Fiction, but honestly? Mid."

You blink, genuinely surprised. "Okay, that's the most correct opinion you've ever had."

"I have tons of correct opinions. You just never ask me about them."

"Sure, like your opinion that coffee is better than tea?"

"Because it is!"

"That whole statement is a crime, is what it is."

He scoffs, rolls his eyes, and leans back, conversation over because he’s clearly not arguing over this. 

So the subway rattles on, the rhythmic clacking of wheels against track filling the silence. 

Your thoughts drift to earlier tonight—to that moment on the first subway ride when his hand had brushed against yours. 

Just a whisper of contact, his pinky grazing yours on the metal bar.

Why did he do that? What was the deal with that?

The question nags at you, an itch you can't scratch. Not because it matters in any deep way—obviously it doesn't—but because puzzling out Jungkook's behavior is becoming something of a hobby. 

A frustrating, often pointless hobby, but still.

"Hey," you say before you can talk yourself out of it. "Question for you."

He turns toward you, eyebrows raised slightly. "Shoot."

"Earlier, on the subway..." You hesitate, suddenly feeling stupid for bringing it up. "You kind of touched my hand on the bar? What was that about?"

"Huh?" He looks genuinely confused for a moment, then recognition dawns. "Oh! That."

He says it so casually, like it wasn't something worth remembering. Which it isn't. Obviously.

"I just noticed you had a panic attack this morning," he continues, his tone matter-of-fact. "In my room."

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprise making your pulse quicken. "How did you—"

"I passed by and heard your breathing," he explains, shrugging like this is a completely normal thing to say. "But I didn't want to intrude. Since it's something very personal and knowing you..." 

He looks to the side as he gestures vaguely. 

"Well, I don't think you'd have appreciated me barging in, so I just went back to cooking my super pancakes."

You stare at him, dumbfounded. 

Who… Who the fuck is this dude? When did Jungkook develop this thoughtful, considerate side? Is he possessed? Should you be checking for pod people?

"So on the subway," he continues, oblivious to your internal crisis, "I dunno, I felt you had off vibes, and—"

"Again with the vibes?" You can't help but interject.

He laughs, the sound sharp and genuine. "Bro, you had this face like the sad hamster meme and I couldn't take it. That's why I brushed your hand. Reassurance, y'know?"

"The... sad hamster meme?" you repeat, incredulous.

He whips out his phone, types something, then shows you the screen: a round-faced hamster looking depressed as hell, its tiny eyes radiating existential despair.

"That's not—I don't look like that!" you protest.

"You literally did. One hundred percent emotional support hamster energy."

"I will actually murder you in your sleep."

His expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering across his features.

"My mom—" 

He cuts himself off, suddenly looking down at his lap.

But somehow, he decides to continue.

"My mom used to do that for me, so I thought it might help. The hand thing. Not calling you a hamster," he clarifies quickly. "Just a small touch when I was stressed. Sorry if it was weird."

Oh.

"No, no, it wasn't weird," you say quickly. 

The image of a younger Jungkook, being comforted by his mother with small touches, is annoyingly humanizing. 

Couldn't he just stay a two-dimensional asshole? Would make life so much simpler.

"No?" He looks up, searching your face.

"...No." You clear your throat, trying to regain your footing. "It's kind of nice, actually. That you're this attentive." 

You clear your throat then; but it’s like the air is getting stuck in your throat at the sudden sincerity of this conversation.

So you can't help adding: "I guess. Could've apply it to the household, you know? Like maybe notice when the trash needs taking out?"

He snorts at that, the weird moment breaking; and you couldn’t be happier.

“One step at a time, Pyx. One step at a time."

"So your observational skills only work when it comes to me having panic attacks, not when the dishes need doing?" 

"I have selective observation abilities," he admits with a grin. "Like a very specific superpower."

"World's shittiest X-Man," you mutter. "'I'm Emotional Support Man. I can tell when you're sad but can't locate the broom.'"

He laughs, harder this time. "Fuck, that's actually my brand. Can I put that in my Instagram bio?"

"Only if you credit me."

"Deal."

The subway lurches around a corner, and you both sway with the movement. You catch Yoongi cracking one eye open, glancing at you both before apparently deciding you're not interesting enough to stay awake for and closing it again.

"So like, you must be psyched about the studio time from Yoongi," you say, genuinely curious about this part of Jungkook's life that you know almost nothing about.

"Dude, you have no idea. Blueline is like..." he gestures expansively, searching for the right words, "it's basically where half the top-charting albums from last year were produced. Their equipment is insane. Sixteen hours there is worth like, a month in a regular studio."

"And he just... got that for you? Just like that?"

"Yoongi knows people," Jungkook says, with a hint of pride. "He's lowkey connected as fuck in the music scene. Doesn't talk about it much, but he's got production credits on some tracks that went viral last year."

"Wait, seriously? Yoongi? Our Yoongi? The guy who speaks like four words a day?"

"That's his whole strategy," Jungkook whispers dramatically, leaning closer like he's sharing state secrets. "The less he says, the more people think he's some kind of genius."

"Is it working?" you ask, also whispering despite yourself.

He grins. "I mean, he got me sixteen hours at Blueline, so yeah, I'd say it's working pretty well."

"What are you gonna do there?"

"I'm scoring a short film by this director I know. Nothing major, just like a fifteen-minute thing, but I've been wanting to experiment with this sound for a while—like lo-fi beats but with some orchestral elements mixed in. Kind of a vibe Jonny Greenwood meets Nujabes thing, if that makes sense?"

It doesn't, really, but the way his eyes light up as he talks about it is surprisingly engaging. 

Cute.

Because that’s Jungkook when he talks about something he cares deeply about. He just… gestures as he explains, hands moving expressively, and his entire demeanor changes.

"That's actually really cool," you admit before you can stop yourself.

"Yeah?" He looks genuinely pleased by your approval, which is weird. Since when does he care what you think? "You should come by sometime. Check it out."

"I didn't know you were into all that," you say, genuinely curious now. "The music stuff, I mean. I knew about the film major, but..."

"I'm a man of many talents, Phee," he says with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes.

"Okay, and we're back to you being insufferable. That was a nice five-minute break."

He laughs, not at all offended. "Can't let you get too comfortable. Gotta keep you on your toes."

The subway announcement system announces your stop is next. 

Yoongi's eyes open immediately, like he has some kind of sixth sense for exactly when to wake up. He removes his AirPods, tucking them into his pocket as he stands.

"You coming?" he asks, directing the question to both of you but somehow making it sound like he couldn't care less either way.

"Yeah, yeah," Jungkook says, already standing. 

He offers you a hand up, the gesture casual but unexpected.

You hesitate for just a second before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet. His hand is warm, the calluses from guitar playing rough against your palm. And then he drops it as soon as you're standing, no lingering, no loaded moment. Just a simple courtesy.

But it’s the normal, everyday nature of the gesture that throws you. 

Like this is just what you do now—casual, friendly touches that mean nothing beyond basic human interaction.

The subway slows as it approaches your stop, and you grab the pole to steady yourself, pushing this strange new dynamic to the back of your mind to examine later. 

When you're alone. 

And preferably sober.

You've never heard Griffin meow that loudly outside of dinner time, and even then, it's not this fucking dramatic.

The elevator doors have barely slid open when the unholy feline screeching hits your ears—a sound that could only be described as a cat being simultaneously vacuumed and baptized against its will.

"What the fuck?" you mutter, already picking up your pace toward the apartment door.

Jungkook's reaction is instantaneous. One second he's trudging beside you, still talking about some obscure music producer, and the next he's bolting down the hallway like someone lit his ass on fire.

"Griffin!" His voice carries genuine panic as he fumbles with his keys, hands suddenly clumsy with urgency.

You follow right behind him, though your motivations are decidedly less noble. 

The building has a strict no-pets policy, and the last thing you need is to get evicted because Jungkook's furry contraband is having a meltdown at 1 AM.

"Jesus Christ, let me do it," you hiss, shoving at his hands. "You're gonna wake up the whole floor."

"I got it, I got it," he insists, still struggling with the lock as Griffin continues his banshee impression on the other side of the door.

"Clearly you don't got it," you argue, trying to wrestle the keys from his grip. "You're making it worse!"

"Can you just—will you just—give me a second—"

You're both so busy fighting over the keys that neither of you notices Yoongi until he's physically shoving both of you aside with surprisingly pointy elbows.

"Move," he grunts, extracting his own key and long since given up on expecting basic competence from either of you.

The lock clicks open, and the door swings wide just in time for an orange blur to come rocketing out into the hallway. 

Griffin shoots between your legs like he's auditioning for some Usain Bolt competition (but make it feline), though to no avail, because Jungkook's reflexes are impressively fast. 

Three quick strides and he's scooping the cat up, cradling him against his chest.

"Hey, hey, buddy, what's wrong?" he murmurs, immediately checking the cat for injuries. "You okay? What happened?"

Griffin, now safely ensconced in Jungkook's arms, has miraculously stopped his caterwauling and is instead purring loud enough to vibrate the hallway. 

The little shit.

"Oh my god, Jungkook, tell your cat to shut the fuck up," you hiss, glancing nervously toward neighboring doors. "You know the neighbors are gonna snitch if he keeps that up."

"No they won't," he says with the confidence of someone who's never faced consequences for anything in his life. "They all love me."

You blink. "You know all the neighbors?"

He just shrugs, already carrying Griffin back into the apartment like the entire dramatic episode never happened.

Yoongi, having completed his sole contribution to the crisis, is already disappearing into his bedroom, door clicking shut behind him with a finality that says ‘do not disturb under penalty of death.’

You stand awkwardly in the entryway, fidgeting with your keys, suddenly hyperaware that you're alone with Jungkook for the first time since... whatever that moment on the rooftop was.

He snorts, still cradling Griffin like a baby. 

"So where's my gift?"

Of course. Of course he couldn't just let it go. Had to make things weird and awkward because god forbid Jungkook let any interaction proceed without maximum discomfort.

You grunt noncommittally and trudge to your bedroom, pointedly closing the door behind you. 

There, sitting innocently on your dresser, is the crumpled paper bag from the flea market. 

Inside is the stupid vinyl record you'd impulsively bought for fifteen bucks because it had "John Mayer" on it and you vaguely remembered Jungkook had a vinyl wall with what looked like Mayer albums.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. 

Now, you're not so sure.

But it's not like you have any alternatives, and you did promise him a gift, so...

You grab the bag and head back out, careful not to make eye contact. You have no idea why you're suddenly nervous about this. It's just a vinyl. Probably one he already has. No big deal either way.

"Here," you say, thrusting the paper bag toward him.

He quirks an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by the plainness of your offering. 

What was he expecting? A fucking gift-wrapped Ferrari?

He sets Griffin down carefully on the armchair before taking the bag from you. The cat immediately curls into a perfect circle, clearly untroubled by whatever had sent him into hysterics five minutes ago.

Jungkook pulls the vinyl from the bag with deliberate slowness, like he's trying to extend the suspense. A small smile forms on his lips when he sees it's a record, but then—

His face contorts into an expression you can't begin to interpret. 

It's like watching someone cycle through all five stages of grief in under five seconds, ending on some emotion that looks like he might either laugh hysterically or have a stroke.

Your stomach drops. Fuck. You knew it. He already has it. Or worse, he hates this album. 

Great going, genius. You had one job.

"Nix," he starts, his voice strangled.

"It's fine," you interject quickly, already looking away and biting your lip. "I mean, if you already—"

"Phoenix."

Something in the way he says your nickname—your full nickname, not the shortened version—makes you reluctantly look back at him.

He's not... mad. Or disgusted. Or disappointed. 

If anything, he looks... stunned? 

His eyes are practically twinkling, like you just handed him the fucking Holy Grail instead of a dusty old record.

"Where the fuck..." he starts, then shakes his head slightly. "Where the fuck did you get this, Nix?"

You blink, caught off guard by his reaction.

"I—a girl has her secrets," you mumble, because no way in hell are you admitting you found it in a five-dollar bin at a flea market.

"This is Inside Wants Out," he says, staring at the record like it might vanish if he blinks.

"Yup. That's what it says," you confirm, pointing unnecessarily at the album title clearly printed on the cover.

Like, yeah. Thanks for confirming he can read. At least he’s not that stupid. 

"It's John Mayer, right...? I thought... I mean since your whole vinyl wall is mostly—"

"This is Inside Wants Out," he repeats, more emphatically this time, like you're not getting the significance.

You nod slowly. "Yeah... I heard you the first time."

"Do you know how hard it is to get this shit, Nix?" His eyes are still wide with disbelief. "This is a collector's item."

Oh.

Oh wow.

Oh fuck.

You didn't mean to give him something with actual significance. You were just trying to not completely fail at basic gift-giving. But now he's looking at you like you just casually handed him a winning lottery ticket, and you have no idea how to respond.

"I mean... I knew you'd appreciate it," you lie smoothly, like you totally knew what you were doing. "You seem like the type to be into the rare stuff."

His eyes narrow slightly, like he's not entirely buying your sudden expertise in John Mayer collectibles, but he's too excited about the record to push it.

"It was his first EP," he explains, still handling the vinyl like it might explode. "Self-released in '99, before he got signed. There were only like a thousand copies ever pressed, and they never reissued it on vinyl."

"Oh," you say eloquently. "Cool."

"Cool?" 

He laughs, the sound both incredulous and delighted. 

"Nix, this thing goes for like three hundred dollars on eBay if you can even find one. How did you—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head again. "You know what, never mind. I don't even want to know. Just... thank you."

Three hundred dollars? 

You almost choke. The grimy old man at the flea market had sold it to you for fifteen bucks, and even then, you'd thought you were overpaying.

Holy shit. You accidentally gave Jungkook the perfect gift.

You're still processing this bizarre turn of events when he does something even more unexpected. He steps forward and hugs you—a quick, one-armed embrace that's over almost before it begins, but still manages to short-circuit your brain for a solid three seconds.

"Seriously," he says, already stepping back. "This is... thank you."

"I—yeah, of course," you manage, still off-balance from the sudden contact. "Happy birthday or whatever."

He grins, already carefully examining the record sleeve for any damage. 

"Or whatever," he echoes, but there's no mockery in it. 

Just warmth.

A warmth that makes something in your chest twist in a way you don't want to examine too closely.

Jungkook flips the vinyl over in his hands, tracing the track listing with his finger. 

"I started collecting his stuff in high school," he says, voice softer than usual. "Everyone gives him shit, you know? Like he's this basic white dude music or whatever."

"Isn't he, though?" You can't help asking, even as you drift closer to the couch instead of retreating to your room like you'd planned.

He looks up at you, expression caught between offense and amusement. "That's what everyone thinks. But his guitar work? Seriously underrated. The guy's technically insane."

You perch on the arm of the couch, watching as he continues examining the record. 

“So you're into him for the... technical aspects?"

"Partly." Jungkook shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "But honestly? His music just hits sometimes, you know? Like when you're driving at night with the windows down, or when you just need to chill and not think for a while."

"Didn't take you for the introspective type."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Phee," he says, but it's not a challenge or a flirtation. Just a simple statement of fact.

"Like what?"

He looks surprised you asked, like he expected you to roll your eyes and walk away. 

After a moment's hesitation, he gestures toward his bedroom. 

“I've got every vinyl he's released. Started with Continuum when I was fifteen..." He trails off, then shakes his head slightly. "Anyway, been collecting ever since."

You’re not sure whether he wants you to ask, or doesn’t want to overshare. So to play it safe, you don’t dig.

Instead, you find yourself saying, "My dad's obsessed with him."

Now it's your turn to be surprised—by your own admission. Because you hadn't planned to share that.

Jungkook's eyebrows lift. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, suddenly interested in a loose thread on your sleeve. "Used to play his albums constantly during gardening weekends. My mom would pretend to hate it, but I'd catch her humming along when she thought no one was listening."

"Gardening weekends?"

"Mandatory family bonding," you explain, the memory both distant and vivid. "Every other Saturday in spring and summer. Dad would handle the heavy stuff, Mom did the flowers, and I was on weed duty."

"Weed duty," Jungkook repeats, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Like, you grew pot with your parents? Damn, Nix, I had you all wrong."

You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile too. "Garden weeds, dumbass. The actual nuisance plants."

"So what? You'd all be out there pulling weeds while John Mayer serenaded you from a boombox?"

"Something like that," you say, the mental image so accurate it catches you off guard. "How'd you know about the boombox?"

"Dads and boomboxes go together like peanut butter and jelly," he says with authority. "It's basic dad culture."

"Fair point." You hesitate, then add, "He had this super old one. Battery-operated, because the garden was too far from the house for an extension cord. The sound quality was garbage, but he refused to upgrade. Said it had 'character.'"

Jungkook smiles at that, a genuine one that reaches his eyes. "Sounds like my kind of guy."

"You'd hate each other," you say automatically, but then consider it. "Actually, no. You'd probably bond over guitar shit and expensive coffee, and it would be absolutely insufferable for everyone else."

"I'm great with parents," he protests. "They love me."

"That's because they don't have to live with you."

He gasps in offense. "What? Come on, living with me is the best experience ever.”

"So now ‘best experience ever’ is you eating my leftovers and folding your briefs on the entrance table?”

"And mind-blowing sex," he adds, because of course he does. "Don't forget that part."

"And we're done here," you announce, standing up from the couch arm. 

"Wait," he says, surprising you again. "What was your favorite song? From those gardening days, I mean."

You pause, considering whether to answer. It feels oddly personal, sharing music taste with Jungkook. More intimate somehow than the physical stuff you've done together.

But he's looking at you with genuine curiosity, still cradling the vinyl you gave him like it's something precious, and you find yourself responding before you can overthink it.

"'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room,'" you admit, the memory rising unbidden. "Not off that album, obviously, but it was on Continuum."

“Really? I wouldn't have pegged you for that one."

"Well, I wasn't exactly vibing with the lyrics at age ten," you say, defensive without knowing why. "It just... reminds me of my mom."

"Your mom was into songs about dysfunctional relationships?"

"No, dumbass." 

You take a breath, weighing whether to elaborate. 

Fuck it. 

“There was this one time, we were gardening, and it started raining—like, suddenly pouring. Dad ran inside with the boombox, but Mom just... stayed out there. And I did too."

Jungkook's watching you intently now, the vinyl temporarily forgotten in his hands.

"That song was playing right before the rain started," you continue, eyes fixed on that loose thread again. "And when Dad got inside, he must have put the song on again inside the house, because we could hear it through the open windows. Mom just... started dancing. In the rain. And she pulled me in, and we were spinning around like idiots, getting completely soaked, while Dad watched from the porch and pretended to be embarrassed by us."

You risk a glance at Jungkook and find him smiling softly.

"What?" you demand.

"Nothing," he says, but his smile doesn't fade. "Just... that's a really good memory. I like that it wasn't some deep angsty reason. Just your mom being cool."

"She wasn't always," you say before you can stop yourself. "Cool, I mean. But she had her moments."

A comfortable silence falls between you, the kind you didn't think was possible with Jungkook. He's still looking at you with that soft expression, and you find yourself continuing without really meaning to.

“Anyway,” you say, desperate to lighten the sudden heaviness between you. “I like sad songs and thunderstorms. Shocking revelation about the English major, I know.”

His mouth curves into a smile, but it’s gentler than his usual smirk. 

“I know you like thunderstorms.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he nods, setting the vinyl aside with careful hands. “Remember the first time we hooked up in this apartment? There was a storm outside.”

“How do you remember that?”

He shrugs, casual, unbothered.

Like it doesn’t cost him anything at all to reveal he keeps details in mind or cares. 

“You were curled up in that bean bag by the window, watching the rain like it was telling you secrets. All broody and intense. Very on-brand.”

“I wasn’t broody,” you protest automatically.

“You were staring at a lightning storm. The only way you could’ve been broodier is if you were wearing fingerless gloves and listening to The Cure.”

You throw a decorative pillow at his head, which he catches easily. “Fuck off, I don’t even own fingerless gloves.”

“Yet,” he adds with a grin. “There’s still time, though. Hot Topic’s having a sale.”

You flip him off, but you’re smiling despite yourself.

“I just like storms, okay? They’re… honest.”

“Honest?” He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely curious.

You struggle to articulate something you’ve never had to put into words before. 

“Yeah, like… they don’t pretend to be anything other than what they are. They’re loud and chaotic and messy, and they don’t apologize for it.”

“Huh,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “Never thought about it like that.”

“Plus,” you add, tone deliberately lighter, “they smell good.”

“Yeah I guess they do,” he agrees, and for some reason, this tiny point of connection feels significant.

“You smell like rain,” you say, the words slipping out before your brain can catch up with your mouth.

“Huh?” he looks at you, confusion replacing his easy smile.

“I mean,” you backtrack, suddenly feeling stupid, “you’re always saying I smell like vanilla and stuff. And you really like vanilla, right? With your vanilla extract flask or whatever. Well, you smell like rain. At least to me. I really like rain. That’s all.”

There’s a moment of silence, just long enough for you to start mentally calculating how quickly you could fake your own death and flee the country.

“I smell like rain,” he repeats, expression unreadable.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say quickly. “Just an observation. Like how Yoongi smells like coffee and disappointment.”

He laughs at that, breaking the weird tension. “That’s… oddly accurate.”

“I’m very accurate,” you say with mock seriousness. “My superpower.”

And… why exactly are you quoting him? That’s exactly what he said in the subway.

And you said it without thinking. 

“Well,” he says, not catching onto that or at least not making it about that; leaning back into the couch cushions, “for what it’s worth, I’m glad I don’t smell like disappointment. Rain is definitely the better option.”

“Don’t get too excited. I didn’t say you smell good,” you lie, because of course he smells good, the bastard. “Just like rain.”

“Uh-huh.” His smile is knowing, infuriating. “You literally just said you really like rain, though.”

“I changed my mind. Rain is overrated.”

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

Griffin chooses that moment to stretch dramatically on the armchair, reminding you both of his presence. The cat yawns widely, showing tiny needle teeth, before resettling into an even tighter ball.

“Anyway,” you say, seizing the opportunity to change the subject, “your cat is still a menace, even if he has good timing.”

“The best timing,” Jungkook agrees, reaching over to scratch behind Griffin’s ears. “Though I still don’t know what set him off earlier.”

“Maybe he sensed a disturbance in the force.”

“Maybe he just missed me,” Jungkook suggests, and the sad thing is, he’s probably right. Griffin is ridiculously attached to him, like some kind of orange, furry shadow.

“Cats don’t miss people,” you argue, just to be contrary. “They’re cold-blooded killers who tolerate humans because we operate can openers.”

“Griffin misses me,” he insists, stroking the cat’s back. “Don’t you, buddy? Tell Phoenix how much you missed your dad.”

Griffin blinks slowly in response, which Jungkook apparently interprets as agreement. 

“See? He says he was devastated by my absence.”

“He says he’s plotting to kill us both in our sleep,” you counter.

“Nah, he only does that to people who don’t bring him treats. Speaking of which…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small packet of cat treats, shaking a few onto his palm.

Griffin is suddenly wide awake, lunging for the offering with surprising agility for a creature that was seemingly comatose two seconds ago.

“You carry cat treats in your pocket?” you ask, incredulous. “To a club? To a karaoke bar?”

“Always be prepared,” he says solemnly, as if quoting some ancient cat-owner wisdom. “Besides, Griffin can sense when I don’t have them.”

“Your relationship with this cat is genuinely concerning.”

“Says the person who talks to him when she thinks no one’s listening.” He smirks at your surprised expression. “Yeah, I’ve heard you. ‘Who’s a little murder machine? Is it you? Yes it is.’”

You feel your cheeks warm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You baby-talk my cat, Phoenix. Just admit it.”

“I do not baby-talk—”

Your phone chimes with a text notification, cutting off what would have undoubtedly been a brilliant denial. 

You move towards the entryway, where you'd left your purse on the table, and reach to look for your phone, when suddenly—

Oh. 

The DIY bracelets. Right.

You'd left them at the shop at first for that contribution project Ash had talked about, but then... something had pinched at you when Jungkook mentioned having one similar as a kid. 

How it reminded him of his mom.

And now that you're talking about mourning a mom that you still have alive, because the mom from your memories often differs from the one who exists now... it feels like the right moment. Like maybe these stupid friendship bracelets aren't just arts and crafts bullshit but something that might actually mean something.

Fuck, that's corny. You're being corny right now. This is what happens when you let your guard down for five seconds around Jungkook—suddenly you're having feelings and shit. Gross.

But your fingers are already closing around the bracelets. 

You're impulsive like that. Always have been. Jump first, think later. It's gotten you into trouble more times than you can count, but occasionally—very occasionally—it works out.

You slip them into your fist, hiding them behind your back as you walk slowly toward Jungkook. He's still standing there, watching you with that half-curious, half-amused expression that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and—

"Hmm? What's up, Phoenix?" he asks, eyebrows lifting slightly when he notices your hands hidden behind your back.

"Nothing," you say, too quickly.

His eyes narrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“What's that?" He takes a step closer, trying to peek around you. "You hiding something?"

"No," you lie, taking a step back. "Mind your business."

"You're being weird," he says, his smirk widening into a full-on grin. "What is it? A love letter? Secret diary? Embarrassing photos of you in middle school with braces?"

"I never had braces," you retort, still backing up as he advances. "And it's nothing, so back off."

"If it's nothing, why are you hiding it?" He lunges suddenly, trying to grab at your hands, but you twist away, nearly knocking over a lamp in the process.

"Jungkook, I swear to god—"

"Come on, just show me!" He's laughing now, the asshole, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "What's so secret that you can't—"

He makes another grab, and this time his fingers catch your wrist. You try to pull away, but he's stronger than you, the jerk, and before you can stop him, he's pried your fingers open.

The bracelets fall into his palm.

His laughter cuts off abruptly. 

He stares down at them, then back up at you, his expression shifting to something you can't quite read. 

His eyes go all soft and wide, like some anime character or something, and it makes your forsaken insides twist.

"How?" he asks, voice quieter than before. "I thought we left these at the shop."

You look to the side, feeling heat crawl up your neck. 

This is so fucking embarrassing. 

It's just bracelets. 

Stupid, childish bracelets that shouldn't mean anything.

"When I came back to get my phone, I..." You trail off, not sure how to explain without sounding like a complete sap. "I saw them and I just..."

You shut up, because what are you supposed to say? That you couldn't stand the thought of leaving them behind? That something about his face when he talked about his mom's bracelet made you want to give him this small piece of today?

He seems to understand anyway, nodding slowly as he looks down at the bracelets again. 

"Thanks," he says, and it's so genuine it makes you uncomfortable.

He holds them for a moment longer, then asks, "Can I?" gesturing toward your wrist.

You extend your arm automatically, then realize what he's doing as he fumbles with the clasp of the Phoenix bracelet.

"No, let me wear the Rogue one," you say quickly.

He pauses, brows furrowing. "But I am Rogue."

"Well, you said you didn't want to wear a bracelet calling you 'Rogue,'" you point out, "so... might as well wear the Rogue one myself and you wear the Phoenix one."

A slow smile spreads across his face, like what you've just said makes perfect sense instead of being the most backward logic ever. 

And with a soft, delicate breath he says:

“Deal."

His fingers brush against your skin as he fastens the Rogue bracelet around your wrist. You try not to react, but your pulse quickens traitorously beneath his fingertips.

When he's done, you take the Phoenix bracelet from him, gesturing for his wrist. He extends it without hesitation, and you're struck by how much larger his hand is than yours, how warm his skin feels beneath your fingers as you fumble with the clasp.

"There," you say, pulling away quickly once it's secured. "Now we're even."

"Even," he echoes, looking down at the bracelet on his wrist, the fiery beads catching the light. "I guess we are."

You stare at the bracelet on your wrist for a few seconds, the beads catching the dim light of your apartment living room. Your eyes flicker up to his wrist—he's doing the same thing, turning his arm slightly to inspect his newly acquired accessory like he's never seen a fucking bracelet before. 

His eyes catch yours, and you can't help asking, "You gonna wear it?"

He rotates his wrist, watching how the beads interact with the light. 

“Maybe." The corner of his mouth twitches. "I don't know, does it fit my vibe?"

Is he serious right now? 

You deadpan him, staring straight into his eyes without blinking.

He can't help but snort, his shoulders shaking slightly. "That's a no, then?"

"Whatever," you say, waving your hand dismissively. "You don't need to wear it. It's a silly thing anyway." 

And it is. Just a stupid arts and crafts project you made while trying to keep him busy for his birthday party. 

No big deal if he tosses it in a drawer and forgets about it. Literally could not care less.

"Nah, it's cool," he says, examining it again. "Kind of tacky, but in a fun way."

He looks back at you when you stare in silence too long. 

"What about you?"

"Huh?" You blink, caught off-guard.

"Are you gonna wear yours?" He gestures toward your wrist with his chin.

"I don't know." You twist the beads around your wrist, acting like you're still deciding. "It's not like I want people to know I have friendship bracelet gay shit with you."

He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Right, I had forgotten what I'm gonna say when people ask what 'PHOENIX' means."

Your eyes flicker back to him, side-eyeing him suspiciously. "What would you say?"

"Maybe I should tell them it's from my roommate," he says, tapping his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Who rose from the ashes and all that. Like some kind of angry, book-obsessed firebird."

"Don't you dare talk about me like that!" You immediately shove at his shoulder, scowling. "Oh my god."

He sidesteps your attack, continuing, "—into this majestic creature who's deep down probably not plotting to murder me in my sleep—"

"I swear to god," you lunge at him again, "if you say that cringy shit about me to anyone—"

"—and who secretly loves making friendship bracelets—"

"I will end you," you threaten, trying to grab his arm while he deftly avoids your attempts. The audacity of this asshole. "I will literally smother you with a pillow."

"—and wearing them too!" He's full-on laughing now, dodging around the coffee table. "The bracelet represents how we've evolved from mortal enemies to... slightly less mortal enemies."

"That's it." You grab a throw pillow from the couch and hurl it at his head. "You're dead to me."

He catches the pillow easily, still grinning like an idiot. "Aw, come on, Nix. Embrace your phoenix identity. Like the bird, you too have emerged from—"

"If you say 'ashes' one more time," you threaten, grabbing another pillow, "I will personally ensure you become some."

"Violent," he comments, raising his eyebrows. "And after I accepted your little craft project."

"It's not a—" 

You start to protest, then stop yourself. 

What the hell would you call it?

"Whatever. It's just a bracelet."

"A bracelet of tolerance," he suggests, his eyes dancing with amusement. "At best."

"Exactly," you say, oddly annoyed that he's stolen your line. "A bracelet of 'you're still annoying as fuck but occasionally tolerable.'"

"A bracelet of 'we haven't killed each other yet, which is honestly impressive,'" he offers.

"A bracelet of 'the apartment lease says I can't legally push you off the balcony,'" you suggest.

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. "Cool. I'll take it."

"Don't make it weird," you mutter, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the direction this conversation has taken. Why is he being almost... nice? "It's just a stupid bracelet I accidentally made while you were trying to avoid talking about your Instagram."

"Right," he nods, tapping the beads against the table. "Just like how you 'accidentally' bought me a super rare vinyl."

"Shut up."

"Never," he says, shifting Griffin to make room on the armchair. "So, this means you're warming up to me, huh? All it took was some karaoke and a rooftop heart-to-heart."

"I already told you we'll see," you remind him, rolling your eyes. "Don't push it, Rogue."

"Fine, fine," he holds up his hands in surrender. "Just saying, the evidence is mounting."

"What evidence?"

He starts counting off on his fingers. "One, you made me a bracelet. Two, you bought me a vinyl. Three, you didn't ditch me at my own birthday thing. Four, you haven't tried to poison my coffee in at least three days."

"That you know of," you counter, but you can feel the corner of your mouth twitching traitorously.

"See? You're not even denying it," he says, pointing at you triumphantly. "Face it, Phee. You tolerate me."

"The bare minimum bar for human interaction. Congratulations."

Griffin chooses that moment to let out a pathetically dramatic meow, clearly offended that he's no longer the center of attention.

"Someone's jealous," Jungkook immediately turns to scratch his cat under the chin. "Don't worry, G, you'll always be my number one roommate."

You roll your eyes. "Great, I've been demoted behind the cat."

"He doesn't leave wet teabags in the sink," Jungkook points out.

"He literally shits in a box in our bathroom."

"Yeah, but at least he covers it up."

"I'm not having this argument," you declare, standing up from the couch. It's late, you're tired, and this whole day has been weird enough already. "I'm going to bed."

"Night, Nix," he says, voice softer than his usual teasing tone.

"Night, Rogue," you reply, hesitating for just a moment too long before adding, "Happy birthday. Again."

He smiles—that same genuine smile from before. "Thanks. For everything."

"Don't get used to it," you warn, already backing toward your bedroom. "Tomorrow I go back to hating your guts."

"Looking forward to it," he calls after you, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You close your bedroom door a bit harder than necessary, but you're smiling as you do it. And if your fingers brush against the beads on your wrist as you change into your pajamas, well, that's nobody's business but yours.

It's just a bracelet. Whatever.

goal: 650 notes. can’t believe how quickly kiki nation got the goals back, you guys are amazing and unhinged. 😭❤️‍🩹

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[alisonsfics]

guest lecturer - part one

pairing: tyler owens x student!reader

summary: when tyler owens shows up in our meteorology class to give a guest lecture, you are left just as speechless as all the other girls. but, tyler is just as awestruck by you.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: i COMPLETELY made up some science stuff for some dialogue, so if anybody actually knows stuff about meteorology or physics, this may be a little excruciating for you

part 2

You flipped through your notes, jogging your memory on last week’s lecture. The lecture hall was silent. Half of the students were falling asleep. The other half were cramming and finishing assignments for other classes.

Your professor came running through the door. Her shoes squeaked on the floor. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught in the rain.” She quickly apologized, setting her bag down at her desk.

You grabbed a pen out of your bag, preparing to start your notes as your professor got settled in.

“We have a surprise guest speaker today for you all, who should be here in just a minute.” She announced to the class. There was a collective sigh from the room. Guest lecturers were notoriously boring and seemed to drag on and on about nothing.

You started doodling in your notebook, mentally preparing for the longest two hours of your life.

“I know as meteorology students, you are all aware of the storm chaser Tyler Owens and his YouTube channel.” She began to introduce the guest.

A few of the students perked up at the mention of Tyler’s name, including you. You were a big fan of Tyler and watched most of his videos. You tried to not get your hopes up, assuming the guest speaker was just going to be someone on his team.

You started to zone out, your thoughts drifting to the marvelous Tyler Owens. He was a mix of supermodel meets daredevil scientist. He’d been a guilty pleasure crush of yours for a while.

You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard your professor say “Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Owens.”

Your eyes snapped up and landed on Tyler walking to the front of the room. You mentally cursed your decision to sit in the third row. You felt too exposed being somewhere that Tyler Owens could see you.

The presence of Tyler at the front of the room grabbed everyone’s attention. The few students who were fans of his work got excited to see one of their idols. The girls in the room that didn’t know who he was perked up because Tyler was the perfect mix of handsome and rugged.

“Thank you, Dr. Hannigan,” Tyler thanked your professor for introducing him.

Tyler’s eyes drifted around the room. As he became more of a niche celebrity, he was getting used to being ogled by a room full of girls. Wherever he went, there were girls waiting and drooling over him.

You sat up straighter in your seat, feeling thankful today was the day you chose to dress cuter than normal.

Tyler’s eyes landed on you. There was something different about you. All the other girls were staring at his muscles, while you weren’t an exception to that, there was more to it. You were hanging on to every word he said. He could see your interest in not just him, but what he was talking about.

His eyes ran over your body before continuing with his next point. You felt your skin heat up under his gaze. You quickly crossed your legs and tried to distract yourself from the aching between your legs.

He made a few jokes relating back to tornadoes. Each one was met with a room full of flirty giggles. Half of them didn’t even sound like they understood the jokes.

You weren’t blaming them for ogling him. His very presence in front of you made you think God was sending you a treat to apologize for how catastrophic midterm week had been.

But, you were at least paying attention to what he was talking. Some were just picturing him naked.

“So, what my team is currently working on is efforts to deescalate, or for lack of a better word, control tornadoes.” He started to explain his work. The facade of a tornado-wrangling cowboy had the entire class enthralled.

All of a sudden, before you knew what you were doing, your hand shot up in the air. You didn’t process that you’d actually have to speak to Tyler if you wanted to ask him a question.

His eyes quickly met yours. He was eager to finally have a question to answer. “Let me guess, you’re gonna say it’s science fiction? That it’s scientifically impossible?” He asked you, anticipating the usual feedback he got.

You just smirked and shook your head. “I was going to ask if your work had anything to do with the Lawson’s theory of balance and imbalance?” You asked, fidgeting with your pencil.

Tyler furrowed his brow and had to stop his jaw from dropping. It wasn’t often that people could debate back and forth with him and challenge him.

The class waited as you caught him off guard. “She’s one of our brightest students.” Dr. Hannigan said, from her desk off to the side. You felt yourself sit up a little straighter as you stumped one of your idols.

You weren’t what was Tyler was expecting at all.

“You know what? You’re absolutely spot on. You want to come up here for a second and help me out?” He asked you. The heat rushed to your cheeks and your palms started sweating.

You quickly walked down the stairs to the front of the room. Tyler eyes stayed glued to you the whole time you walked towards him. “Tyler,” He repeated with a smile, reaching out to shake your hand.

You felt goosebumps as his strong hand grabbed yours. “Y/N,” You struggled to even find the words to introduce yourself. He noticed the electricity as your fingers grazed his.

He turned his attention back to the rest of the class. “So, to accommodate for Lawson’s theory, like Y/N mentioned, we have to do the opposite of what’s expected. Storms expect things. It’s just in their nature, so you have to do the unexpected.” He explained to the class.

He turned back to you, and your heart started beating faster. “Put your hands out in front of you, palms facing down.” He quietly instructed you. You quickly followed his directions.

“So, I’m gonna push against her hands. Since she’s expecting it, she’ll push back.” He said to the class. He took his hands and rested them under yours. He nodded and smiled at you, then he started pushing up on your hands.

You pushed back down against his hands. He was careful to not push too hard because he was much stronger than you. “See, there’s equal resistance.” He said, looking at how your hands stayed in the same place.

“Okay, now we’ll do it again, but this time we’ll use this.” He told you. Then, he fished something out of his pocket, and you realized it was a blindfold. He gently pulled it over your eyes, making sure not to pull on your hair. He placed his hands under yours again.

He softly counted down for you since you couldn’t see him, “3… 2… and 1…”

Instead of pushing against your hands, Tyler grabbed your hands and let you push his hands down with your own. You stumbled forward a step since there was no resistance.

Your hands instinctively reached out to keep yourself from falling and landed on his shoulders. He quickly grabbed your forearms, steadying you. You couldn’t see him, but he was smiling at you with a look of awe. You fascinated him.

He let go of your arms after you regained your balance. “Brilliantly done,” he whispered to you as he carefully took the blindfold off of you. You felt a shiver go down your back as his breath hit your neck.

“It’s all about doing the unexpected.” He said, to the class. Then, the bell chimed throughout the hall. “Alright, see you next week. Don’t forget about the reading.” Dr. Hannigan yelled over the rush of girls swarming towards Tyler.

You hurried back to your seat to grab your backpack. As Tyler was swarmed, his eyes stayed glued on you. He watched you as you walked away, grinning to himself.

Not wanting to get caught up in the swarm of girls, you grabbed your bag and ran off to your next class. Tyler lost you in the crowd, but couldn’t get you off his mind.

You were sitting in your next class when you got an email from Dr. Hannigan. It read: “I know you all had lots of questions for Mr. Owens, so he has agreed to host office hours at 3pm today in my office.”

You felt your stomach do a flip as you thought about being in a room with him again. You debated whether or not to go. You didn’t want to get swept up in another mad frenzy of girls hitting on Tyler, but you wanted to see him again.

Once your class ended, it was like your feet had a mind of their own as you found yourself walking towards your professor’s office.

It was a small office, so you expected to see a line out the door. It was eerily quiet, and you didn’t see anyone.

Turns out, if the words weren’t coming out of Mr. Tornado Dreamboat’s mouth, your peers weren’t interested. So, none of them checked their emails.

You softly knocked on the door and heard Tyler call out, “Yeah, come in.”

You slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Tyler lit up once he saw that it was you. He’d been hoping you’d show up.

You’d expected your professor to be here as well, so your nerves got worse when you realized the two of you were alone.

He was sitting at your professor’s desk. You noticed the playing cards lying on the desk, like he’d been playing Solitaire. “Slow day?” You asked, gesturing towards the cards.

He chuckled to himself and nodded. “Yeah, you’re the first person to show up.” He said, laughing. You sat down across from him and started to feel less nervous.

The giant desk between the two of you was a good deterrent to stop you from doing anything stupid like trying to kiss him.

“Thank you for helping out in class. I was dying for somebody to ask a question. Everyone was just staring. And I’m sorry for almost making you fall.” He started making small talk. The conversation flowed really naturally.

“I’m just really fascinated by your work. I have so many questions.” You said, smiling back at him. He could see the enthusiasm on your face, and he knew you weren’t faking anything.

“Oh yeah, Dr. Hannigan sent me your midterm paper a few weeks ago. It was pretty brilliant stuff. I was trying to figure why your name sounded familiar. I think that’s why. You should come out for a ride sometime. Get some field experience. I’d love to take you.” He praised you.

You couldn’t help but get a little bashful. Your idol, who you had a massive crush on, was praising your work and wanted to work with you. The thought of spending time alone with Tyler out in the field was enough to make your stomach do flips.

“You really read my paper? I brought it with me. I wanted to ask your opinion on some things.” You said, grabbing your paper out of your bag. He nodded, enthusiastically.

He wheeled his chair around to your side of the desk, so he was sitting right next to you. Your nerves that had been starting to fade were back in full force. It was different when Tyler was two inches away from you. He leaned his arms on the desk, his one arm pressing up against yours.

You could smell his cologne, and it was all you could think about. Your mind was just a blur of cedar and hints of vanilla. “So, I umm…what I wa-wanted to show you was…” you mumbled, flipping through your paper.

Tyler softly smirked to himself. He interrupted you and put his hand on top of your paper, forcing you to look at him. “Do I really make you that nervous?” He asked you, barely above a whisper.

Your eyes were glued on his. His deep emerald eyes drawing you in. You couldn’t even muster up a response. You were speechless as you watched how intently he stared back at you.

“Yeah? I make you nervous, honey?” He asked, in a softer tone. The pet name took you by surprise. A muffled whine escaped your lips. You hadn’t realized you made the sound until you heard it. He held your chin, stopping you from looking away.

You quickly crossed your legs, trying to ignore the way he was making you feel. He brushed a piece of hair out of your face.

“I guess we’ll just have to find a way to loosen you up then.” He teased. The words went straight to your core.

Tyler watched the way you swallowed as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I need to know if you’re okay with this, honey. Gotta use your words,” he coaxed you.

“Please, Tyler,” you begged him.

He smirked and grabbed your hips. He effortlessly picked you up and sat you on the edge of the desk. “You were distracting me so badly when I was giving my lecture. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” He said, toying with the hem of your skirt.

Tyler didn’t believe his ears when he heard you whimper. His eyes shot up to lock onto yours. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take real good care of you.” He assured you.

He pressed sloppy kisses along your jawline. You raked your fingers down Tyler’s back. He continued to play with the fabric of your skirt. With a burst of confidence, you grabbed his hand and placed it on your bare upper thigh, under your skirt.

Tyler stopped kissing you. A cocky grin grew on his face. “That was so fuckin’ hot,” he groaned, kissing your lips. You hungrily kissed him back. His thumb caressed the inside of your thigh.

Following your lead, he let his hand sneak higher up your leg. He could feel you getting more desperate. As his hand got closer to where you wanted him most, he could feel your skin growing hot.

He ran his thumb over your panties, feeling a small wet spot. Your moan was muffled as he kissed you.

He started to pull your panties to the side, and you both heard the doorknob start to jiggle.

You both quickly pulled apart, and he set you on the ground. You managed to quickly smooth out your skirt and grab your backpack.

The door opened, and you recognized one of your classmates. “Hey, welcome in,” Tyler waved at them, pretending he wasn’t pissed that you got interrupted.

You watched as Tyler discreetly wiped his hand on the back of his jeans. “Those were all the questions I had. Thank you for your help.” You thanked Tyler before rushing out the door.

Tyler wanted to run after you, but he couldn’t now that someone was watching.

You practically ran back to your apartment. You didn’t want to show your face. Of course, no one knew about your meeting with Tyler, but you felt like everyone knew.

You were worried that other student found the whole thing suspicious. And what if he told your classmates or Dr. Hannigan? Soon, the whole campus would know you were the girl that tried to fuck a guest lecturer.

You spent the evening binge watching your favorite tv show. You hoped it would distract you from your embarrassment, but it didn’t. You were brought out of your thoughts when you got another email from Dr. Hannigan.

“Good evening class. I’m glad you all enjoyed the guest lecturer today. Mr. Owens told me he was very impressed by all of you and your interesting questions. I forgot to mention it in class, but his team currently is seeking an intern to work with them over spring break. I highly recommend that all of you apply. You can email Mr. Owens at tyowens@gmail.com. Best, Dr. Hannigan.”

You stared at the email address, deciding what to do. It would be a great opportunity. Tyler could really teach you a lot. But now, the thought of seeing Tyler made you want to hide in your bed.

You quickly deleted the email, so you couldn’t change your mind and went to bed.

The next two weeks were completely normal. You’d almost completely forgotten about your almost-hookup with Tyler. The only time he popped in your head was when you were lying awake at night. You couldn’t get the thoughts of his fingers out of your head.

It was all fine. Until, Dr. Hannigan stopped you after class.

“Is this about my assignment? I know it was a few hours late. I’ve just been a little distracted recently. It won’t happen again.” You quickly apologized.

Dr. Hannigan shook her head. “Mr. Owens reached out to me about you.” She told you. You panicked.

“What did he say?” You asked, trying to not sound too desperate.

There was no reason for Tyler to tell Dr. Hannigan about your almost-quickie. What if there were cameras? What if she knew? What if you got expelled? Your mind raced with different worst case scenarios.

“He said he was expecting you to apply for the internship, but he didn’t see an application from you. He was really impressed with your midterm paper, and he said the internship was yours if you wanted it. I think this would be a great opportunity for you, but it’s up to you. So, what should I tell him?” She asked you.

You were extremely flattered. Tyler wasn’t trying to avoid you. In fact, he basically had handpicked you to come work with him. You could turn it down.

“You can tell him I would love the opportunity.” You said, smiling at her.

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[iamgonnagetyouback]

FORGOTTEN — 1.3K words

꒰📷꒱ ! IN WHICH you give the marauders the silent treatment, although soon forgiveness starts with remus—and ends with a perfectly plotted plan to make the others grovel

warnings/tags ・・[hurt!reader], established relationship, werewolf reveal, remus gets forgiven (barely), petty!reader toward the rest of the marauders, groveling to come, fluff after angst parts ・・part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4

The days that followed the disastrous date at Madam Puddifoot’s were heavy with tension. You had made a decision. You would avoid the boys—every single one of them—and show them how much they’d hurt you. And for the most part, you succeeded.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

In Potions, you were paired with James, as always. Normally, the two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, joking and laughing as you completed the lesson with ease. But today, you kept your responses clipped and cold, answering only the necessary study-related questions.

"Hand me the crushed fluxweed?" James asked hesitantly, his voice low as he glanced over at you.

You handed him the jar without a word, not even bothering to look at him.

James frowned, his usual exuberance fading. “Did you… finish the notes for the essay?”

“Yes,” you replied curtly, your tone devoid of any warmth.

He waited for you to elaborate, maybe even make a joke, but you didn’t. The disappointment on his face was painfully clear, and you could feel his gaze on you, trying to find a way to break the ice. But you didn’t give him a chance. You weren’t ready. Not yet.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The library was usually your refuge, a place where you could escape the chaos of the castle and study in peace. But today, it wasn’t the peaceful haven you needed. Sirius found you, of course he did. He always had a way of knowing where you were.

He slid into the chair across from you, his signature smirk in place, but there was an underlying nervousness in his eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “Fancy running into you here. Been thinking—”

You didn’t look up from your textbook, flipping a page without so much as acknowledging his presence.

Sirius faltered, but tried again. “We really should talk, y’know. I mean, I know we messed up, but maybe we can—”

Silence.

You didn’t even glance at him. Not a word.

He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, I get it. You’re mad. But ignoring me isn’t gonna make it better, love.”

Still, you remained focused on the words in front of you, pretending to be engrossed in the chapter on advanced defensive spells. You could feel him staring at you, waiting, but you refused to give in. Eventually, Sirius stood up, his defeated sigh echoing in the quiet library as he walked away.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Transfiguration class was no different. You and Peter were assigned partners, as you often were, but this time the usual banter between the two of you was replaced with awkward silence. Peter kept glancing at you, his brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to catch your eye.

“So, uh… we should probably start with the incantation?” Peter said cautiously, his voice soft.

You nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

He fumbled with his wand, casting a glance your way. “I-I know we need to talk, about… y’know, the other night and all that, but—”

“No,” you said simply, your voice quiet but firm, eyes trained on the desk in front of you.

Peter swallowed hard, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. You saw him look down, his expression crestfallen, but you forced yourself to stay quiet. Each word spoken to them felt like a crack in the walls you were trying to build around your heart. So, for now, silence was the only way to protect yourself.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

But then there was Remus. The one who hadn’t tried at all. The one who didn’t come looking for you, didn’t send you a note, didn’t even attempt to talk to you. And that hurt more than anything else.

The silence from him was deafening.

It was days later, sitting in the library, when you saw him. Remus was hunched over a pile of books, looking pale and exhausted, a fresh bandage peeking out from beneath his sleeve. His eyes were hollow, dark circles marring his handsome face, and your heart clenched at the sight. He looked worse than usual. Like something had broken inside him.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your feet carried you across the room toward him.

“Remus,” you said, your voice cutting through the stillness of the library like a knife.

Remus flinched at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up in shock. His eyes widened as he saw you standing there, but he didn’t speak, too stunned by your sudden appearance.

You didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Are you a werewolf?”

The color drained from his face, and he froze, his mouth opening and closing as if the words had been ripped from him. He stammered, his eyes wide with panic. “I-I… I—”

“Don’t lie to me, Remus,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the scars, the excuses, the way the boys cover for you. I’ve been putting it together for a while, but I—” You swallowed, your throat tight. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

Remus looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hands shaking slightly. “I didn’t… I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to—”

“Why?” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t any of you tell me? Do you think I wouldn’t have cared? Do you think I wouldn’t have loved you still?”

His face twisted in anguish, and he looked away, unable to meet your eyes. “Because you wouldn’t have understood. No one ever understands.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Remus!” you snapped, your voice filled with hurt. “I deserved to know the truth. I thought we were in this together. I thought we were… I thought you trusted me.”

He looked up then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I do trust you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “But… I’m a monster, Y/N. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to… be afraid of me.”

You felt your heart shatter at his words. You stepped closer, kneeling in front of him and gently taking his hands in yours. “Remus, you’re not a monster. You’ve never been a monster to me.” Your voice softened, filled with the love you had been holding back for days. “I love you. All of you. Even the parts you think are too broken to love.”

His breath hitched, and you could see the disbelief in his eyes. “You… you don’t hate me?”

“Hate you?” You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “Remus, I’m hurt. I’m hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. That you kept this from me. But I could never hate you.”

He let out a shuddering breath, his whole body trembling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you.”

You leaned forward and gently pressed your lips to his, feeling the tension in his body melt away as he kissed you back. The kiss was soft, filled with unspoken apologies and forgiveness. When you pulled away, Remus looked at you like you were something he didn’t deserve, but desperately wanted to hold on to.

“Forgive the boys too,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “They didn’t want to hurt you either.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Not before I make them grovel a bit first.”

Remus let out a soft chuckle, his smile the first genuine one you had seen in days. “You’re evil.”

You grinned, leaning in for another kiss. “Not as evil as you for keeping this secret from me.”

As your lips met again, Remus’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and for the first time in days, the weight of everything seemed to lift.

When you finally pulled back, Remus gave you a shy, almost nervous smile. “You’re not scared?”

You scoffed playfully, rolling your eyes. “Oh please, Remus. I’ve seen you fold your socks. You’re hardly terrifying.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into another sweet, lingering kiss, the warmth between you chasing away all the pain.

[seospicybin]

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE

ROUND 1

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Related chapters: Round 2.

Synopsis: Let's play two truths and a lie, and here goes the first thing about you: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend, Minho. (9k words)

Author's note: It's a quick one-shot I made like a year ago but pls enjoy it nonetheless 😊

Content warning: Infidelity.

This is how you play two truths and a lie. You share three statements about you, two being true and one false, and people must determine which is which.

-

So here goes the first statement: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend.

A few months ago, you came to the city for your new job and were placed in a housing with a group of unbearable people. Since you've just started working, you tried looking at another option to get a temporary place to stay until you're financially stable enough to rent an apartment.

Long story short, a friend of a friend introduced you to Kim who happened to have an extra room you can rent. She owns the apartment and does not necessarily need the money, she offered her room for the sole reason which is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of that is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of person every day and for that, you're grateful for her.

After a week of living as roommates, you learn that Kim is just as graceful as her occupation, a ballet dancer. She's beautiful, kind-hearted, amicable, and ultimately, a very attentive roommate.

The room you're staying in was supposedly her private dance studio but she uses the living room to practice now and you have to adjust yourself to the huge mirror covering one side of the wall in your room.

Not long after that, Minho comes into the picture. A sharp nose, sharp jaws, and feline eyes, a beautiful face that only reminds you that the world is unfair to some people, including you.

"This is Minho," Kim introduces him with a smile

The second your eyes lock in a gaze with him, you feel an instant attraction and it intensifies as he stares back into your eyes.

"My boyfriend," Kim adds a little too late.

It's funny that the word boyfriend doesn't stop you from being attracted to him, if anything, you want him more than before.

Kim and Minho have been together for two years now and they met at the dance academy which explains a lot of things, including Minho's lean and toned body.

How do you know? Because sometimes he stays over and on more than one occasion, you found him walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a white towel hanging lowly around his waist.

That's also when you learn that this attraction is strictly physical, your uterus is acting up when you see him, and lewd thoughts rush through your head. It's all biological. There's no way you want to pursue him romantically, you couldn't even think of a person more deserving to be with him than Kim. They're both beautiful and talented dancers, oftentimes, you get so envious because they have such a lovely relationship.

Like tonight, you hear their laughter the second you step into the apartment, finding Kim and Minho in the kitchen just casually talking to each other while sharing a bowl of fruits. You love how simple yet endearing their interaction is.

"Hey, you're home!" Kim says with a sweet, welcoming smile.

You wave your hand at her and briefly at Minho, "Hi, everyone!" You awkwardly say, feeling like you're interrupting them.

"Have you had dinner?" Kim asks, attentive as always.

"Yeah, I grabbed dinner after work," you lie, but you can always creep your way to the fridge late at night for dinner.

"There's a pie in the fridge. Help yourself to some dessert," she sweetly offers then shoves a piece of blueberry into her mouth.

Without having to look, you can see how Minho looks at you, he has this deep, intense gaze that makes you the slightest bit intimidated.

"I will, thanks," you hurriedly respond, wanting the interaction to end as soon as possible, "I'll just... get into my room."

"Yeah, you should rest," Kim softly mutters.

You hoist your bag higher on your shoulder and head to your room, before you get in, you mutter to them, "Night, guys."

"Night," Kim cheerily says.

You hurriedly get in and catch a glimpse of Minho with his intense stare a second before the door completely closes and clicks in place.

The trick to surviving the night is to wait until they get into the bedroom and put headphones on as you come out of yours, not only to avoid hearing unwanted noises, but you reckon it's only right to take the extra measure to respect their privacy.

As you're listening and catching glimpses of the movie playing on your phone, you walk around the kitchen to prepare your simple, unhealthy dinner: a cup of noodles and a can of soda.

You're quietly eating your dinner by the kitchen counter with the headphones still on and once you finished, you treat yourself to a slice of pie, then put the rest of the pie back into the fridge.

It gets messy as you're munching on the pie while watching the movie on your phone. The cherry filling gets all over your fingers and you hurriedly lick it off before it gets—

"Oh, my God!" You shriek in surprise, seeing someone standing by the fridge. Once you realize it's Minho, you break into laughter.

"I'm just getting a bottle of water," he says, his face illuminated by the glow of the fridge lights.

"I'm sorry," you say while clutching your chest, and a second later, regret for saying it when he should be the one apologizing.

There's something different in the way Minho looks at you, he has one corner of his mouth raised higher than the other, giving you the impression that he's thinking of filthy things when he looks at you like that. He's giving you that look now and it does certain things to you.

He then stops leaning against the fridge, taking the bottle of water as he walks back to the bedroom, leaving his signature faint smirk on the back of your head.

The signals are there, they're subtle yet constantly pinging, asking you to respond. For now, you're going to ignore it like you always do and continue existing like you're not sharing the same space with him.

-

Statement number two: You believe Minho wants to fuck you too.

At first, you thought you imagined it, you want to fuck him so you started being delusional and thinking that he wants to fuck you too. Once you started paying attention though, you realized that what he's been doing to you meant something or some sort of message he tried to deliver.

The first occurrence that came to your realization is when the two of you were in the kitchen, you were enjoying your yoghurt and he suddenly came behind you to get something from the drawer that happened to be blocked by your body. Instead of telling you to step aside, he made you stand there as his hand curved around your waist to get something out of a drawer.

From there, you noticed a lot of things he did, the way he briefly rested his hand on the small of your back as he walked past behind you, his hand that would often brush a part of your body when the two of you are next to each other or the way he would speak close to your ear as if he's seeking to be close to you. Simply put, he always tries to make physical contact with you.

The scariest part of it is not the possibility that the two of you will eventually get caught, but how unfazed he is even when his girlfriend is there. Like that night where the three of you shared the sofa and somehow, his hand found your shoulder and instead of retreating, he continued to caress the nape of your neck with his knuckle.

However, what happens tonight is what makes you believe that he wants the same thing.

After making sure that you're the only one still awake in the vicinity, you make your way to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower to help you relax and sleep faster. You skip on using the hairdryer since it'll make too much noise and tiptoe your way back to your bedroom.

In the middle of putting on your clothes, you realize that you left the door ajar and you notice Minho is watching through the reflection in the mirror.

Instead of stopping or rushing to close the door, you pretend to not see him there and continue, turning your body to the side, showcasing every curve of your body through the reflection in the mirror.

You arch your back as you put on the night dress over your head and slowly slip yourself in it, shimmying your body as you pull the dress down with your hands. Then you look at him through the reflection in the mirror and make it known that you're aware of his presence.

From the crooked grin on his face, you can tell that Minho is pleased to be caught watching you and you received his signal loud and clear: He wants to fuck you too.

But sadly, tonight's show is over so you walk to the door and close it.

-

Friday afternoon, Kim barges into your room and she rarely comes into your room without knocking on your door. Seeing that she's carrying a dress in her hand, you guess she needs your opinions on her clothing choices.

You sit on the bed and take your headphones off, "What's up, Kim?"

She stands at the end of the bed and lifts the dress with both hands, "What do you think?" She asks.

It's a mini dress with spaghetti straps in a deep purple color and it's a nice dress, you're just not sure if it fits Kim's style that well, she usually opts for dresses with flaring hem and floral prints.

"It's nice, Kim," you say but skip on giving her the detailed explanation.

She puts the dress close to her body and hugs it, "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," you shortly reply, even though it doesn't fit her style well, it certainly will look good on her.

"Good!" She shortly says, handing the dress to you, "Cause you'll be wearing it.

Somehow, you reach for it and awkwardly hold it in front of you, "W-why? Why me?"

Kim goes to your vanity table and flips open your jewelry box, she holds your earrings one by one to find ones that would match the dress.

"You're coming with me to this party," she says, leaving a lot of details in her answer.

"What party?"

"Party at my friend's," she simply answers, deciding on the gold small hoop earrings.

But that's against your plan, you want to steer clear of Minho and party at Kim's friend means that he'd likely be there too.

"Kim, I don't think that's a good idea," you tell her.

She then leans against the desk in your room and crosses her arm together in front of her, "These past few days you refused to hang out with me so you have to hang out with me tonight."

So Kim knows that you've been purposely avoiding her but you need to explain that it's not because of her, "But that's not—"

"Nuh-uh!" She quickly cuts you off again, "Tonight you're going to the party with me," she decides on her own, not accepting any more excuses from you.

"Is it okay though? I mean... it's your friend's party. I don't want to intrude," you meekly say while playing with the strap of the dress.

"Why would it not be okay?" She says, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, "Besides I want to introduce you to Gaspard."

Maybe you owe this one to Kim and hearing a guy's name piques your interest, "And who is Gaspard?"

"A cute guy," she shortly answers with a sly grin on her heart-shaped face, "And you'll like him."

It's not like Minho's presence would bother you that much and Kim needs you, she wants you there, therefore, as a good roommate, you should be there.

"Yeah, okay, I'm in the mood to meet a cute guy tonight," you tell her, not forgetting to show enthusiasm as well.

"That's the spirit!" Kim says with a wide grin dancing on her face.

Well, since you'll be there and possibly meet Minho, Gaspard better be a cute distraction for real.

-

The taxi pulls up in front of a house and you reckon it's where the party at from how many cars are parked outside and the faint thumping of the music playing inside.

The fact that you get here by taxi only means that there's no Minho so you can relax, for now.

Kim excitedly links her arm with you as you both walk into the house and you expect a party with laid-back music and endless glasses of wine but the second you step inside, upbeat music is blasting from around the house and everyone is having beers from red plastic cups.

The party is not what you imagined it would be, but it's what you need.

Kim cranes her neck to find her friends and once she finds them, she raises her hand to signal her arrival to them.

"Come on! Let's meet my friends!" She says.

Please, God, let him be a cute distraction! You repeatedly mutter in your heart as she drags you with her to meet her friends who are gathered in what you guess is a rec room in the house.

When Kim's friends finally come to sight, you put on a smile as you quietly guess which one of them is Gaspard. Kim goes to hug them one by one before introducing you to them.

"This is Ellie, Jena, Paul..." she introduces her friends back to you one by as the mentioned person warmly greets you.

"And Minho," someone adds from behind you.

You immediately look over your shoulder to see Minho standing there, Kim gently slaps his shoulder in response and laughs.

"This is not a roll call, honey," Kim says with a smile and then leans in to give Minho a quick peck on the lips.

Minho is already here and there's no Gaspard yet. No Gaspard means there'll be no distraction. You keep your smile on even though you're slowly descending into distress.

"There he is!" Kim exclaims, pointing at something behind you.

You reflexively turn on your heels and see a tall man with brown hair, striking green eyes, and a scintillating smile. This man will make the perfect distraction.

Please let this man be Gaspard, you deeply wish inside your heart.

Kim comes to your side and puts her arm around you, "This is the man I told you about," she says.

"I hope you only told her nice things about me," Gaspard says with a sly grin that makes his whole face light up.

The universe heard your plea and decided to make it true for you, this is Gaspard, the perfect distraction you want and need.

"Holyfuck..." you lowly mutter in disbelief.

"What's that?" Kim asks, hearing you saying something but doesn't quite catch it.

You've already forgotten where you are and what you're doing. And Minho? Who is Minho? You let out a chuckle and shake these silly thoughts away.

"So this is Gaspard, huh?" You say in all confidence.

"That is me," he answers, returning the confidence with a wide smile, "I'm better than you expected, I guess?"

Gaspard is confident and then gets shy in the next minute which you find charming, you smile at him and say, "I need more time to decide on that."

"That's fair," Gaspard says, offering his hand at you.

You think he's just going to shake your hand but he takes you into the crowd gathered in the middle of the room, dancing.

"A fair warning, I'm a bad dancer," you warn him as he takes your hands in his and makes you stand facing him.

"We still have time to decide on that," he pokes fun at you, taking you by the waist and pulling you close to his front.

Kim is right, Gaspard is cute and you like him already. He has just the right amount of facial hair and it grazes your cheek whenever he leans in to whisper into your ear, giving you a tingling feeling inside and outside.

After a few moments though, you find yourself panting from dancing with him. You should've known this would happen when you're dancing with a real dancer.

Since Gaspard is way taller than you, you have to put your arm around his shoulder and stand on your tiptoe to whisper to his ear, "Hey, how about we get drinks?"

"Drinks?" He asks you in confirmation since the mix of loud music and chatter is filling the room.

"Yeah," you answer while repeatedly nodding your head.

He doesn't say anything but takes your hand and leads the way through the crowd to the kitchen where bottles of liquor are strewn around on the kitchen island.

You intently watch as Gaspard is excitingly making you his special concoction. He finishes it off with a spritz of lemon before handing it to you.

"Thank you," you mutter in gratitude.

"Come on. Taste it!" He encourages you, curious of what you think of his drink-mixing skill.

Well, you've been staring at it long enough to give him the impression that you hesitate to drink it. You hurriedly take a small sip and you don't even have to lie, it's good.

"Wow!" You gasp, impressed with the drink he made.

"I know," he confidently says with a smirk and drinks his drink.

It's so refreshing and sweet like it has no alcohol at all, you hurriedly take another sip.

"It's really good," you tell him.

"Thank you," he says with a grin.

He then offers his hand at you, "Let's find somewhere to talk?"

You take his hand without question, letting him take you wherever he wants because it seems like he knows where he's going. He leads you to the backyard where everyone is hanging out by the pool.

"Hey, you!"

Recognizing the voice, your head snaps toward the source, and see Kim waving her hand at you from the long sofa that curved around a fancy fireplace.

You stop walking on your track and end up leading Gaspard there. You unconsciously let out a sigh of relief after seeing that there's no Minho there.

"Oh, hey," you greet back.

Kim scoots to the side to make space for you on the sofa, "Where have you guys been?"

"Oh, we were just dancing and he made me a drink," you honestly answer, not forgetting to show her the drink in your hand.

"And where were you going to take her, Gaspard?" Kim asks with eyes squinted at him.

"Anywhere but here," he jokingly answers.

"Well, since you guys just got here, it's your turn to play!" Someone says, you can't remember what her name is but she's one of the friends Kim introduced earlier.

"Turn to play? What?" You ask in confusion.

"Two truths and a lie," someone says.

You feel bad for not being able to remember their names, Gaspard's influence is that powerful on you.

"You know how to play, right?" Kim asks.

It's not about whether you know how to play or not, it's just so unexpected that these talented, gorgeous dancers like to play this kind of game at parties.

"Yes, I do," you answer.

Kim turns on the sofa to face you and looks at you in anticipation, "Okay then. Shoot!"

"Right now?"

"Yes," Kim shortly answers with a chuckle.

You admire their eagerness whether for the game or to know something about you, you rake your brain to think of three things about you and one of them should be a lie that would likely fool them good.

"Okay first is uhm... I'm allergic to cats," you share.

There's no response from them but you can see how they're looking at you and probably every detailed facial expression you make that will give away hints about whether you're lying or not.

"Second thing is my mom has a twin," you confidently share with a faint smile.

"Ah," Kim lowly gasps and you guess because you've shared this information with her before.

"Last thing is..." you look around as you think of the last thing to share with them.

You eventually turn to the side and see Gaspard smiling at you, "I think Gaspard is cute," you share the third thing about you.

"That's the one! That's the lie!" Someone excitedly guesses, and you suddenly remember his name as Paul.

You laugh because Gaspard looks so offended by his friend, "No, it's not a lie," you quickly defend him.

Gaspard shoots him a glare and triumphantly laughs, "Just drink, man!"

Paul drinks his beer in defeat.

"I must say the second one is the lie," the girl says again, still can't remember her name though.

"No. Her mom has a fraternal twin," Kim says, learning that information from you on the first day you moved into her apartment.

"Drink up, Jena!" Kim tells her that she guessed wrong and not wasting time but drinks her beer as a punishment.

"Oh, so you're not allergic to cats?" Gaspard asks.

"No, I'm not. I like cats," you answer.

He then sighs in relief, "That's great because I have a cat."

"Oh, wow?!" You utter in disbelief.

Other than being a great distraction, you share a lot in common with Gaspard and that says something.

"I also have cats," someone adds, joining in on the circle.

You can tell by the voice that it's the man you've been trying to avoid seeing tonight. You remain calm and have a sip of your drink.

"Yes, Minho, we all know you're a cat daddy," Jena says, finally knowing her name from Kim.

Kim groans and tosses a cushion at Jena, "Don't say that!"

Minho takes a gulp of Kim's drink and sits with his back reclined and his legs spread open, even his sitting position oozing with confidence and you eat that shit up.

You feel like slapping your face at that thought and have another sip to swallow that thought down.

"Is it my turn to play?" Minho asks around.

Jena shrugs since no one is taking the turn to play, "Yeah, sure, go ahead."

Minho softly scratches his chin before speaking, "I want to kiss someone tonight."

He starts easy but from the faint smirk on his face, you can tell he's brewing something in his mind.

"That someone is not my girlfriend," he calmly says.

Welp, there you go! Minho acts like he didn't just drop a shocking statement while his girlfriend is sitting prettily next to him.

You glance at Kim and she looks calm, but you can see that her jaws are slightly clenched. She's not happy so Minho should stop it.

But instead of calming his girlfriend, Minho looks at you and continues to share the third statement, "The person I want to kiss is one of you."

Your heart skips a beat because he keeps looking right at you and making it obvious for everyone to see who it is. All of a sudden, you feel the urge to exit this scene but walking out only makes it even more obvious.

Minho is sick of doing this to you and Kim, it's like he doesn't even care what it can do to either you or Kim.

"Oh, Minho, that's..." Paul hisses, not able to finish his sentence.

"Why, Paul?" Minho daringly asks him.

"Nothing," Paul says while scratching his head.

Minho leans forward and says, "It's you, Paul. It's you who I want to kiss."

Paul's tense face melts in a second and everyone bursts out laughing, "Fuck you, man!"

"It's you. I want to kiss you," Minho taunts him more, throwing himself at him and jokingly tries to kiss him.

Paul keeps pushing him away, sloshing his drink as he tries to dodge Minho's kiss while everyone else is laughing at them.

Even though it turns out to be a joke, you feel sick in the stomach and feel the need to get out of here.

"I need to go to the restroom," you mutter, getting up from the sofa.

Gaspard puts down his drink, "I can show you—"

"It's okay. I can go by myself," you tell him off, you regret being so crass but you're sure he'll understand.

"Okay," he says, sitting back down on the sofa.

While clutching the hem of your dress, you head back inside the house and find the bathroom to only queue to get inside, you decide to try on the second floor. You can easily find the bathroom as it's wedged between two bedrooms.

It's a party, you're sure the host would be okay with you using their bathroom, you don't even need to pee or something, you just need a space to vent.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you keep muttering to the reflection in the mirror.

When you touch your neck, you can feel a sheen of sweat there so you run your hands under the cold water and tap it to your neck.

This is the first time you realize what it'll do to you when it comes to following your desire. You'll ruin not only their relationship but also your friendship with Kim and she's been nothing but good to you.

"Fuck!" You mutter once again as you splash cold water on your face like it would help to put some sense into you.

Coming here was a bad idea!

But you're already here so you only need to stick to your plan, staying away from Minho and sticking with Gaspard. You allow yourself to spend a few more minutes just to compose yourself before coming out of the bathroom.

As you're about to climb down the stairs, the plan comes to a failure.

You see Minho is coming up the stairs and he seems to be looking for you as well from the way he stops once he finds you.

Instead of avoiding him as you planned, you feel the need to confront him about what happened a while ago. You grab the front of his shirt and take him into one of the bedrooms. The first one is locked so you try the other one and it's empty.

Once both of you are inside, you slam the door shut and push him against it.

"What the hell are you doing?" You aggressively ask, pushing his chest until his back hits the door.

"What? What am I doing?" He plays innocent but that smirk knows it all.

You slap his chest with both of your hands now but all you can feel is how firm his pecs are.

"You just don't care, do you?"

He puts his hands on each side of your waist and draws you closer, not hesitating to plant his mouth on your jaw.

"Minho!" You whine, ending up getting trapped in his hold with his arms wrapped tightly around you.

He glides his lips up and presses a kiss there on the skin under your ear, sending a tingling down your spine as his warm breath brushes your skin.

You helplessly dodge away from his lips yet somehow, he manages to capture your lips in a kiss and oh, you hate it so much! You hate how you like the way he kisses you, so passionately and hungrily, he makes it known that he wants it so much.

Okay, maybe the kiss is a slip-up and you hurriedly pull yourself out of it. You push him and pull away from the kiss.

"You know we can't do this," you mutter but you're looking at his lips, tempted to kiss him again.

He ignores your words and kisses you again, and you fall into it again. You try harder this time and break the kiss.

"Minho!" You whine, looking away to not let the temptation win again.

Using it as an opportunity, Minho plants his mouth on your ear and nibbles on it, peeling a layer off of your sanity which brings you to slip down the slope again.

Your lips are colliding again, harder and deeper, causing even more damage than the previous one as his hands go all over you and pull the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

The two logics in your head are clashing against each other, the one wants to satisfy this desire and the other wants to get out of this situation altogether. If you follow the former then at least, your curiosity will be fulfilled and if you follow the latter, then you get to keep the peace.

As you are caught in that inner battle, you blank out and stiffen against him.

"We have to stop," you mutter to him.

But is that what you want? To stop when you already have your toes dipped in the water?

Minho also takes a moment to assess the situation, he looks at you with his lips red and wet, "it has to stop," he says in agreement.

You take a step back and feel the sudden detachment as he lets go of you and you can't believe that he agrees right away that this is the better decision. You can't help but think that he doesn't want you enough.

He stays standing there, leaning against the door and looking at you with his eyes dark and wide with lust.

"So what do we do now?"

That's such a wrong thing to ask you because what you want to do now is be selfish for the night, for one fucking night, and if you're going to do it, you may as well go all in, right?

Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?

"Fuck!" you heavily sigh and take down the straps of your dress, sending your breasts spilling out of the front.

"Suck my tits," you order.

It takes Minho a moment to process it and when he finally catches on that you've made up your mind, he goes for it. He comes at you full speed, hands off the brake and head first.

His mouth lathers at your breasts before sucking at them like you asked, taking them in turns, and leaving them wet with his saliva.

"Nibble on my nipples," you command.

You look down to watch him obeying you, using his tongue to nibble on your blossoming buds and alternating it with his teeth next.

"Oh, fuck," you breathlessly mutter as he sucks hard on your nipple.

While his mouth is busy latching on your breasts, his hands are snaking to the back and kneading at your asscheeks, caressing them with his fingers, and teasing your underwear.

This feels so wrong yet so good, you have your inner battle still but your logic is being defeated by your body's needs. You pull him by the shoulder and make him kiss you again so you'll stop thinking.

The rattles on the door startle you both and Minho immediately pushes the door with his back, then holds the knob to not let anyone in. Whoever tries to get it seems to figure out that the room is occupied.

"Sorry," someone says from behind the door.

Minho immediately locks the door while you take a step back from him, he gives you that look again, the kind of look that sees right through you and knows that you feel conflicted inside.

"Kim is my good friend," you tell him, feeling a pang of sadness in your chest that it aches.

He comes at you again and kisses you in which you're returning with the same eagerness. He seems to know that it's the only way to make you stop talking and thinking altogether. He pulls you closer than before his hands snaking to your rear, cupping the ample flesh in his hand.

"This is terrible," you mutter as you break the kiss so you can take your underwear off.

"This is terrible..." you mutter again, pulling him close by the waistband of his jeans and proceeding to unzip his fly open, "Betraying her like this."

It's like your body has a mind of its own, it's doing the opposite of what you're saying.

You impatiently take his semi-hard out of its confine and stroke it in your hand, "terrible," you emphasize the word and nail it deep into your head.

Minho doesn't say anything but follows what your body wants, he kisses you again, sloppily with his hands mindlessly roaming around your body.

"Touch me there," you whisper into him.

Without looking, his hand knows where to go. It goes to where you want him to be, going to the front to that wetness between your legs.

"Put your fingers in."

Minho runs his fingers down your slit repeatedly before inserting his finger into you. One digit is enough to make you moan in pleasure as he pumps it in and out of you.

"Add one more."

He draws his finger out and brings his index and middle fingers, shoving them into your mouth to wet them with your saliva. He brings them back to your entrance and slowly pushes them inside.

"Fuck, oh..." you moan, burying your head in his neck.

Two fingers are going in and out of you and you're already losing it. You start to think of what his cock would be like inside you as it feels hot and hard in your hand, pulsating with so much desire.

His lips nestle in your neck, kissing and lightly sucking on the skin as your body clings to him for support.

"Curl them— Oh!"

Minho knows what to do, he curls his fingers and carefully finds that spot that makes you whine and moan at the same time, and the lewd noise echoes in the dimly lit room.

You look over your shoulder to locate the bed and start steering his body there, walking backward without having to take hands off of each other.

He slowly pulls out and breaks the kiss only to pull your dress up, making the dress hunched around your waist. You plop down onto the bed and get on, you take a moment to continue undoing his jeans and pull it down enough to let his erection free.

Without thinking, you put his cock into your mouth, take him as much as you can and compensate for the rest you can't take with your hand. You lick and suck, alternating those two as you enjoy every inch of his delicious length with your mouth.

Minho tangles his hand in your hair and gently tugs at it, "I feel so guilty," he says.

Oh, so he's not that selfish after all but the thought of him thinking of his girlfriend with his cock deep in your mouth doesn't make you jealous at all, it makes you feel more aroused than before.

"Oh, so guilty," he says between his hoarse, low moans as he stares back into your eyes.

You slowly pull away and replace your mouth with your hand, restlessly pumping his swollen cock.

"You should be," you tell him, sticking your tongue out of your mouth and swirling it around the pink tip of his cock.

All of a sudden, he grabs your hand and takes it away from his length, he then takes your other hand to pin it against the bed. He hovers above you as he kisses you again, his tongue prying open your mouth to taste more of you.

You can feel him rubbing his length between your folds and you spread your legs open so he can do it more, making you drenched than you already are.

It's obvious to you now that you want him, you want him so bad and what you want is only inches away from you, and you can feel how much he wants you.

"Put it in," you breathlessly say against his lips.

Minho wastes no time to position himself between your legs. He then holds his cock, lubricating it with your essence and giving it a few pumps to finally aims it toward your entrance.

The more time he takes to be inside you, the more impatient you get.

"Put it deep inside me," you demand, opening your legs wider for him.

Yet Minho keeps teasing your entrance, heightening your anticipation and the tension in the room, making you arching your back at him.

When he finally pushes in, he only inserts the tip. It's just the tip but Gosh! It feels good already when he starts thrusting at a slow, steady pace.

"That's it," you say, keeping your waist afloat to take more of him, "all the way in."

Minho is just as impatient. He takes your wish as his command and pushes the rest of his length into you, hitting you deep inside that you blank out and you can't hear your own scream of pleasure.

It only registered to you now that it's all real once you take a look at how his cock is fully buried deep inside you and there's nothing like the feeling of finally having your desire fulfilled. Minho feels so good inside you, every inch of his length fills you perfectly like he was made just for you.

"Oh..." you loudly moan as he starts moving.

You're in and out of you at how hard he's thrusting into you that it reverberates throughout your body and in the middle of it, you manage to look at him, his face is masked with pleasure from the way his eyes are half shut and his lips pressed together.

Maybe the two of you want it so much that the sex feels rushed and a little rough, almost animalistic even. You can feel you're about to cum and so is he.

"Don't cum inside," you warn him before bringing his head close for a sloppy kiss on his lips.

In return, Minho goes sloppy with his thrusts that the bed quakes along with his movements and you're gripping the sheet to hold on to. He's twitching inside you and your legs are shaking. The knot in your stomach keeps tightening and you feel like exploding at any minute now.

He incessantly thrusts into you while you keep gripping the sheet, he probably senses that you're on the brink of climaxing and takes you there, sending you into your release with your eyes screwed shut, seeing white. He cums not long after you and keeps himself deep into you, completely forgetting your warning.

When it occurs to you that he completely forgot about your warning, you slowly push him away and force him to pull out of you.

"I told you not to cum inside," you whine.

Minho's eyes fixated on the way his cum drips out of you, pearly white and glistening wet, inviting him to taste. He finds a way to solve it by settling his head between your legs and licking your mixed juices off of your cunt and not hesitating to swallow it. He sucks on your gushing hole before using his tongue to insert it, he makes sure to not leave any drop of his cum in you.

Watching him eating you and swallowing his own cum is getting you off in the best way, you suddenly don't mind it that much that he cum inside you. If anything, you want him to fill you so you get to watch him do it all over again.

"Stop, Minho! Stop!" You tell him, tugging at his hair to stop him from diving further into your wetness.

He abruptly stops and lifts his head with his mouth and chin glistening wet with your essence. You grab him by the front of his shirt and make him hover above you again. You know you already got what you want and it's time to stop.

What are you going to do now? You ask yourself.

Seize the chance. This is probably the last time you ever had this chance and this could be the one and only chance. You roll him over and straddle him, thinking of having him again for the last time, selfishly.

Taking a moment for this could be the only chance you get to do it, you look at him and his beautiful face, and you allow yourself to kiss his lips. You're running your hands down his clothed chest and patiently unbuttoning his shirt, then part it open to reveal his toned upper half body.

It's only fair if you get to touch him all over too so you do it, using your hands and your lips next, it's just you and miles and miles of his warm, honey skin.

Minho lets you do everything as he lays on his back, watches you kissing every inch of his abdomen, and eventually has him in your mouth again. He props his hands against the bed to see how your lips wrapped around his cock.

After a while, you suddenly pull out and gasp for air, "We have to stop."

He sits up on the bed and puts your hair away from your face, "But I don't want to stop," he says, then continues putting your hair away to the back so he can kiss your neck, chest, and breasts.

They're just words, they've been just words that you say in vain and have no effect to make you stop whatsoever. You only say that just to remind you that this feels so wrong but it feels good to do it.

You sit on his lap and position his cock at your entrance again, slowly, you lower yourself on him. You let out a mewl as you take him in little by little, feeling his girth stretching you out.

"Do you want to stop?" He asks you with his hands cradling your head in between.

"We have to," you sigh with your eyes closed, overwhelmed by his cock that buries deep inside you.

"I don't want to," he breathlessly says, holding you by the waist, guiding you to start moving.

Putting your arms around his shoulders for support, you're switching between pulsating and rolling your hips around him as he latches his lips on your neck and chest.

Somehow, he feels bigger and harder inside you, and he fills you better, therefore, you just want to keep feeling his length around you. However, in the middle of it, your logic fights to come out of you.

"This is wrong," you breathlessly mutter.

"Mmh-hmm," he hums against your lips, mindlessly answering to you.

"This is so wrong, Minho," you say again as you keep moving to chase your high.

If this is wrong then why it feels so good? If this is wrong then you never want to be right. If this is wrong then you want to be a sinner, forever.

"Oh, I can't do this anymore," you cry, it's unclear whether it's the body or your conscience speaking.

"Keep going, keep going," he repeatedly mutters through his gritted teeth, watching you bouncing on his cock.

The sex is more intense and harder than the previous one, you keep holding your breath even though you're running out of air. Your nails dug into his skin, your mouth locked with his lips, and you feel a sheen of sweat forming on your skin.

It all comes down to the one moment when everything hits you all at once. Other than the wave of dopamine and oxytocin that surge through your body, you feel good, you feel light and happy, but underneath that, you feel that bitter feeling, guilt that is gnawing and eating you alive from the inside.

You open your eyes and find Minho looking at you with a soft gaze and it feels tender that you feel like crying, or you're about to as you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

"Oh, God! What have I done?" You roughly brush the hair stuck to your moist forehead.

"It's okay," Minho says, trying to justify this act of betrayal.

"Oh, my God!" You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to stop you from crying.

Minho gently holds your chin and softly presses a kiss on your lips as if he's trying to take the pain away but that's useless because you caused this yourself and he's a part of the problem.

But his kiss no longer holds the same effect, you feel restless the more he kisses you so you slowly pull away and keep a safe space between you and him.

"Let's just stop," you say with a sigh and then rush to get off his lap. You lowly gasp from the sudden emptiness and once your feet touch the floor, you're staggering backward.

Then, you feel it, his hot cum that drips out of you and down your inner thigh.

"I can help you with that," Minho offers.

You immediately hold your hand up at him and firmly say, "Just stop!"

You start fixing your dress, putting your arm in the straps, and pulling them to your shoulders. You look around for your underwear and once you find it, you put it on.

"Kim can't know about this," you meekly say as you pull the hem of your dress and smooth them down.

There's no looking back at it now. You've got what you wanted and now it's time to move on. You turn the door knob and head out without saying anything else.

Rejoining the party downstairs, you immediately head to the kitchen to get a drink but on the way there, someone catches you by the hand.

"Come, dance with me!" Kim says with a grin, pulling you with her to the middle of the room.

"Kim, I–" you can't find anything to say to her without the guilt clogging your throat, "I need a drink."

"Here. Have mine!" She hands you her cup.

"I'll get us drinks and get back to you, okay?" You kindly refuse her but she won't let go of your hand.

"Oh, come on, it's my favorite song!" She pleads with her puppy eyes, making you feel worse than you already are.

Seeing her and how oblivious she is to what you and Minho have done is breaking your heart.

That brings you to the third and last statement: That will be the first and the last time you've had sex with Minho.

-

Things are going back to normal. Or that's what it seems to you.

You're still roommates with Kim and she's still oblivious about what you and Minho did behind her back which means he keeps true to his promise.

And yes, he still comes to the apartment but it doesn't bother you as it used to. You learn that your friendship with Kim is far more valuable than his boyfriend's cock, in fact, you've been taking her kindness for granted.

So for these past few days, you've been trying to avoid them as much as possible. You purposely come home late from work and if you do find them together in the apartment, you make excuses to stay in your bedroom.

Fewer interactions means fewer chances of this guilt from bringing you down further.

The new plan is to get your own place as soon as possible and for that to happen, you have to start looking for it.

Today, Gaspard offers to help you check a few places and it's also the perfect getaway than staying in the apartment. You quietly get dressed and slip out of your bedroom to find Kim catches you while dunking her teabag into her cup.

"Where are you going?" She asks.

You don't want to tell her about it yet that you plan on moving out soon so you make up an excuse on the spot, "Just getting a few things for work, yeah," you lie.

She tosses the teabag into the trash and uses a spoon to stir it, "Just getting a few things for work, huh?"

"Yeah, I need new work shoes," you lie again, seamlessly this time.

"And you think you don't need my help?"

"No, no," you hastily reply, "I just know how much you like staying in on the weekends."

"I would to go out on the weekend too."

Kim keeps misunderstanding you so you decide to tell her, "I'm going out with Gaspard," you admit, but keep the details from her.

Kim lets out a laugh and puts down her cup of tea, "Oh, my God! Why did you lie about it?"

"I don't know. It feels weird," you awkwardly answer.

"Why would it be weird? Cause he's my friend?"

"Yeah..." you meekly say.

She laughs again and comes up to you, "Why would it be weird that my roommate is going out with my good friend?"

That's true, this is nothing compared to fucking your roommate's boyfriend. You swallow the guilt that crawls out of your throat.

"I can lend you my shoes to match it with that cute dress?" She offers, kind as always.

"No, it's fine. It's comfortable this way," you say, opting for the sneakers you're wearing since you're going to do a lot of walking today.

"As long as you're comfortable," she says, fixing your hair as she speaks.

The front door opens and the two of you are turning your heads to see who's coming, it's none other than Minho. You hurriedly sling your purse around your shoulder and ready to leave.

"I'd better get going," you tell Kim, giving her a quick hug.

"You can come home as late as you want," she jokingly says as she hugs you back, "Actually, don't bother coming home tonight."

You laugh it off and pull away while ignoring Minho who walks to the kitchen to get something out of the fridge. You head for the door and wave bye at Kim before getting out.

-

The search for a new place comes to fruition, you have two potential living spaces but the only problem is you can't afford the rent, yet.

You end the day with a hearty dinner also as a treat for Gaspard for being so helpful and patient with you. He's simply a great guy to be with and you wonder why didn't you want to fuck him instead of Minho.

Oh fuck, you think about Minho again and it reminds you that he's in the apartment now so you stay out as late as you can. You consider Gaspard's offer to come and visit his place but you don't want to give him the impression that this is a date.

It's too casual to be counted as a date in the first place but you make sure to promise him a proper one next time.

"Maybe next time when I'm not sweaty and the day is not as humid as today," you kindly refuse the offer.

"I agree," he says as his hair turns a lot curler in this humidity and shyly brushes it to the back.

He walks you to the entrance of your apartment building and you turn on your feet to face him, "Thank you for today," you sincerely say.

"No worries. I had fun today," he coyly says with a smile.

You know he wants to kiss you and you want to kiss him too because he's just so attractive and fun to be with, he's a great guy... you can list so many reasons why you should kiss him so you muster up the courage to do it.

You stand on your tiptoe and press a kiss on his lips, putting your hand on his shoulder for support and Gaspard returns the kiss with so much gentleness with his hand cupping your jaw.

In the middle of it, you come to a realization that you kiss him for so many reasons but not because you like him. You slowly pull away from the kiss and quickly put on a smile for him.

"Goodnight, Gaspard," you mutter.

He allows himself to place a gentle caress on your cheek and smiles back at you as he says back, "Goodnight!"

The walk back to the apartment feels like a punishment. At least, it's late enough that you're sure Kim is already asleep by now so you quietly unlock the door, pushing it open without making any noise, and walk through the living room until you get to the safety of your room.

You kick your shoes off, throw your purse onto the bed, and take off your jacket, just standing there in your dress facing the huge mirror with your reflection staring back at you.

"Do you need help with that?" Minho asks through the cracks of your door.

You hate it that he's still here and you're happy to see him, you're not answering but he comes to your aid anyway. He stands right behind you and slowly unzips your dress for you.

It must be intentional the way his knuckles graze your skin as he pulls the zipper down your back.

The memories from that night come back to you and unlock all the feelings that you try to keep at the bottom of your heart.

Minho then places his hand on your shoulder and looks at you through the mirror, "Do you need help with anything else?" He asks with a voice so low it's almost like a whisper.

You turn your head to the side and meet his gaze, "No."

All sorts of thoughts come rushing through your head but it's the same contradicting questions: Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?

Those questions going around your head and won't stop bothering you until you make up your mind.

You turn around to face him and notice how close he's standing in front of you, so close that you can feel the heat his body is emitting.

"But I'll help myself," you say and then kiss him.

Well, you guess people can tell which one is the lie now.

-

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[fruitlicense]

I think I’ve figured out my favorite chemistry for the DC Trinity, as follows:

Superman and Wonder Woman are the kind of friends who treat each other like siblings, but they 100% mean it. They laugh, they hug, they get at least one meal together every week, they occasionally finish each other’s sentences, and when they’re in the same room you can tell they genuinely like each other. They know each other like siblings, too - one won’t know every detail about the other, but they can pull out years-old esoteric stories that no one else had any idea even happened, and they each have a keen sense of who the other is deep down. Clark and Diana know each other’s dreams, fears, and morals, and that trust is visible. The only thing that tells you they’re not actually related is that when they disagree, they argue like well-adjusted adults, without any psychological manipulation or maiming. Sparring is a bonding activity for them, not a way to express anger.

Wonder Woman and Batman have a bond that is entirely platonic but mind-bogglingly deep. They should have the kind of relationship where it’s perfectly normal for them to shower together after a mission and discuss what the Justice League’s next steps should be, but if you point out that it’s kind of weird for them to share a showerhead and a shampoo bottle they’ll act like you’re weird for pointing it out. Bruce is washing blood and concrete dust out of Diana’s hair. There are no sexual or romantic vibes whatsoever. They’re at a level where it’s almost like they’re two halves of the same mind, like if they got into some crazy magic mishap where they were sharing a body it would move like a well-oiled machine. Even when they disagree or argue it seems like a single entity having an internal battle. They have crazy trust, like knowing-every-corner-of-the-other’s-brain trust, to the point that the greatest way to show their affection to each other is allowing each other their secrets. Bruce doesn’t pry past Diana’s hard lines and she knows when to stop pushing him, and those boundaries are honored because literally all the others are gone.

Batman and Superman, however, have inexplicable vibes. At a glance they act like coworkers, or like good friends, but if you look longer than thirty seconds there’s something between them that’s tangible enough to cut - it’s also weirdly horny and literally no one else wants to get involved with it. You could walk into a room where Clark was making coffee and Bruce was doing paperwork and they weren’t talking to or looking at each other and you would feel like you were intruding on their marriage bed. They keep up the same level of professionalism with each other that they do with the rest of the Justice League but they might as well not fucking bother, because somehow it still seems like they’re incapable of not broadcasting that they want each other carnally. They also have a deep level of trust, but it’s not familial or platonic. It’s more like the kind you have with someone you’re so deeply in love with that you can’t fathom not sharing your entire self with them. The world could end in burning flames and they’d survive it without going insane as long as they had each other. No one is actually sure if they’ve ever acted on these feelings, or if they’re even aware that they have them.

All three of them would burn the world down for each other, obviously, so it’s a damn good thing they’re saving it instead.

[sttm99]

Part 2 here!

'Fuck.'

It had been just two nights since you'd given him head in the dark of his dorm room, and Bakugo hadn't been able to rid his mind of the sensation ever since.

He knew it was stupid to even agree to it. You were the one girl in class he felt comfortable enough to talk about anything with. Be it grades, his fears and even more sexual topics. It also helped that he knew you wouldn't ever judge him for anything.

You were his closest friend; more so than Kirishima. And he liked that... he liked that he has someone he could trust with his life, someone he could relate with so effortlessly.

And you felt the same way with him. You told him everything; every little secret, every dirty detail, and he never laughed or judged.

Which was why you both were in his room, many hours past his bedtime, sitting opposite each other on his bed as you recounted your most recent almost-sexual endeavor.

"-and it was so awkward cause it was just hanging there in my face and I didn't know what to do." You groaned out, with your body hunched over, face covered with your palms as you recounted your experience in the school's storage room with a General Studies boy you'd been seeing casually.

Bakugo chuckled at your demeanor from where he was. "Yeah then maybe you should have stopped him when you saw him undoing his fucking belt."

You glared at him through the cracks between your fingers.

"Seriously," he laughed. "If you didn't wanna give him head, you should have told him the moment you entered the closet."

You groaned and fell back unto his bed. "The thing is I want to do it."

You turned your head to stare up at Bakugo.

"So why didn't you?"

You groaned again. "I don't know. I mean... look, I wanna be able to make the guy I like feel good, you understand. And I really thought I wanted to give him head, but then he was pulling his jeans down- and I was getting cold feet and then he pulled down his boxers and I wanted to run away right then....

"But I pushed through- and I got down... and it was just staring at my face and-"

"Maybe you just don't wanna do it." Bakugo raised his brow, cutting you off from your rambling.

You frowned. "Maybe. I mean, I think about giving head...and I wanna do it, and then I get an opportunity and I panic. You're probably right."

There was silence for a moment, before Bakugo shifted in his position, pulling his knees higher up, closer to his body, and leaning his forward.

"Or maybe... you don't wanna do it with him."

You furrowed your brows. "Meaning..? I don't really like him or what?"

Bakugo shrugged, "I mean, do you?"

You began sitting up. "Don't I?"

"Come on, Y/N." He raised a brow, giving you an unimpressed look, "You don't even text him unless he texts you."

"Yeah because he's always texting me."

"See! You even say it like you're frustrated." Bakugo jutted his arms out at you.

You paused, sitting up and pondering it.

Bakugo groaned. "Listen, I know you, okay? You- frankly, you're horny... more so than most people-"

You scowled at him.

"-and the fact that you don't even let him put his hands under your fucking skirt most times should tell you that you're probably not all that sexually attracted to him."

You stared at Bakugo, eyes narrowed as you began to see his point. "I guess you're on to something."

"Look," he began, "I honestly think you're just with him because of how aggressively he pursued you. And that's fucking dumb."

You pouted. "I guess... so now I have to find someone else to practice head with."

"Why do you wanna learn how to give head?" He laughed.

"Cause the girls were talking about giving head one time and I wanna be able to join in conversations." I groaned out, exasperated, and flopped back unto your back.

Bakugo took a moment to look you over, before adjusting his shorts and clearing his throat.

"I can give you pointers if you want."

Silence.

"What?" You mumbled, sitting back up, with your weight on your palms and narrowing your eyes at him.

He scowled at you. "I'm not repeating myself."

You rolled your eyes and hissed at his stubbornness. "You idiot."

"But..." You started slowly. "If you're offering to give me tips on sucking dick, I don't mind."

He shifted a bit. "Yeah... well- it'll only work if you're sexually attracted to me. If not, it'll just be like with that guy earlier- and shit would be awkward." He was looking away now.

"Wanna find out?"

And that was how he found himself heaving against his headboard with his shorts and boxers flung at the far end of his bed.

"Shitshit- fuck Y/N."

His hands were fisted into your hair, knees raised in the hair and thighs spread on either side of your head, as you laid on your stomach before him, nose pressed into his dark blonde pubic hair and lips wrapped tightly around his dick.

His eyes were blown wide, lips parted as grunts forced their way out his mouth.

It was just bordering on too much; the sensation of your mouth, and he'd suddenly realised how seriously you'd taken his analogy.

-"Consider it a bottle of smoothie or something, and there's that chunk that can't pass through the bottle mouth properly, so you're trying to suck it out." He'd said, holding his already hard dick against your cheek.

"That sounds stupid, Katsuki." You retorted, as you scowled up at him.

"That's the best I got, I ain't some sex therapist, okay!"-

"Oh shit- you're good," he groaned out, head thrown back and thighs quivering. "Fuck- fuck! Fuck, you're fucking good, baby. Just like that, yeah..!"

His grip on your hair tightened, pushing you down on his dick so he could feel the sliding of your tongue on his shaft as he dipped into your throat.

It didn't help that you were drooling all over him- and yourself-, your hand cupping his balls and squeezing softly.

He was going into overdrive, thrusting up unto your mouth, his eyes rolling back as he slipped down your throat over and over again, and he moaned as he felt you gag, your throat constricting against his tip.

He brought his head forward to peek over at you.

"Slut," he groaned out, eyeing your positioning; one hand infront of you, playing with his balls, and the other stretched underneath your body, fingers dipping into your sleepshorts. "You fucking slut- you like this shit, don't you?"

You moaned around his dick, vibrations coursing round his veins and your eyes looking up to meet his; lids hanging heavy and pupils blown out as you sucked on his cock.

He came heavy- hard. With spasming thighs and choked out groans as he spurted his seed down your throat.

It was a lot... too much. He kept spurting out his cum and his sight was blurry as he looked at you.

Now he couldn't look at you without remembering your stupid, fucked expression when you were between his legs. And it's weird, because all you're doing is grinning an Sato as you hover around him whilst he bakes.

It's stupid. He knows it is.

You don't even like him that way.

Part 2 has been posted here!

[akutasoda]

'do you think that this, us, ever could be something more'

synopsis - you both have painfully obvious feelings for eachother but both of you are hesitant to take that step until they decide to brave their feelings and confess in their own way

includes - dr ratio, argenti, jiaoqiu, aventurine

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst (mainly aventurine), pining, wc - 2.2k

a/n: guys i promise im working on requests :))

dr ratio ★↷

ratio detested you, namely the way you constantly refuted his words and theses. nonetheless, he adored nothing more than seeing you everyday - he'd say you were the one competent mind to converse with in an average day but you both knew deep down that it was purely because you enjoyed each other's company.

your friendship with the doctor was one of the most unlikely, others at the intelligentsia guild couldn't imagine anyone developing more than a simple coworker relationship with ratio. to some, even maintaining something as simple as a coworker relation was an arduous task.

however, you never saw the issue. ratio was a dear friend, it's merely the fact that he naturally gave off a rather off-putting first impression thanks to his slightly gloomy and eccentric nature. deep down he still retained these qualities but he could be a lot more caring in his own way.

although, for all his intellect, ratio struggled to maintain a grasp on his own emotional intelligence. a fact that could maybe be said for you as well, although compared to ratio you simply didn't know how to, or even if you should bring up the undoubtedly growing feelings for the doctor.

ratio knew what he was feeling, simply a release of oxytocin that caused those fuzzy feelings when he was around you. however he couldn't quite piece together the idea of you being behind those feelings, why your friendship wasn't enough, longing for something more than what you two currently had.

he'd never confide in anyone about his dilemma - he didn't need unwanted outsiders budging in on his personal issues. although, ever since he started looking for solutions, he started noticing signs that had previously gone unnoticed. namely how you acted around him.

a major concern between two crushes is the possibility of unrequited feelings. veritas would prefer to avoid such mistakes and push any potential feelings away if that was the case. so he often dwelled on the possibility of such. but it appeared that all the signs he misconstrued as friendly gestures and behaviour from you, could in fact be taken as more romantic.

he observed more as he had to be one hundred percent and in his quest, his mind slowly became more aware of his own feelings and why they only seemed to blossom more around you. ratio hated it. his feelings were like a gnawing feeling, constantly playing on his brain and it got to the point where he couldn't focus on his research - he would blame you, but he blamed himself more.

veritas knew he had to do something about it. and so he did. ratio was never one to beat around the bush, and so he took a direct approach to his confession - as soon as he could, he sought you out and told you about his feelings. relief washed over the doctor's unknowingly tense form when you told him about reciprocating such feelings.

you couldn't help but note his slight embarrassment afterwards, made evident by the heavy blushing which he quickly covered up by wearing his plaster head.

argenti ★↷

the encounter between the two of you among the cosmos was one of the more fortunate ones. a fleeting moment within the universe that set a start for the tale of a friendship that would last practically forever.

in his opinion, meeting you on his journey felt like a blessing from idrila themselves. in argenti’s eye's you were practically breathtaking in any way, everything about you from your mere presence to your voice to your appearance. it was only natural that he wanted to know more about someone such as yourself - and he was forever grateful he indulged his curiosity.

a blossoming friendship was easily formed between the two of you, one that had solid foundations to continue headstrong, even becoming something more should that be the path you took together. for all his charms, argenti made a true friend - someone that was always there for you in your corner, supported you, a pure soul that listened intently, someone that cared.

and for someone that seeked the aeon of beauty, it was hard for him to miss seeing the beauty of which were his feelings. flurries of emotion that could hold a powerful grip on someone's heart and actions if left unchecked and untended to. so as soon as those signs of warmth and calmness appeared strongly around you, argenti knew what it was.

that infatuation and pure admiration for you could only suggest that he subconsciously longed for something more than a friendship. in truth, argenti was devoted to idrila. he found beauty in practically everything, followed idrila’s teachings diligently and so he never truly imagined having someone else in his life that meant more to him than an aeon he devoted his life to.

but it couldn't be ignored, those feelings couldn't be left to simmer in the back of his mind as deep down he knew he wasn't content to sit by and keep the current relationship with you - although if that was what you wished, he would gladly sacrifice his own feelings just for you. however argenti was one to take risks.

a direct approach to voice the beauty of his feelings for you, should you decline them then so be it, but he wouldn't know until he tried. comoared to his usual gestures which could often be described as “grand” or “charasmatic”, a confession from him would be noticeably more gentle and intimate.

a moment of pure safety, he'd waste no time in reciting to you exactly what he wanted to say with a smile of lovestruck fondness as he presented you with a rose, all the thorns layed upon it's stem signalling the dedication and sacrifices he'd be willing to make for you - it's petals in full bloom.

jiaoqiu ★↷

being friends with jiaoqiu was never easy, although nobody exactly said it was easy. the pink foxian had the tendency to be rather cunning, mischievous even, and these traits only seemed to double when you actually got closer to him.

however, some could argue that eventually one would get used to jiaoqiu and everything he'd do or say - to an extent, they wouldn't be wrong but it still never made it any easier on most days. (un)fortunately you still put up with him as he was still a dear friend in the end.

jiaoqiu did have people he acquainted with or even people he was friendly with but ultimately he still had very few he would truly refer to as friends. he spent most of his time serving his dedication to helping the merlins claw and that was mainly his sole priority, jiaoqiu was determined to treat her.

so naturally, those closest to him did end up being those close to feixiao in the first place. yet he still found time to spend with those he held dearest, which was either you or moze and feixiao.

however, it didn't go unnoticed to either you or jiaoqiu that there was something there. something that couldn't be described as a simple friendly relationship, yet neither of you addressed it and continued on with your lives as if that feeling wasn't there in the slightest.

jiaoqiu knew very well that he longed for something more with you. you were the only person which drew out these warm feelings from him that had been killed during his time in the field and yet you had a way of bringing them back to him.but he simply couldn't cime to terms with it.

he'd withdraw from practicing medicine once before due to a broken heart, and deep down a part of him feared that you would make that a second time. so he tried to drown away those fuzzy feelings and tell himself over and over that you two were simply just friends, nothing more despite the clear longing urge to be that made him feel an immense sadness at the idea of never being something more.

and so jiaoqiu was hesitant. he wasn't dumb and he knew exactly how he felt for you, and he even could pick up on the way that you felt the same but somewhere in his mind he'd convinced himself that it was simply his own wishful thinking, not your true feelings. however, his hesitancy couldn't last much longer as he cursed you for affecting his work.

he'd be more of a fool to continue on without coming to grips with his blaringly obvious feelings for you, he knew it would eventually eat him from the inside out. and so jiaoqiu would begrudgingly find a way to confess, still letting that nagging fear affect just how he'd do so.

he'd catch you in the morning, handing you a personal meal for lunch like he occasionally did when he had free time in the morning. except this time, your gaze would immediately notice the small note tucked away within, one that you wasted no time in reading it's contents.

a part of him regretted giving you a note as the anticipation weighed heavy upon his mind, but otherwise he knew his nerves would've got the best of him. jiaoqiu specified in the note about his feelings, and how if you were to reciprocate them then you should come find him. this way he could avoid the painful rejection if it so came to that. until then, he waited in anticipation, still fearing your answer.

aventurine ★↷

he had coworkers, he had business partners who lways got the short end of the straw in a deal with him, and he had acquaintances. someone could even say they were the bare minimum for being a good use as stoneheart for the IPC. however, he did have some people that were closer than that, namely veritas and you.

and to reach that level with him was no easy feat. the man known as aventurine had put up many walls, facade after facade all in order to keep what little of himself left safe. the small parts of him left untouched by experiences that were painfully his and yet he could fool himself into believing that they belonged to an identity that no longer existed.

sometimes ‘aventurine’ didn't feel like him. it wasn't. if anything it was another defense that the past identity had let be forced upon him to help scramble for something good in his life. for someone blessed with luck, it never felt like it.

but his luck finally brought him something pure, something that finally felt like luck. and that was meeting you. a light that shined ever so brightly in his life despite all else, evoking feelings from him that he swore he buried when he bid goodbye to his past self. yet you dredged them from the darkest depths of himself, the parts that he feared and constantly kept hidden from himself.

however, old habits die hard. the very moment aventurine became conscious of what had bubled to the surface of his facade, he desperately tries to push them away. those warm, fuzzy feelings that he felt around you meant only weakness to him - something that you could choose to exploit.

his feelings were merely a chip. a means to use and manipulate at his disposal. they got in the way majority of the time, they could reveal ones desires or wants unknowingly and that never led to anything prosperous - especially in a high stakes gamble. but they were a chip for him and him only.

nevertheless, how could he possibly ignore them any longer when it seemed that his own brain was working against him. it made him feel all the more vulnerable, especially because of the idea of him confronting them just to have his heart painfully stomped upon and have his feelings left to painfully mull over into bitter sadness and reject.

fortunately, aventurine was quite the adept one at reading other people - a skill he'd learnt very quickly. so the hopeful part of him observed how you acted around him, picking up on the obvious signs that he previously misconstrued as friendly or simply ignored. eventually, he decided that the gnawing feeling needed to be sorted.

and so aventurine decided it was best to finally let down those final walls and comfess. because he was putting himself in a vulnerable position, he would get straight to the point. people may guess that he would go all out for a confession but that would be the last thing he'd do.

admittedly he let a small part of his fear get the best of him but he would still build up the courage to request to see you and confess face to face. he truly didn't know what he would do if you turned him down but he'd figure that out if it happened. it wouldn't go unnoticed by you that he held one hand behind his back at all times during his confession - the only time in ages that he'd been completely honest with his feelings to someone he trusted.

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