#i thought that server was completely closed huh

[missasinf]

WHY IS THERE DSMP LORE IN 2024

[mikkomacko]

all the blurbs for him and i you’re doing are so so cute and i love them so much!!

may i suggest a piece about their first date 👹

all my love always ♥️

Omg thank you so much for the kind words and for the request. I absolutely love you with all my heart.

Anyway, let’s get into it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picking you up at 6 wear something prettier than usual

Nico's text came through at 4, only a couple hours before whatever plans he was dragging you into. You're a little surprised, thrown off by his timing. Hanging out with Nico is typically an after 9 o'clock thing when he sends a car to take you to The Rock or he skips the bar in general and invites you to his place. Not that you're complaining, in either situation you get to see him and you love looking at him.

The switch-up is nice though.

Luckily, you're good under pressure and a time crunch, so by the time 6 rolls around you're ready to go. A flowy red dress, the fabric expensive looking and classy even though it was from a sale rack at Windsor. Simple white shoes and your hair pulled up and away from your face. As for makeup, all you had to do was touch-up the makeup you'd done this morning.

Your phone buzzed but you ignored it, already knowing it was Nico outside. He's never late.

He was waiting outside the car by the time you got out front, leaning against the back door with his hands in his pockets. You almost trip on the sidewalk after getting a good look at him.

He’s dressed….nice. Nicer than you ever seen him before. He’s ditched the too-tight jeans and hoodie for a white linen button up and matching black linen shorts. Of the dozens of hats he’s cycles through, he’s wearing none, instead holding his hair back with a pair of sunglasses.

Brown Nikes and white socks.

Some things don’t change.

“Hey,” he greets, all white teeth as he smiles.

“Hey,” you repeat biting at your lip when he pushes off the car, right hand finding your hip as he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek.

Before he can pull back completely you place your hands on his shoulders, rising to your toes to give him a real kiss. The softer scratch of his beard catches you off guard and when you two separate you realize he’s even trimmed it.

He’s so sexy. Like crawling on your hands and knees in this pretty dress just for him sexy. And you want to tell him that.

“You look really good,” you say instead and he laughs.

“Who’d have thought, huh?” He jokes, pulling open the passenger door for you. You look at him in annoyance and he laughs again.

Nico quickly continues. “Gotta look like I deserve to be out with you tonight.”

You roll your eyes, trying and failing to suppress your flattered grin. He must notice because he laughs, making sure your dress is all the way in the car before closing the door.

The two of don’t talk much as he drives, just catching up on important things since you last saw him over the weekend. His hand sneaks over the console and finds yours, a good song gets turned up on the radio, and you stay like that until he’s pulling into a marina.

“Did you really tell me to put on a nice dress for a fucking boat Hischier?”

Chuckling, he leads you down the docks, passed sailboats and speedboats, until you enter the private and reserved area.

“Relax, we’re not getting in the water.” He swears, as you approach a large yacht. There’s a man waiting by the ramp onto the boat, a crisp white shirt and captains hat on.

“Mr. Hischier,” the man greets, shaking Nico’s hand and smiling at you. You give him a small wave, looking back at the boat as Nico talks with him. You can’t see much of the deck at the moment, but there’s a couple of men aboard, all of them wearing a similar button up to the captain.

They’re carrying trays of drinks platters across the deck, and you realize they’re servers, setting up a dinner. Nico has brought you on a sunset boat dinner.

The captain leads you two onboard, Nico holding your hand tightly as you step from the dock onto the landing.

“Right up this way miss.” The captain tells you, motioning along the side of the boat. You follow the thin path, Nico close behind you until you’ve climbed the four steps onto the deck.

The sight nearly takes your breath away. Flowers and candles on the elegantly set table, a bottle of wine in ice and two sparkly glasses, red and pink petals tossed around the deck. It’s all so beautiful.

“Nico,” you breathe out, and he slinks up behind you, his hand big and warm on your lower back.

“Figured it was time I stopped just taking you to the Rock,” he explained, and you turn to face him, cheeks warming when his other hand finds your hip like it belongs there.

“I like the Rock,” you laugh, biting at your bottom lip. “But I also like not having to share you.”

Nico leans in, presses his nose to the side of yours and you let your eyes fall shut, breath in the smell of his cologne and the mint gum he’s chewing. He kisses you, so light you think maybe you imagined it.

“You never have to share me,” he murmurs, “I’d give you anything you want.”

“What if it’s just you I want?”

He grins, not that you can see it. But you can hear it in his words, in his bated breath as he waits to fully kiss you.

“Then it’s me you get.”

Then he’s closing the small gap that existed between you two, lips fitting perfectly with yours and you hold on to his biceps, try to find a way to not float up into the pink and orange sky.

From that night on Nico no longer calls you his friend. Now you’re just his.

[slay00ryu]

ronin hcs pls :3

I have barely any hcs but I will try my best!!!

Ronin headcanons made by yours truly, enjoy.

Fluffy ones:

- When you and Ronin decided to go and enjoy pride month on a parade the two of you saw a teenager. That teenager was carrying around their non-binary flag, but they were too scared to hold it out like most people did. You expected Ronin to ignore that, but instead he approached the teenager and held out their flag with them. You never saw him so attentive before.

- Ronin purposefully keeps some of his clothes in your wardrobe to see you wear them and then accuse you of stealing from him just for shits and giggles.

- When you walk past a stray cat and it happens to cling to Ronin he will stop to pat it. He would smile at the cat and say something like "Huh, you like rotten things too?" He would look at you after he said that.

- If you're also trans like he is and you have a dysphoric day he will make sure to help you with it. "Come on baby, you are who you say you are. And to me you are fucking perfect just the way you are." He would help you bind, or try to help you with your make up (probably will fuck it up on purpose if your mood gets better) or whatever else you need to help with your dysphoria.

- Ronin isn't really open about his feelings in words, yeah he will call you his darling or sometimes whisper an "I love you", but mostly he will show it through physical touch, he's touch starved after all. He will hold your hand, poke you to get a reaction, kiss your forehead, maybe even bite you. Big and small touches are just his thing.

- If you're having a shitty day then he will roll you up into a blanket burrito and watch some sappy shit with you so you would feel better. Ice cream craving? He already bought three different flavours? You want to smash something or someone? Baby, he's standing at the door with his crowbar and a baseball bat for you.

Angst shit:

- If you were to die but Ronin had zero control over it, he would be in despair. He didn't take your life, your death wasn't his plan or your pleading. You're just... Gone? He would feel empty for a while and then fill that void with more murder. If someone else dared to murder you they would be gone in a matter of days.

- If you and him broke up in bad blood and somehow you would leave that break up alive, Ronin would be closed off for some time. The server wouldn't notice the change unless they knew him really well. He would try to keep his edgy murderer persona, but if anyone even mentioned your name he would go quiet or leave the conversation.

- Sometimes he can open up about the mess in his head or what happened in his past. He wouldn't show how emotional these topics can make him, but if you've known him long enough you will see the change. Just be there for him, squeeze his hand and say that you need cuddles even if you know that he's the one who needs them, he won't cuddle you when he's sad, the devil doesn't feel sad.

Ronin™ type of shi:

- Ronin would push you until you kill him or a random person. He wants to corrupt your head completely. So as long as blood is on your hands then he will be satisfied.

- If you're obsessed with him then it will give him a strong sense of satisfaction. You not only need him, you can't live without him. His corruption worked out even better than he anticipated.

- If someone misgenders you, acts like an asshole or harasses you in any way, you can expect their aorta on a silver platter with a pair of eyes.

- Ronin will leave you a small message after a kill somewhere on a wall. "Love you rotten darlin'" or something like that. He will laugh at your reaction and say "Awh, but I thought that you would like this cheesy shit baby."

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

That's all!!! I hope you're satisfied with these <3 I don't really make hcs so it was hard

Thank you for the ask!!!

Bye bye <3

Currently writing another rq, will try to post it tmrw

[d34dlysinner]

Corrupting (Astaroth smut drabble)

I wrote this to target someone like I do with a lot of people in a server. Anyway... ENJOY!

Not proofread

F!MC X Astaroth

MINORS DNI

"The girl panted... loudly as she felt.... ugh-", you said.

You were reading out an erotic scene that Astaroth gave you. Usually, you would reenact whatever one of you was reading, but today he wasn't very happy.

"You're... Such a good girl, MC. Devoid of any corruption, huh?", he said as he turned off the vibrator that was deep in you.

It made you think of a scene from before. You delayed some requests of him to help Satan. You didn't really have a choice, but to help.

"But... Right now you don't look so *good* as you act to be.", he said as he glared down at you.

"Astaroth... Please...", you whimpered as the toy was turned off the the nth time. "Please? Please what?", he started. "Finish of your words little lamb... I don't understand you if I have to guess what you mean..."

"Please... May I please cu-", your words were cut off as he suddenly cranked up the vibrator to the maximum option.

You shivered at the sudden stimulation as you felt close yet again.

"I'm-... Close-", you moaned out as tears were gathering in your eyes.

That's when he gave you a sadistic smirk. He turned off the toy again. "Only Good girls, can feel good. but right now... You're not doing what I asked...", Astaroth said as he looked at the book in your hand.

"Try again.", he said as he took a seat on a chair across you. He unbuckled his belt as he turned on the toy again. This time, like when you started, the vibrations were too low for you to feel good too.

"Read.", he said as he saw your shaky hands reach for the book again.

"The girl kissed the man... lovingly-", you started reading again.

Astaroth pulled down his pants, enough for him to take out his length as he slowly stroked it. Deep grunts left his throat as he pumped himself.

You tried to focus on the book, but his groans were too hot for you to ignore. You thought that if you maybe listened to him groaning enough you finally can cum.

"-as she stripped down completely... Her frame... seemed to shine-", you halted as you became too distracted and could only focus on Astaroth.

"Focus. On reading.", he groaned as his eyes pierced through your frame.

He turned off the toy yet again. "You try to play dirty, didn't you. Is my voice enough for you to get off to?", he asked mockingly. He knew what his effect on others was. His voice was complimented many times before. But he needed to hear the truth from you.

You nodded shyly at his question.

"Speak out. Remember what I said before.", he said.

"Yes... It-", you were cut off by the toy being turned on to its max again.

"You're getting more and more corrupted... That's my good girl...", he said as this time he allowed you to cum for the first time that evening.

You came down from the climax and thought it would finally be over, but the toy never was turned off.

"You need to be disciplined some more, though...", he said as he shone you yet again a sadistic smile while lowering the setting on the toy yet again.

"Now... Try again.", he said.

@luv3rrx AHAHAHA

[writing-blog-iguess]

“What did you say?”

You hadn’t meant to say it, not now in the middle of enemy territory. Not while in the middle of an assignment. You hadn’t meant to say at all, it was supposed to be your secret until you died. Because you knew in this line of work, love doesn’t work. You’ve seen it happen first hand, experienced it yourself.

But you let three words slip out of your mouth like you say it everyday. Three words that could ruin everything. Either the assignment or your friendship with Ethan, you weren’t sure.

So, you closed your eyes for a minute to collect yourself before facing him head on. “It’s not important,” you said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. To the people around you, it looked like an innocent kiss, to you it was goodbye. “Come on, we need to finish this before anything else can happen.”

“Hey,” Ethan started, but you shook your head and turned around, leaving the room as quickly as you could.

“So that happened,” Benji said in your ear. “I thought you weren’t going to tell him.”

“I wasn’t,” you hissed, slipping through the door and turning left when Benji told her to turn. “It slipped out, Benji. And now I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to him is what you do,” Benji suggested, “Only thing you can do at that point. Oh, next door to the right, and then keep walking until you reach the last door. That should be where the servers are.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you said, following Benji’s directions. Looking around, you made sure the coast was clear before slipping through the door. “I’d rather die than confront Ethan and the love I have for him.”

“I think he might,” Luther said, startling both you and Benji. “Ethan deserves that much.”

“I second that,” Ethan said next and you wanted the floor to open up a hole to swallow you whole. Reframing from smashing your head against the wall, you pulled out the USB that Benji gave you, and started looking for the right server.

“Benji,” you hissed. You heard him sigh, and imagined him hanging his head. “I thought this was a private line?”

“Yeah, oops. Now you’re gonna say you’re gonna kill me, I know,” he said, sounding resigned to his fate. Good, he knew what he did wrong, wasn’t the first time you threatened his life. Makes the next thing to say easier.

“And I’m going to make sure it’s nice and slow,” you said, and ignored both Ethan and Luther’s chuckles. And Benji’s that’s new. “Now which server do I need?”

A few hours later, with the assignment completed and the world saved, you found yourself in your hotel room, changing into something more comfortable. You tried not to think of Ethan’s surprised face as you said them, tried not to think about what happens now. You’ll just have to request not to work with Ethan again. There’s no way you could face Ethan now, you don’t think you want to.

A rapping against your door brought you back from your thoughts as you turned towards the door. Scrunching your eyebrows, you wondered who it was this late. Moving to open the door, you didn’t check to see who it was until you were face to face with Ethan

“So, you love me huh?” Ethan asked, smiling. You puffed out your cheeks and went back into the room Ethan followed behind.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you mumbled, picking up the pile of dirty clothes and stuffed them in a bag. “It was a slip of the tongue, it was nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing,” he pointed out, you only shrugged. “Didn’t sound like nothing. How long?” You didn’t answer right aways, not wanting to but Ethan wasn’t having it. He walked towards you and reached out to lift your face so you were looking at him. “How long have you felt like that?”

“Mm, a year or two,” you finally answered. He raised an eyebrow, and you could see him thinking.

“And you weren’t going to tell me?”

“Relationships don’t really work in what we do, you know that,” you answered with a shrug. “Why bother saying anything when it’s just going to end in failure.”

“So, you were just going to keep it to yourself and not even give me a chance to decide?” Ethan questioned, moving his hands to cup your face. All you could do was stay there, staring at him. You were stuck and you didn’t want to move.

“Yup.”

He shook his head, and leaned in closely that your noses brushed against each other. “Not fair when I love you too.”

You blinked at him, trying to process what he said. “Huh,” was all that could come out. He smiled and leaned in, pressing his lips on yours. He pulled away, and you pouted at the lost.

“I said, I love you too,” he repeated, “and I’m sure we could work something out if you want to.” You thought about it, maybe it could work. Maybe you could have your happy ending. Maybe.

“Okay Hunt,” you finally replied, “if you think this could work, I’m in.”

He gave you a big smile that made your heart dance in your chest, and he leaned forward and gave you a proper kiss. One that held everything he was feeling for you and more. You returned it, and knew that this could work.

[armoricaroyalty]

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 / ❛ boy crazy ❜ part two (@nexility-sims)

When Zofia walked into a room, everyone noticed. It might have been the enormity of her hair or the constant noise of her rings and bracelets or else the overwhelmingly sweet scent of her favorite body mist, but she was captivating in every sense of the word. Hannah had been jealous of her, once upon a time. It would have been impossible to grow up with her without any jealousy: next to Zofia, everyone became shabby and dull. Ranks didn't matter at all, no title or royal honor could ever compete with that kind of natural charisma. Hannah loved her, but there had been days when she'd hated her, too. Now, though, she was only grateful. When Zofia walked in, nobody noticed the rest of them slipping out.

read part one here

author's note: @nexility-sims and I have been working on the zofia/rui romance since....early 2022? some time in 2021? since #rufia has completely dominated 2/3 of our joint brain power for years, it seemed fitting to finally let them out of our DM's to celebrate Love Day Valentine's Day. Happy V-Day, everyone!

Transcript under the cut.

CHEF | Aren't long nails against dress code, anyway? SERVER | [laughs] Girl, I don't give a fuuu— SERVER | You wanna know who else is wearing acrylics tonight? CHEF | [bored] I dunno, who? SERVER | Oh, nobody, just the Princess Zofia. CHEF | [gasps] CHEF | Shut. Up. You actually talked to her? What was she like? SERVER | She's fucking gorgeous. Like, obviously, but up close, she's even more beautiful. CHEF | Yeah, yeah, but what was she like? SERVER | Okay, so I didn't actually talk to her because she was all over her new boyfriend. They were like, so into each other. It was so sweet. CHEF | Really? I heard it's just a PR relationship so people will think she's over Sigis. SERVER | No way! They're obviously crazy abut each other. You can't fake— UNIDENTIFIED MAN | [offscreen] EVERYBODY OUT! HUGO | What, do I gotta say it again? All of you, clear out! HANNAH | [sighs] Please excuse us. HANNAH | My cousin and I need somewhere to speak privately. Will you please excuse us for a moment? CHEF | ??? SERVER | [shrugs] HUGO | ...anyway, did you see it? HANNAH | See what? HUGO | That stupid little hair flip. He did it a million times. HANNAH | He's growing it out for her. HUGO | Really? Hard to believe, he's so fucking vain. HANNAH | She told me she asked him to grow it long. [deep, beleaguered sigh] She thinks it's sexy. HUGO | What, are you for real? HANNAH | Oh yeah. She's always had a thing for guys with long hair. HUGO | ...huh. HANNAH | Anyway...what's your take? Personally, I don't see what she sees in him. HUGO | [snorts] He's better than Marshall. HANNAH | That's the world's lowest bar. Subterranean, in fact. HUGO | So what are we going to do? HANNAH | He's not a dog, we can't just run him off. HUGO | Well, you can't, but maybe if I— PIDGE | [offscreen] HEY! What are you two talking about? PIDGE | ...and why are you hanging out in the kitchen? ARTHUR | ....hi. HUGO | [icily] Farrier. HANNAH | It's late, Pidge. What are you still doing up? PIDGE | Uh, excuse you. Mama said I can stay until midnight. ARTHUR | ...you two aren't talking about Rui and Zofie, are you? HUGO | ... HANNAH | ...no. PIDGE | You two are such LIARS! PIDGE | Both of you are judgy control freaks! I thought he was really nice. HUGO | He could barely string a sentence together. ARTHUR | I mean...Armorican is his third or fourth language, isn't it? HUGO | Whatever! He gives me the creeps. HANNAH | Well, she says she's in love. HUGO | [scoffs] In love? They've known each other for six months. PIDGE | So? What if it was love at first sight? HANNAH | [exasperated] Pidge— HUGO | Just ignore her, she's fourteen. PIDGE | For your information, I'm fifteen. And I'll be sixteen in May, sooo— HUGO | Yeah, a baby— ARTHUR | Can I remind everyone that Zofia is twenty-two? She's an adult, she can make her own choices, and this is none of our business. HUGO | You're right, Farrier. It's none of your business. HANNAH | [offscreen] Hugo, enough. PIDGE | [mouthing] Rude. HANNAH | Arthur, what was your read? ARTHUR | I don't know, and I don't want to form a judgment until I've actually gotten to know him. He seems...fine? On par with the other guys she's dated. HANNAH | [sighs] "On par with all her other boyfriends" is the entire problem. HANNAH | I just don't want her to get hurt again. This happens every time, you know? She falls hard and fast and then the guy turns out to be a scum-sucking lowlife. PIDGE | [laughs] Hellooooo, what about Van? He was— HANNAH | Probably thw worst of all of them. Trust me, Pigeon. He's...he's no good. HUGO | [jokingly] You see, baby bird? That's why you're not allowed to date until you're thirty and why Hannah's gonna join a convent— PIDGE | No way, that's not fair. HANNAH | [tiredly] Hugo, shut up. No one asked. PIDGE | Yeah, Hugo. No one asked. ARTHUR | Look, I think we should at least give the guy a chance. HANNAH | [sighs] I guess we owe her that much. PIDGE | Guys, I actually talked to him, and trust me: he is like, sooo nice. HUGO | ... HUGO | I bet I could take him. PIDGE | Hey! Hannah, did you hear what he just said—

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Poison Date translation (Part 1/2)

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

⚠️ Content Warning: Suicide. Please proceed cautiously and prioritize your mental and emotional well-being when engaging with this material

I’ve committed unforgivable sins, drunk the incurable poison.

Your sweet voice has set my reason ablaze, beckoning me to follow you to the depths of hell.

So kiss me, my love, with those poisoned lips of yours.

[T/N: In the original CN date, XM has two ‘identities’ because of the plot. ‘Xu Mo’, the future king and MC’s late husband; and ‘Lucien’, the actor (Yes, PG used his official English name as a pseudonym). But in my translation, I will switch the use of ‘Xu Mo’ and ‘Lucien’ considering how the EN server is more familiar with the name ‘Lucien’, and the context of the date where it sets on the medieval era and the actor is said to be from the east. So, for my translation:

The late husband-> Lucien

The actor-> Xu Mo]

[T/N: another thing, Lucien often addresses MC with 夫人 (fūrén) here, and basically, it’s a rather polite address for a married woman. When the husband says it, it can be translated as ‘my wife’. However, if it’s not the husband that says it, it’s more of a polite title to another person’s wife, similar to ‘Madam’.]

-

[Subbed Video - Turn on CC!]

VERY recommended to watch the video for the complete experience. Hearing the name ‘Lucien’ being said in CN is a novel experience, and the different tone between the proud (late husband) Lucien and flattering (actor) Xu Mo is interesting lol.

[Part 1]

Can't be found in ten thousand books,

Nor has it been passed down in ten thousand poems,

The secret elixir is as sweet as honey at times, and as bitter as chicory at others;

Once you taste a drop, your soul will perish.

Kiss me, with those poisoned lips of yours.

The scattered sound of horseshoes lightly tapping on cobblestones, along with people's cheers and whispered conversations, pierced through the carriage curtains and drifted into my ears.

Passerby A: I can't believe that aloof Cardinal is willing to leave the monastic order for the sake of love!

Passerby B: Tsk, what love? I heard this is all arranged by the Pope and the King; the bishop hasn't even met the princess.

Passerby A: Huh? You can get married without ever having met?

Passerby B: Aren't most of these political marriages like that? By marrying the princess, the bishop will become the king in the future!

MC: ….

I quietly clenched the hem of my skirt and closed my eyes tightly.

Of course, I know that my marriage to Lucien is simply a collaborative arrangement between my father and the Pope.

Both sides needed to gain more power and more significant influence, so they decided to merge their 'treasures' into one.

No one really cares about the thoughts of the two protagonists in this marriage- except me.

??: Princess, you seem a bit nervous?

The warm voice coming from the opposite seat seemed to be imbued with magic as if it could capture my breath the moment they spoke.

I was startled and immediately opened my eyes, just in time to meet his gaze.

The cardinal in front of me still sat upright like a priest, but he was no longer dressed in the solemn cassock and looked more like a prince from a fairy tale.

A flush of heat surged up my cheeks, and I stammered as I shook my head.

MC: N-No, I'm not nervous…

My marriage partner sitting in front of me suddenly smiled.

Lucien: The princess need not fret. Just know that God blesses our union.

MC: Um, I know. But what I care about isn't the blessing of the gods, but… it's…

Lucien: What is it then?

His gaze was deep and focused, and I felt defenseless after just a second of eye contact. When I spoke again, my voice was as faint as a whisper.

MC: Lucien, actually, the first time I saw you in the cathedral, I…

Lucien: Shh, we're at the cathedral now.

Lucien extended his index finger, silently halting the words I was about to say next.

At this moment, the carriage had stopped in front of a long staircase covered in flower petals, and welcoming drums filled the air.

Lucien: Let's save the rest for after the ceremony. Step out of the carriage now, Princess.

Lucien was about to open the carriage door when I suddenly grabbed his sleeve, causing him to turn back with a hint of surprise.

Lucien: Princess?

MC: (blushing) I….

I knew I shouldn't have dwelled on the confession I couldn't finish earlier. The fleeting thought was insignificant compared to the upcoming ceremony.

MC: I…

My face turned red. But Lucien smiled as he gently turned his wrist and pinched my fingers.

Lucien: MC, don't worry, my heart is the same as yours.

He unexpectedly understood all my anxieties and expectations. He placed my fingertips gently against his lips, treasuring and tender.

Lucien: From the moment I first laid eyes on you, Princess, I…

MC: ——Liar!!

I sit up in bed abruptly, cold sweat soaking through the dress on my back.

I've lost count of how many times I've had this nightmare.

Flowers, kisses, blessings... It was such a happy scene, but every time it replayed in my mind, it only made my heart tighten.

I'm still in shock when suddenly the door is knocked twice, then pushed open, and the flickering light of a candlestick enters the room.

??: Madam, are you…?

MC: Who is it?!

The sudden voice of a man startles me, and I quickly turn towards the source of the light.

But the moment I see the face bathed in the warm yellow light, my pupils widen in shock.

Narrow eyes, soft lips, a high-bridged nose... a nearly perfect combination of features that form the face I least wanted to encounter.

MC: Lucien?

The other person noticeably freezes upon hearing my murmur. Then, he breaks into a smile.

??:[chuckles] Madam, have you mistaken me for someone else?

MC: I was mistaken…

The light flickers and I finally snap out of it.

MC: ...Right, you can't be Lucien.

The person in front of me is just a man who looks much like Lucien.

—Because my husband was secretly executed by the Pope a long time ago.

MC: Then who are you, and why are you here?

The young man who resembles Lucien smiles again at my words.

??: My name is Xu Mo.

??: I was brought back to the palace by you tonight. Have you forgotten?

MC: Tonight?

I pause for a moment. Today is the anniversary of my father's death, and I drank heavily. The Pope took pity on me and arranged for me to relax at the theater.

I've already forgotten the content of the play in my drunkenness, and the man before me, named Xu Mo... seems to be the male actor from that play.

— Could it be that I brought him back while I was drunk?

I feel a bit absurd and incredulous, so I can only let out an embarrassed cough.

MC: Even if... even if you were brought back by me, you shouldn't be here.

Xu Mo: It seems that Madam is indeed drunk. It was your request for me to guard your door tonight.

MC: ….

As he speaks, he raises the candlestick with a sincere and innocent expression, casting light on the costume he's still wearing. I become even more bewildered.

Xu Mo notices my distraction and tilts his head with concern.

Xu Mo: Madam, did you sleep poorly?

MC: What?

Xu Mo: Your appearance is worn, and you seem in constant worry, with a disordered mind. I have some knowledge of calming methods that might help you sleep.

MC: I don't need-

I forcibly suppressed the words that slipped out of my mouth.

I should refuse.

After all, I don't even know this Xu Mo; he's just a stranger actor I brought back with me.

But his face and the way he speaks are so much like Lucien…

Almost as if by some strange force, I nod.

MC: Alright, let's give it a try.

Xu Mo respectfully bows to me and retrieves a small, delicate incense burner from his pouch, placing it on the table.

Xu Mo: This is a spice from the East that can help sweep away all your worries.

Xu Mo: Close your eyes, madam. I will continue to stand guard outside the door.

The gentle voice lingers in the mist, and I sink into the feathered warmth.

Xu Mo: (whisper softly)…Fool.

In a daze, I seem to hear a sigh, and then the door closes.

[Part 2]

=Flashback start=

Lucien: The main component of this poison comes from aconitine, a plant originating from the East.

Lucien: Its flowers are quite beautiful. Would you like to see them?

Lucien carefully took out a specimen of aconite flowers. The eerie and vibrant shade of purple solidified into a thin sheet, making it impossible to look away.

MC: Such a beautiful flower unexpectedly hides such a deadly poison…

Lucien: Even though it's poison, it's also medicine. Eastern people use its roots for pain relief and treating illnesses, whereas we only use it to kill people.

As Lucien spoke these extremely dangerous words, I didn't feel a hint of fear. Instead, I found a more comfortable position in his arm.

MC: Are you trying to say whether it's poison or medicine depends entirely on the person?

Lucien:[chuckles] Yes, my wife is very clever.

The rewarding kiss landed on my forehead, and Lucien set aside the aconite specimen, picking up another piece of artwork.

Lucien: This is called "Strychnine". The poison extracted from it…

Lucien wasn't only a perfect husband but also an excellent teacher.

He taught me many knowledge areas I shouldn't have had access to, which made me feel a sense of freshness as someone who had previously only been exposed to the arts.

I flipped through the pages of previous records. I felt deeply moved and asked Lucien.

MC: With so many types of poison, what do you think is the most terrifying kind of poison?

Lucien pondered, his fingertips unconsciously leaving faint traces on the parchment.

Lucien: Me? I believe the most terrifying poison is one that is unknowable and incurable.

Lucien: Not knowing when it was administered, not knowing how to antidote it, not knowing when one might die…

Lucien: Being afflicted with such a poison is the most despairing thing.

I listen but only half-understanding it. Lucien looks at my confused expression, smiles, and gently squeezes my palm.

Lucien: Don't worry, Madam, all my poisons have their rightful place.

At that moment, the voice of a servant from outside the door reminded Lucien that it was time for him to attend to matters.

Lucien put down his book with a bit of regret, his breath lingering in my hair as if reluctant to part.

Lucien: (whispers coquettishly)Hmm, I really don't want to go…

MC: Pfft, how can the future king not attend to state affairs?

Lucien: [chuckles] Because state affairs are dull, and being with my wife is fun.

His frank love words always easily stirred my heartbeat.

The waiter outside urged again, so I had to restrain myself and push away his clasping fingers.

MC: Hurry, Father and the Pope are impatient.

Lucien cast a somewhat helpless glance at me before slowly getting up and wearing his outer robe.

He casually tidied up the messy strands of hair he had caused and gestured with his eyes toward the nearby harp.

Lucien: When I return, we won't have the pharmacology class, you will teach me to play the harp, okay?

MC: Sure, I'll prepare some sheet music. If you don't learn well, I might have to give you a "tough lesson" with a pointer stick!

Lucien: I will study hard, teacher.

=Flashback ends=

Xu Mo: You seemed to have slept well yesterday.

Xu Mo's voice brings back my thoughts, and I withdraw my gaze to look at him.

He's still wearing that costume, and there's a layer of weary darkness under his eyes - the one who didn't sleep last night is him.

I caress the silver cup he brought, and the warmth of milk inside soothes my fingertips.

MC: Why are you so eagerly attentive?

My words are so straightforward that they make Xu Mo get momentarily taken aback, but then he bends down to please me.

Xu Mo: If I can serve by Madam's side, I won't have to travel with the theater troupe anymore.

Xu Mo: Since Madam has given me an opportunity, I want to seize it.

Xu Mo's words are even more greedy and obsequious than mine, and I can't help but sneer.

MC: You should know that I am a widow.

Xu Mo: Of course, I know. Once your health is restored, His Holiness will return power to you, and you will be the most noble woman in this kingdom.

MC: Since you know that, and yet you dared to say what you just did, it seems you're not a good person after all.

Xu Mo: I never claimed to be a good person. Moreover, in this world, good people don't live long.

Xu Mo: So Madam, are you satisfied with the soothing incense from yesterday?

In just a moment, the ambition that flickered in Xu Mo's eyes overlapped with the one Lucien had once shown.

But in the blink of an eye, what remains before me is still a compliant and humble male actor.

I fall silent for a moment, then set down the slightly cooled milk and reach my hand toward him.

MC: Help me up. I want to take a walk in the garden.

Xu Mo bows deeply to me, a satisfied smile on his face.

Xu Mo: As you command, Madam.

These past few years, my body has become frail due to excessive grief.

Apart from going to the cathedral for weekly prayers, I spend my time alone in the study, reading books. It's been a long time since I set foot in the garden.

I sigh as I look at the withered foliage before me.

MC: The flowers have all withered…

Xu Mo: Does Madam like flowers?

MC: It's him who likes them.

The "him" in my words is obvious, and Xu Mo simply nods faintly without further inquiry.

— As a commoner aspiring to climb the social ladder, he is pretty pragmatic.

Xu Mo: Would Madam be willing to introduce these flowers to me?

MC: Why should I introduce them to you?

Xu Mo: Hmm... I suppose there's no harm since we have nothing better to do, right?

Xu Mo: I will study hard, teacher.

He unintentionally spoke the exact same words as Lucien but in a completely different tone. My fingers involuntarily tighten as I slowly respond.

MC: These are oleanders. They have a long blooming season and are quite beautiful when in full bloom. However, they are toxic if ingested, so one must be careful not to consume them…

MC: These few plants are the black datura he collected back then, very rare but equally poisonous…

I'm not a competent teacher, and my vocabulary for the introduction is dry, far less vivid, and interesting than when Lucien used to explain things.

However, Xu Mo listens with great interest. It might be my imagination, but his gaze doesn't seem to be focused on the flowers; instead, it feels like he's looking at me.

Xu Mo: ...Madam's extensive knowledge of flowers and poisons is quite impressive, a bit beyond my expectations.

MC: It's all things he told me about.

Xu Mo: I guess he must be very happy. After all, someone is willing to remember this knowledge so well.

MC: He's gone, what's the point of talking about whether he's happy or not?

The atmosphere suddenly grew colder.

Xu Mo falls silent momentarily, takes a short breath, and no longer discusses plants with me. Instead, he starts talking about peculiar stories from the streets.

He travels with the theater troupe from the East, witnessing countless fascinating customs and traditions along the way.

In terms of eloquence, he is also quite similar to Lucien.

I listen attentively without giving away my thoughts, occasionally posing a few tricky questions in an attempt to learn more about his background.

Xu Mo's answers remain seamless, without any hint of a flaw.

It's only when our walk comes to an end, and he assists me back to my seat wrapped in furs, that he suddenly smiles.

Xu Mo: Is Madam trying to see someone through me?

MC: I'm not.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I answered too quickly, making it seem like I was trying to conceal something.

And so, Xu Mo's smile deepens.

Xu Mo: [chuckles] It doesn't matter, as long as Madam is willing to have me serve her, I will ensure her satisfaction.

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

It's always Lucien that I love.

But precisely because of that, I find myself uncontrollably searching for traces of Lucien in Xu Mo. And with each of his gestures, he becomes more and more like my late husband.

He's like a certain kind of poison that numbs my senses, making me unable to resist peering and sniffing, deliberately getting me addicted.

Very quickly, filthy rumors began to target my empty palace.

But I don't care. After my father and Lucien both died one after another, and with illness plaguing me, everyone regarded me as ominous.

So what does it matter to the world what the ominous person wants to do?

Moreover, now that Xu Mo takes care of me, my health seems to have improved a little. Even the Pope was a bit surprised when I went to the cathedral to pray this time.

The Pope: MC, may God bless you; your complexion has finally improved.

MC: Thank you for your compassion, Your Holiness.

The Pope helps me to my feet and hands me holy water.

The Pope: Once you feel better, our young queen can be crowned, and I can confidently return the kingdom to you.

I smile and don't respond to his words, simply sipping the holy water slowly.

There is still a familiar sweetness in the water, and the seal wax around the rim of the chalice can easily be accidentally ingested.

I furrow my brow tightly, and the Pope's voice continues to come from beside my ear.

The Pope: However, once you become queen, you can't be as willful as you are now.

The Pope: I heard you have taken a male companion, this could damage your reputation.

It turns out there's not much difference between the most powerful Pope and common beggars. I sneered inwardly while maintaining a respectful demeanor on my face.

MC: How could I dare to do anything immoral under the watchful gaze of God? Xu Mo is merely my servant, taking care of my daily life.

I don't want to continue discussing Xu Mo with the Pope and change the topic.

MC: By the way, my birthday is in a couple of days, and since I've been feeling better lately, I'd like to organize a celebration.

MC: Will you come?

The Pope places the silver cup containing holy water back in its place and smiles benevolently.

The Pope: I'm your second father. So of course, I will come.

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

Although I said I wanted to have a good celebration, in reality, there are not many people willing to come on my birthday.

After all, in the eyes of the world, I'm just a widow without support who could die of depression at any moment, so there is naturally no need for flattery or fawning.

The simple banquet is coming to an end when Xu Mo, who has been absent for half a day, suddenly appears before me.

MC: Where have you been?

Xu Mo: Nobles' party is no place for a commoner like me.

MC: I thought you might take this opportunity to find more opportunities for yourself.

Xu Mo: Madam, your saying hurts my heart greatly and underestimates my loyalty.

He takes my wine glass with a smile, places it under his nose, and gives it a light sniff, furrowing his brow slightly.

Xu Mo: The aroma of this wine is too coarse. Please, have my glass, Madam.

Our act of exchanging glasses is too ambiguous, and at this moment, there are already malicious whispers coming from the corners of the banquet hall.

Neither Xu Mo nor I pay any attention to these voices. He hands me his cup, and amidst the fruity aroma filling the silver cup, there's a hint of bitterness. My eyelashes tremble slightly.

MC: Alright.

Xu Mo watches me finish the drink, and only then does he breathe a sigh of relief.

His gaze briefly passes over the Pope, who is surrounded by the crowd not far away, before returning to my face.

Xu Mo: I've just prepared a birthday gift for you, Madam.

MC: What is it?

Xu Mo: It's a play.

Xu Mo: I have already set up the stage, arranged the actors, and after the banquet, I will present it to…

The Pope: I presume you are the servant named Xu Mo?

The Pope's voice interrupted our conversation. The old man walks over, and his gaze sweeps over Xu Mo’s face like a knife, raising an eyebrow.

The Pope: Oh, Xu Mo, you have a face that is both... dangerous and nostalgic.

The Pope: I hope you are a loyal servant to your master so that I can rest assured.

Xu Mo respectfully bows to the Pope and speaks in a gentle tone.

Xu Mo: I am forever loyal.

The Pope: That's best. So, what were the two of you talking about?

Xu Mo: I want to perform a scene from a play for Madam, as a birthday gift for her.

The Pope: A play?

The Pope smiles at the corner of his mouth, his interest piqued.

The Pope: I wonder if I have the honor to come and enjoy your splendid performance as well?

Xu Mo looks up at me, and a hint of darkness passes through his deep, dark eyes. Then, he takes half a step forward, stops in front of me, and bows to the Pope.

Xu Mo: It'd be my honor.

Part 3 & 4-> [Here]

[kayawolfhorse]

Day 14 — In the Webs We Weave

—☾—

The chatter fades softly behind Pearl as she marches across the map with stacks of terracotta in her pockets and a mission on her mind. She’s had enough distraction for one session; she’s got to get a move-on with this task if she wants any chance at regaining her lost hearts.

Even still, Pearl can’t keep the smile off of her face. Though it cost her valuable time, she’d be hard-pressed to regret the impromptu get-together.

Her base had been filled to the brim with jokes and laughter as almost the entire server crammed in together, sat upon or sprawled beneath hastily crafted trapdoors. It was chaotic and completely unnecessary, and Pearl’s heart couldn’t have felt warmer, tucked beside Scar on her recently-installed floor.

The feeling lingers between her ribs as Pearl scopes out a suitable hill at the border’s edge to enact her plan. After a glance over her shoulder to make sure she’s alone, she digs out a shallow cave in the hill’s side just large enough to hold a single block and a few instruction-bearing signs.

A perfectly adequate goose, Pearl thinks, stepping back to spellcheck her scrawled writing. Now, for the chase.

With each block added, the lines of terracotta shape into bright red trails looping across the plains, each leading to the cave. If that’s not tempting enough to investigate, Pearl doesn’t know what is.

It’s quiet in this empty corner of the map, and unexpectedly peaceful. The day around her is pleasant, and the task at hand is tedious enough for Pearl’s mind to wander.

Her thoughts turn back to the congregation at her base, and Pearl holds the memory close. She’s never known a base to feel as close to home as her silly little mound did in that moment.

So early into this game, her allies are newly forged and her enemies are hardly made; relationships are blank slates. Nothing and everything matters from previous runs. How strange is it to have sat beside those who have hunted her and those she’s hunted in turn lifetimes ago?

She’d laughed alongside Scott like she had in their shared base deep beneath a cottage covered in moss years ago, even though she’s fallen twice by his hand since. She’ll never get enough revenge on him. She resents how he’s stolen every attempt of it from her.

Impulse was among the first to claim a trapdoor, stacked above Pearl. When she looked up at him, she’d seen the kindness he'd shown her, the axe he’d wielded against her, and his blood dripping from the tip of her sword in another life. Bdubs had died from her blow, too, and now he’s a fellow Mounder.

BigB had been a loyal ally—friend—when Pearl needed it the most after her lonesome win. When he killed her, it was at her demand. In the round before, he hadn’t stopped his soulmate from cursing her name.

Gem appears on the horizon, and Pearl can’t help but wave, before quickly remembering she’s trying to avoid being spotted. She yanks her hand back and drops to a crouch behind the closest bit of terracotta, but it’s no use—Gem’s already started towards her.

“Hey-yyy, Gem,” Pearl says as casually as she can. “Have you, uh, seen this shiny red trail? Very suspicious.”

“Uh huh.” Gem squints at her. “Definitely the thing here that’s suspicious, yep.”

“Glad you agree! Would you, by any chance, be interested in following it?” Worth a shot, right?

Gem snorts. “I actually have someplace I need to be; just figured I’d say hello first.”

“Right, right,” Pearl says. She must look disappointed, because Gem giggles.

“If I see anyone looking for a weird, suspiciously random path to follow, I’ll be sure to point them this way, how’s that?”

“Oh, you’re the best.” Pearl grins.

Gem grins back. “I know. See you around!”

Pearl bids goodbyes to Gem’s retreating back and waits until she’s out of sight to start working once more. She thinks about how much longer it’ll take her to reach spawn. She wonders how Gem will fit into the threads woven between the players and games.

Block by block, her wild goose chase grows. The sun dips lower over the horizon, and by the time Pearl makes it to spawn, the sky is full of twinkling stars.

Pearl returns to an empty mound, clears away enough of the mess to collapse into bed, and hopes someone happens upon the terracotta before she must approach the Secret Keeper in the morning. When she finally falls asleep, her dreams are bathed in red.

[coffeegnomee]

Training my brain to learn that caring about something does not mean someone will die and it will all be lost.

Cw - death, OCD, mcyt death, dsmp and lifesteal, triggers

This is, obviously, something super personal. But sharing about it is what scares me, so I’m going to do it anyway and prove to my brain that it’s okay to care.

If you end up reading it, know you just read my heart. I hope it helps you process whatever you’re dealing with <3. 

I looked up OCD tonight because my brain constantly cycles through the same thoughts and worries about Lifesteal like Non Stop. Like I know I’m ADHD but this isn’t just a fixation on this server, but like debilitating spirals of thought. And all focused around analyzing if it’s all going to fall apart or not. 

They say ocd is a “limbic system impairment that occurs when someone experiences a traumatic physical or emotional event while their chronic stress load is already high.”

And that freaking resonated. They say exposure therapy can rewire the brain so let’s go explore what’s the event that’s keeping me spiraling.

My chronic stress load was extremely high that summer two years ago. And then Technoblade died. The longer it’s been the more I really sit with the fact that that was traumatic.

On top of the stress personally, now my favorite YouTuber, my comfort character on dsmp, the freaking anchor of that server, was just gone. Gone.

Dreamsmp came in a time of some pretty heavy depression. Obviously the pandemic was still occurring so that’s a chronic stress load itself (I found it January 16th 2021, so like, three days before the disc finale, but almost a year into covid) and watching through all the streams I was able to completely escape.

For the first time in months I was laughing. Like deep belly laughs. Full body. Actual joy. The neural rewiring my brain those first months was insane. It was pure serotonin.

I became motivated to work again, having something fun in the background. I looked forward to cherishing the lore, keeping those streams to the side for the evenings when I could really immerse myself into the story.

There’s a two-fold trigger that sends me into a spiral around loosing the thing that makes me happy. Unfortunately at the time, the things causing the chronic stress in my life stemmed from the things that used to bring me fulfillment and joy and purpose. They were being taken away, by my own choice, and from my health (more on that later).

So in the void of having my real-life anchors to bring fulfillment, dreamsmp was the thing keeping this whole body going. Truly a hanging on by a thread moment.

But even then, it’s not just about "loosing the thing that makes me happy" that causes these obsessive thoughts.

It’s the irrational connection that because the lore changed and the dynamic of the server stalled, that THAT therefore somehow that lead to Techno dying. (yes. An irrational and non related thought. I just realized with writing that that I have truly merged both those events so closely that when the first happens, I cannot let go of the idea of the second. I’m sitting here expecting someone to irl die.)

Huh. That’s interesting. 

It’s like, I read this from some random instagram post years ago. This woman’s husband died on a sunny day and then years later sunny days fill her with dread as if the weather was signaling that she would come home to the death of a loved on.

That’s what’s going on in my noggin.

Because it’s Quackity’s lore that changed the fabric of the dreamsmp. It didn’t have to, but it did. It came at the perfect storm when everyone was super burnt out and needed to run away from the insanity of both the fans and the haters and the sudden massive fame. 

He decided to do pre-recorded movies. On my live-stream smp. The very fabric of lore was changed. 

And because of the larger production, it took longer, and the other members of the server seemed to not know where to take their personal lore; everyone was waiting for that damn casino to open. And since all the lore ended up happening in pre-recordings we never again experienced that magic of live stream entertainment and improv and dumb bits. Everything was sanitized. For their own sanity, sure. But at the expense of the survival of the server. (Also Techno wasn’t available because of the chemo, so truly nothing was happening on any end of the server)

That perfect storm, loosing interest in the server and the lore being fundamentally changed, set the stage for the traumatic moment of loosing a member. That's my two-fold trigger.

And his death sealed the deal. I’ve never held it against them for not wanting to continue after. Season 2 was impossible the moment that happened. 

My chronic stress had exploded so far that my thyroid was fucked and I’m diagnosed with Hashimoto’s, an autoimmune disease that keeps me fatigued more often than not. Besides that, my other main chronic stress was a realization that the Future I had always expected myself to take, the Plan that I had set out, I was suddenly extremely Not Sure I wanted to do anymore. 

But I had confidently told my friends and family for over 8 years that this is what I wanted (all this during college and after. I was already 26 at this time) (yes I’m old) (yes life is still crazy when you’re old) (but you start understanding yourself better). It was in this understanding of myself that I realized my direction needed to change.

Suddenly my whole identity I had built for myself was swept out from under me. 

At that. same. dang. time. That same week. That’s when the news broke. Literally broke me to pieces. 

And I hadn’t told anyone I was obsessed with Minecraft lore. Like bro. I’m out of college for a few years. Get a life. (But man. My eyes just light up when I think about this method of story telling. It’s just goated)

My mom sort of knew. She didn’t understand but at least I could tell her someone died and she had some sort of connection that I had been following this kid for over a year now. 

But no one else. The sorrow and pain of loss is just so much worse when you can’t explain why you cared about someone so much. It’s not like my parent died. Or sibling. It was a kid I had never met in person but I resonated with so much. 

And I remember distinctly thinking “It’s not worth not sharing the things you care about with other people”. Burned into my brain that day.

But time heals all wounds. Until something triggers it. 

I spent the next year just following Foolish, that ray of sunshine who was involved enough to have become my comfort streamer, but not too involved that it was painful to watch because of the memories.

It was a crazy fun year. Best comfort streamer. But people change, I change, and I missed Minecraft lore. You can only watch so much valorant before it’s just the same game.

Foolish found out he was on QSMP (I think it actually was before, I think he knew about the server before it was announced) and he started looking at Minecraft content and Minecraft builds again. For the first time in over a year. It was such a random day. 

But we watched Sandiction and… Rekrap2. 

Both of them stole my heart and I went, maybe it’s time to return to mcyt. See what’s been brewing.

And before I knew it I was on a month-long binge of Lifesteal content and just so absolutely lost as to what order everything came out in or what season everything was from. Shoutout them being allergic to click baiting “Lifesteal” or adding season tags to the description. It’s such a mess on Youtube lol.

Soon enough I found Baconnwaffles1. Not 0. 1. Somehow found his second channel first.

The videos caught my eye. I knew they were streams and I was trying to find the vods, but as you know Bacon doesn’t have a vods channel and his streams delete after 14 days. 

But then finally the fated video crossed my path: “This is PrinceZam and he just betrayed his teammates”

Oh my goddess what in the world is going on in this server. 

I needed to know. 

So began the true binge. Found Zam’s vods, watched season 4. And I discovered something amazing.

I have genuinely never resonated more with a character than I resonated with Zam season 4.

Every internal debate of Zam resonated with my own dilemmas. People pleasing and understanding what you value came to a head, and only one could win. But truly your values are the only real option because every moment of people pleasing will rub against your soul like hot coals. 

Remember those chronic stressors? The life I didn’t know if I wanted anymore?

As Zam walked between conversations with friends, teammates, and enemies, I recognized similar conversations in my life. 

I could describe the situation one way, and the person would agree and give advice. But then I realized I could describe the situation in a different light and then maybe they wouldn’t agree anymore. So I didn’t know what advice to take.

And then chat was so funny. The day before the wormhole they started giving too many opinions, the same opinions they had been giving for weeks, and in a flash I was like, omg he’s going to spiral again guys why are you like this. 

And then he was like, OMG chat, YOU’RE the problem! There’s too many of you and I’m trying to make everyone happy.

If I tell you I jumped up, screamed, giggled, and floundered around like a crazy person it wouldn’t even come close to what happened. I was so proud of Zam for realizing his emotions were being swayed by the barest opposition. From that third person point of view, I could so clearly see what was going wrong and I was cheering him on to realizing what he truly wanted.

I did, and still do, see so many of the decision making problems that Zam has, within myself. As a piece of media, and him being a character, it’s the craziest most relatable story I have ever seen. I’ve never resonated with a character more. 

Then we reached season 5. 

The first season I truly watched as it came out. I had gotten too obsessed with this Minecraft world. I wanted more. I loved these kids and their storytelling. 

But it was the first season when people started leaving the server on good terms.

Oh no. This sounds too familiar. People are loosing interest in the server I love. What’s next, a change in the fabric of how lore is created? 

Then there was a change in the fabric of how the lore was created.

We saw the new members approach the server with a recording-mindset. Who weaponized the lore against the old server members. Pretending they cared about the yapping but then revealing that in itself was a complete and total lie used to get you into the perfect position to either spoil the whole riddle or shoot you with an arrow canon.

And then. Not. Care. At. All. Zero remorse.

I don’t know why the betrayals by Jumper hurt so badly. But it hurt. A lot. (I was triggered that’s why) My emotional reaction was out of proportion to reality.

It’s not like it wasn’t a Lifesteal move, people had gotten into position to betray in the past, and would continue to do so in the future with Leo and Clown betraying Minute. 

But it was that “I have no remorse over the hours we spent as a team, not a single thread of care to you or to the yapping lore of this server”. It’s one thing to be betrayed by an enemy. Quite another to be betrayed by a friend.

So here I began. Triggered by something that wasn’t world ending. Quackity’s take on lore didn’t kill the server. Neither did Jumper’s. It was probably going to be fine.

But like. My brain is not agreeing. So I’m pushing back on it. 

Here’s what I’m finding.

This is a fun tidbit - when Mapic said “streams are delayed” when he was in the hospital before the finale I could not convince myself that he didn’t had cancer and wasn’t going to die. Bro. Tell me you’re triggered without telling me you’re triggered. (In case you didn’t see, it was just a concussion)

I’m so hyper aware of everything that could indicate I’m going to loose someone I care about again.

The pattern recognition is going out of control. 

And I keep trying to calm my brain down and catalogue all the reasons I know and believe Lifesteal will be perfectly fine for probably a while. Like how they have meetings all the time to discuss what went down on the server. They’re talking all the time to work out interpersonal problems and lore problems so that everyone is happy and feels heard. And they’re watching movies together. Meeting up and strengthening relationships. Changing admins as necessary. 

And I say it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Every time something throws the smallest pebble at stability I walk my brain back through all the indicators that everything will be fine. 

Jumper:

Jumper loves being on the server. She’s said it. She’s so excited about it. She did have a plan. She didn’t tell us the plan as it went, but she does stream. She’s getting comfortable with the idea of streaming, she’ll learn to trust chat over time. She’ll learn how to loose gracefully on this server at some point. Probably. hopefully. And since I don’t know when that will be I’ll just have to wait until season 6 and see what happens. It’s out of my control. She’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

Pentar:

Pentar is fine. He doesn’t understand why chat would tell him he’s the most likely to betray even though every video he betrays. Why is he doing that that’s so weird. But he’s a great teammate and everyone likes having him around. I don’t like how he laughs at Zam, but like I can give him the benefit of the doubt that he just doesn’t take anything seriously and laughs in the face of anything serious. I’ll have to wait and see until next time to see how I feel about what he does on the server. Real life can’t be repeated over and over so just let it go. It’ll be fine.

Minute:

Minute is just so happy to be in Lifesteal. He loves it so much. You can tell by how he speaks every time there’s a group moment. He’s going to be admin next season. He loves this server. He may be overly attached to the Rules and have black and white thinking and he sometimes wields that for his own gain and I hate when he does that can he just have fun and take things less seriously? But I think he’ll get it. He’s competent. And he loves the server. He wouldn’t destroy it even on accident because someone would call him out before that happens. It’s going to be fine. 

Ash: 

Ash can be mean and also not care about the good that our side is doing and just wave them away saying they’re just evil. He does’t get it. But also he’s quite the actor. He puts on a lore face when he logs on, you can see it in season 4 with the wormhole. You can see it when he logs on for the justice league returns and he’s so committed to being good and fighting evil and as Zam is killing Mid in the background and he’s all shocked as if he was not the one who goaded Zam into killing her moments before. It’s a character. Even when it feels like it shouldn’t be. He does take random events in stride, pulling up the meditation guidance video when they all got killed. He’s stressed out by it, but also takes it with some levity. He’ll be fine. He just chose a questionable character to act this season and didn’t know how to balance his position as admin separate from his need to win. But he’ll be fine.

Can you see how this is exhausting? This is my brain on the daily. 

Every day I find myself working through each person one after another as something small comes up to threaten the balance, or reinforce the good.

This is when I noticed this wasn’t simple excitement about the lore, thinking and guessing about what might happen.  It was the same thoughts over and over and over. And I couldn’t stop a line of thought until I mentioned all the things. That’s what made me look up ocd. 

But back to it, I’m actually so much more okay with Ash because it’s been a couple seasons with him. I’m starting to see his tells. So I can just let the rough parts slide away. 

And that’s really what I just have to accept. That I can’t self soothe my way into being okay. Resisting acknowledging what I’m afraid of is just making me spiral more. 

We’ve seen people choose to leave after stressful seasons. We know some people become aware that they aren’t cut out for Lifesteal. Or they just don’t want to be. Some of these members might decide that. And Lifesteal has continued despite members leaving. 

OMg can I please stop cataloging how it will be fine?

I have to sit with the reality and realize nothing bad DID happen, NOT that nothing bad MIGHT happen. 

(This is unironically so counterintuitive to my brain. What do you mean I have to just accept that nothing bad happened, what if something bad does happen!) (But that’s what anxiety looks like. That’s not a good)

How do you convince yourself that you can’t predict the future? Asking for a friend.

I think it goes back to caring. I don’t think I’m allowed to care about any of this. That it’s silly, or dumb, or immature. 

It was, in fact, in caring itself that the loss of Techno was so painful.

So I don’t allow myself to care. To get too invested. Any time I see that I’m caring I push up on the walls of my trenches and shove that shit out. Only analytical thoughts in here. Measurable, quote-filled analyses.

But caring does not therefore mean there will be a loss.

So. Okay. Pivot. What am I really afraid of? 

I’m afraid the server will end. That something will make Zam give up and leave. 

Wow. I thought that was going to be a long ass paragraph but it really is just that. I know I’ll stop watching lifesteal if Zam is gone. Unless someone new comes in that has his same spark and dedication. Unlikely. 

So that threat is the worst. 

And I’ve seen his interest wax and wane. I know he can disappear for a month. 

But I also know he can come back. And he’s been a lot more mature and healthy and confident in being the streamer of Lifesteal. In how much he loves the server. 

Which is where pb&j being such a threat to the fabric of how lore is done is so scary, because that changes Zam’s care. But then again. It really didn’t. He just pivots. 

One of the most healing things has been watching the old members leave and continue to make content. And seeing how they choose to make their exit. They honored the server and the time they were there, in Rek’s case uplifting Lifesteal.net, in Parrot’s in completely reediting all his footage into a cohesive story. 

And then they still make content together. All the members make content with each other outside of Lifesteal. (And those that left the internet forever, that was okay too)

So that’s nice. Some bad things came to pass, and they've shown their response to it. Also Zam taking a break didn’t change how the lore was created, so that wouldn’t be a trigger. 

The trigger from that fear would be if he did leave, my brain would go into high gear looking for who was going to die. And I would have a new post to write lol. 

The trigger that is still tilting me is that pb&j changed how the lore was made, and my brain went *danger* *danger* This is something that happened last time and you know how that turned out! Start looking for who is going to die!

And it stopped me from seeing how this is not the same situation. The pattern for a death that I think I’m seeing, is not a pattern. 

And sitting with how nothing DID go wrong, that fear did not come to pass, is exposure therapy.

Because nothing went catastrophically wrong with the season 5 finale. I just keep closing my eyes, sitting in the problematic lore, and not accepting what actually happened at the end of the season, and freaking out that disaster is coming.

So what happened?

Season 5, you tried to kill my server. 

But The server resisted. (Hahahah undertale reference!)

Clown came back. Ro came back. Branzy betrayed everyone for Clown. Bacon and Zam sat in vc the entire finale fight. Mapicc fought until he couldn’t.

Spepticle gave his account then fought for it back. Pangi gave his account. Spoke gave his account. Red did the blessings/curses as Zam wanted. 4C said he was glad to give Minute the presidency because he knew Minute wanted peace and he knew peace was not an option in Lifesteal. Actually the quietest of goats. Didn’t realize he thought that deeply about the server. 

And it meant so much that Clownpierce, who hasn’t been meaningfully involved since the season 3 finale, came back and fought for his server. He made Lifesteal season 2. It’s always been his domain and he fought for its soul.

That’s the season 5 finale. 

The Players fought for Lifesteal. The server resisted destruction. 

This chapter is closed. This season got it’s ending. And it’s “not like last time” like my brain keeps thinking. 

The season might have ended with a lot of unknowns for how it will affect season 6. Will these old members still care? Will pb&j be a menace still? 

But what happened was a moment where everyone came together to care about the server. And that means the anxiety was unfounded. If something happens like this again, I have an example where everything didn’t fall apart to counter my fear that it will. 

See you around!

If you actually read to the end you’re amazing. Hopefully this is something you can do in your life to help understand what is the cause of your pain and anxiety. I wasn’t going to post it initially, but working it out as a post I could theoretically show to other people helped make it way more real than trying to work it out in my head, talking to myself. I had to write it in such a way that someone else would understand. Even if I didn’t post it. 

I’ll probably have many more days of writing when I notice a new trigger. Exposure therapy isn’t a one and done. (I probably won’t post any of those.)

But my body feels so much more relaxed now. Something has shifted in my head as a result of writing this all down.

Good luck!

[jellieland]

I thought Bdubs' "task success" moment was very interesting, this week. But hey, you didn't hear it from me!

---

After the usual ritual-like gathering around the Secret Keeper to chant "fail" at those unfortunate enough not to have completed their tasks, Mumbo wanders back towards his sideways house.

He's had a fairly unfortunate time. Really, who in their right mind would think keeping Scar from taking damage was even possible, let alone not hard? But at least he's still green, so he supposes it could be going much worse.

Honestly, in hindsight he's rather grateful that Grian didn't allow him to try a harder task—at least this way he doesn't have to loose even more hearts. And the dramatic ringing noise reverberating across the server the moment Grian made that proclamation had really cut short any possible objections. The timing had been quite remarkable.

He might be a little lost in thought as he walks back, but his attention is caught by the distinctive sounds of a disgruntled Bdubs. The grumbling is coming from inside the mostly completed globe, and Mumbo can't help but overhear what's being said as he draws closer.

"I told you!" Bdubs is not being particularly quiet, although how purposeful that is is unclear. "I said it! Sheesh! Oh, and look, there, I said it again, and you still didn't say it back, because you can't! So there! That counts!"

Now, Mumbo could just announce himself. But he also sort of wants to hear where this is going. Just for a few seconds.

"And you better not tell anyone!" continues Bdubs, indignant as ever. "Not that you would have any reason to tell anyone, obviously. But you little sneaks better not, don't even think about it! Grian doesn't need to know!"

Ok, now he has to ask. "Bdubs?" calls Mumbo, from outside the upsidedown house.

There is a short pause.

"...Yes?" shouts Bdubs, sounding exceedingly guilty.

"Now, um. I. Well. I was just passing by. Because, you know. I live here." He gestures towards his house, despite the fact that Bdubs can't see him, due to the wall between them. "And I couldn't help but overhear you saying-"

"NOTHING!" shouts Bdubs. "It was nothing, I was just—talking to myself! About nothing!"

"...Right." says Mumbo, skeptically. "Well, I would love to know what you were telling yourself to not tell Grian."

A few seconds pass, and then Bdubs climbs down into his house and crawls out of the... door? Door. Door is close enough.

"Look," says Bdubs, pointing at him decisively.

Mumbo looks.

"Yes?" he asks, after a moment passes without elaboration. "I'm looking."

Bdubs sighs, sounding extremely put upon. "Oh, for goodness sakes," he says. "I build you the world, I give you my heart, you don't even give one back, you'd think that would be enough! But nooo, let's just give ol' Bdubs' secrets to Grian! Why not!"

"Now hang on!" says Mumbo, voice going up an octave and holding up his hands to try and slow this down. "I did not say that!"

Bdubs glares at him suspiciously.

"I didn't, I promise! I won't tell Grian!"

"Hmm." Bdubs squints, then nods abruptly. "Well, ok. Yes. Good."

Mumbo opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Bdubs continues.

"And anyway, I think you've been quite suspicious this week too!" he declares, suddenly accusatory.

"I- what? Me?" Mumbo squeaks. "How?!"

"You were giving Martyn clues about your task!" He points at Mumbo again, this time even more decisively. "What in the world were you hoping to get out of that?!"

Mumbo opens his mouth, and then pauses, and actually thinks about it for a second. Abruptly, an interesting thought crosses his mind, and he voices it. "Well. I mean. He's not getting anything out of it either, is he?"

"He could have guessed your task!" Bdubs says incredulously.

"That's what I mean!" says Mumbo. "Yellows don't actually get anything out of that, do they?"

"I—huh," says Bdubs. "I mean, I suppose not. Other than the satisfaction of a job well done. Or, uh. Not well done." He frowns. "...Well not done?"

"It is a bit odd," says Mumbo. "Now that I think about it. You know, last week I heard Martyn shouting at the Secret Keeper about how it held no bearing over him and he didn't have to complete his task. I think he called it a creep, actually."

"Oh yeah?" says Bdubs.

"Yeah! And now today he's been sneaking around like his life depended on it doing the Secret Keeper's bidding! And he doesn't even get anything for it!"

"Huh!" says Bdubs. "Probably just a yellow life thing, I think. We wouldn't know."

"I mean, I might know soon," says Mumbo nervously.

"Oh yes," says Bdubs. "You did jump off my planet for absolutely no reason, didn't you. Actually, on reflection, I don't know why I'm asking you about why you were doing weird things that cause you problems."

"Hey!" cries Mumbo, indignant. "I mean, that's fair. But hey!"

"Look, I just want you to be safe, Mumbo." He glances up at the darkening sky. "Maybe you should go back to your house, it should be getting dark, soon."

"Ah. Yes. That would probably be wise," says Mumbo.

Bdubs nods. A few moments pass, and he gives Mumbo an odd, indecipherable look. "You know," he says. "You'd be surprised what you can get away with if you just present it right."

Mumbo frowns, confused, but before he can ask for clarification, Bdubs continues.

"So, hey!" he exclaims cheerfully. "Maybe next time you can get Grian to bend the rules! You could accuse him of favoritism towards Scar. I bet he'd do it for you!"

"Oh. Oh! That's what you meant! Sorry, you lost me for a second there." Mumbo shrugs. "I don't know, though. Honestly I think maybe it worked out for the best, in the end."

"Right. Yes," says Bdubs, nodding sympathetically. "Well. That's good! It's a shame you failed, though. I wouldn't know what that's like, myself! But that's a real shame."

Mumbo narrows his eyes. "...Are you making fun of me?"

"NO!" Bdubs yells hurriedly. "I'm being serious here!"

They talk for a while longer. Eventually, Mumbo returns to his house.

It's not until much later that he realizes Bdubs never explained what he was talking about, or even who he was talking to.

Oh well. As far as Mumbo can tell, it probably wasn't all that important.

[truestfeeiing]

a little pilot episode of a mellobot!au. it's actually a scene close to the end of the story, but i wanted to write it to get a feel.

android scientist!near / insurgent!mello

sci-fi/sci-fantasy, drama, rated general. (1.1k word count)

it's twenty years after the kira case, and mello and near are on opposite sides of the artificial intelligence war. today, mello has infiltrated near's base. he finds a special room with his name on the door.

Mello walked past the android repair shop, the server room, the controls headquarters. He kept heading deeper. The rooms became more personal, less organized, less like they were used for this proxy war that really wasn't a proxy war at all and instead spilt the blood of millions, and more like the battered, rattling lungs of a wounded animal, all the air sacs contracting and expanding in turn. The floor outline, based on the trackers he put in each room, became increasingly crooked and cramped as he approached its center.

“Bastard, what a nice fuckin’ place you've got, huh?” Mello snuffed out his cigarette and flicked the butt into a nearby trash can overflowing with office papers and junk parts.

There were a few facilities that implied more people may have worked here, once, but the downturn of the war on the side of the artificial had taken a toll on that too; offices abandoned, the cantine laced in cobwebs. He tagged those, too, sliding trackers under desks and tacking them on support beams.

The first room he happened upon that held his interest had a door of sturdy oak wood and a slightly oxidized plaque with an old-fashioned inscription. It had nothing to do with the aesthetics of the base that surrounded it; it had the distinct charm of the conception of the twenty-first century, when everyone was freshly hopeful that the dawn of a new age would bring prosperity and light. Mello sneered at the thought of the doomsayers. In the end, those fanatics waving signs and self-flagellating on the streets were much closer to seeing the truth. Still, it was an imperfect truth because here Mello stood, cleansed by fire, built by ash.

The world did end, but it was reconstructed brick by brick by people like Mello.

Though his vision had never quite been restored in his left eye, the curly script inscribed in the plaque clarified into perfect legibility as he approached it, and he stopped dead in his tracks five paces away from the enigmatic door.

“Mello?” He traced out the script with a hoarse whisper.

It was left slightly ajar with a gentle light source emanating from within, as though someone had been waiting and watching, as though the slight crack allowed a breath to pass through.

He tossed a tracker inside and heard it bounce twice before settling. No commotion. Carpet flooring, based on the muffledness.

Unlike the rest of the base, he had zero predictions for what could be inside, but the warm glow spilling out like silk welcomed him, so he hoisted his rifle up a bit more across his shoulders, and slipped a thumb into the holster of his handgun. His stomach twisting and turning in knots of apprehension, Mello gingerly pushed the door open with one gloved hand.

The sight of a mundane bedroom greeted him. Still the chills of a peculiar familiarity ran down his spine. The hue of the lights, the woven carpet, the bedposts in that same rich mahogany. It kind of looked— he recalled with a gulp— like his own room, back at Wammy's, a lifetime ago. Geez what tipped you off, maybe the name on the door?

There were a few odd details that kept his mind from exploding completely, principally the life-sized version of what must be his late teenage self tucked in bed facing away from him, rusty blond hair spilling over his white pillow, his face in a neutral repose. Mello swiftly aimed his handgun at the boy’s head, barking out a harsh warning. When there was no reaction he kicked the edge of the mattress. Still nothing.

He flipped the boy over by the shoulder (it was cold with a bit of give, velvety). and did a quick scan: There. The unmistakable electromagnetic signature of an android. A mighty fine one at that, but still a machine, and powered off. Mello crouched down and peered incredulously into the face of his younger self. He could almost see the scarlet blood rushing beneath his shockingly humanlike skin. None of the androids he'd met independently reached this level of lifelike. Besides the glaring difference of his facial scar and the decades packed into Mello's sallow skin, they were spitting images of each other.

It was truly state of the art.

“You sick fuck,” Mello laughed derisively.

He stood back up—almost dizzy— and surveyed the room one more time. The window, or the model of a window, was of particular interest. Just a standard LED panel behind a traditional-looking frame, with no indication that it could be opened, but it seemed a deliberate difference that only two people in the world were ever clued in to.

“You remembered,” Mello marveled to himself. Past the window played a very subtly looping footage of a generated coastline, the muted blue of brackish waters ambling in and out.

He blinked and watched more closely.

Ah, it wasn't generated. Little dots of people, vintage people, dotted the beachy shores. Even in the cliffs there was occasionally someone chancing a dive. Such idyllic coastlines didn't exist anymore, but in this window, they were immortalized. Mello’s lips thinned into a wobbling line as he put a fist beside the window, in this mirage of a room.

There was a second part to their conversation. His and Near’s. He had let the memory be buried for three decades, under the suffocating hatred and longing and all the thorny feelings stirred in him by one particular man; now it came rushing back unbidden, with vengeance.

“If you go, I wouldn't mind following. I wouldn't mind seeing all these things you find beautiful." Near had been lying on Mello's bed, feet dangling off the side because they were dusty. He didn't look at Mello, but stared up at the ceiling of that windowless room.

Mello had laughed back then.

”How are you gonna do that? You don't even want to leave the orphanage.”

”That's only ‘cause you're here, Mello. But I could do it, don't you believe in me? We'll go visit the Mediterranean Sea, then the Baltic, then sail around the world using L’s money.”

”You're gonna need to lug around so much medicine. Plus, it's kind of hard to believe a recluse like you could find anything beautiful beyond the nails of your own ten toes.”

”You can teach me to.”

In the present, Mello peered down into the youthful face of his mirror one last time before storming out of its room, slamming the door behind him.

[goodlucktai]

give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

chapter two: stuck on the thought of you

rise of the tmnt pairing: leoichi (leonardo / usagi yuichi) word count: 2k title borrowed from sunroof by nicky youre and dazy post-movie

(previous) (next)

read on ao3

x

Yuichi lasts another whole day before his scraped-together willpower completely fails him. Okay, half a day. At work he approaches Sunita in that lull between the lunch and dinner rush while she’s folding linens for the tables and makes his daring move.

Her phone is propped up against the napkin holder, playing a music video by a human performer Yuichi is unfamiliar with. Sunita is bopping along to it and doesn’t notice Yuichi until he’s standing directly in front of her.

When she does, she jumps about a foot in the air, yelping loud enough that a few of their coworkers on the other side of the dining room turn and shoot them judgemental looks.

“I’m so sorry!” Yuichi fumbles. He’s constantly accidentally sneaking up on people, but just watch him try to sneak out of the house on purpose to go joy-riding with Chizu and Kitsune. He gets caught nine times out of ten, usually before he’s even halfway out his window. It’s a joke.

“Ugh, I spend all my time with ninjas these days and I still get spooked,” Sunita says, patting her chest where her heart must have leaped in surprise, but her tone is good-natured. “You’d think I’d be used to people popping up out of nowhere by now, with how often my girlfriend’s little brothers do it, but nope! Anyway, sorry, did you need something?”

“Uh, hi,” he says at length. To his alarm and dismay, he doesn’t actually know where to go from there. It’s very possible he didn’t think this through. “I mean, I just wanted to say hi.”

Sunita saves him with a smile, her visible eye crinkling with the force of it.

“Hi, Usagi,” she says brightly. “Lunch was wild, huh? Did you make good tips?”

“Yeah, actually. It almost made my ten-top worth it.”

His coworker laughs, commiserating the way only a fellow server possibly could, but her eyes drop back down to the napkins. She mentioned to him once that she has to split her focus constantly, to be sure not to leave slime residue behind on everything she touches.

Yuichi is finished with his side work for now, so he reaches for a stack of the linens and drags it across the table toward himself, settling in to help. Sunita seems happy to have his company and doesn’t mind leading the conversation, his brief, generally one-word contributions no deterrent at all. It’s always been easy to talk to her.

“Um, hey,” Yuichi says very casually when he’s bolstered enough courage. “I was wondering if you had Leonardo’s number? I don’t have it, and—it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him.”

“Oh!” To his immediate disappointment, Sunita looks apologetic. “Oh, I totally would, but it’s not really a good time? Things are kind of touchy right now.”

Yuichi focuses very hard on the napkin he’s folding because otherwise he’d probably stare at her as if he’s hanging off her every word, and that. Well that would make him seem desperate. And he’s not desperate.

“Because of the invasion?” he asks. His friend nods, her bubbly good cheer displaced.

“Yeah. It was really bad. I don’t know all the details but April and her boys were right in the thick of things. And after—well, after, Leo wasn’t doing too good. It was pretty scary. So his siblings sort of just closed ranks around him.” She slimes the napkin she’s holding and makes a face at it, balling it up in her hands. She finds another smile for Yuichi and adds, “Hey, how ‘bout this? I’ll text April and see what she thinks, okay? I’ll bet Leo would love to hear from a friend!”

Sunita is the best. He’s buying her boba tea after work tonight. And maybe, if she gets him Leo’s number, he'll buy her boba tea after work from now until the day they die.

Later that night, when he’s helping wash dinner dishes, Yuichi’s phone starts vibrating like it’s fighting for its life. When he checks it, he finds messages from Sunita rolling in. She’s a quintuple texter on a good day.

SUNA: hey ₍ᐢ.  ̫.ᐢ₎ SUNA: good news!! SUNA: april says she’ll meet up with you tomorrow SUNA: you’re off right? i said you’d come to the restaurant SUNA: she has classes in the afternoon so it’ll have to be before 11

Yuichi notes right away that there was no mention of his potentially not meeting up with April tomorrow. He gets the feeling he doesn’t have a choice.

Usagi: That’s great. I’ll ask auntie but I should be free. SUNA: okay april will see you there at 10 am sharp !! Usagi: Thanks, Sunita. I owe you one. SUNA: no prob!! ☆૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა

The bunny emojis would rankle if they were sent by literally anyone else, but from her they manage to be adorable. Yuichi locks his phone and sets it face-down on the counter, then clears his throat.

Auntie glances at him, rubbing a sponge around the inside of a casserole dish. Two of his cousins are parked at the counter with coding manuals and coloring pages but two is better than the full audience of five, so Yuichi just goes for it.

“Would it be okay if I skipped my morning chores tomorrow?” he asks quickly. “I know the farmbatto still needs fixed but I promise I’ll get it done!”

“You stay far, far away from my robot,” cousin Botan says loudly without even deigning to look up at him, little seal point face buried in an unethically-sourced textbook thicker than Usagi’s arm. “It’s still holding a grudge from what you did to it last time.”

“It was an accident, and it was as much Momiji’s fault as mine!” Yuichi shoots back.

Momiji sends him a look of absolute betrayal, her russet-colored fur bristling in offense. “Was not! You were the one who said we should play samurai!”

“Alright, enough,” Auntie says with a clap of her hands that causes little dishsoap suds to scatter. Botan and Momiji both settle down, but considering they’re ten and six years old respectively, it’s not much of a victory. “Yuichi, what are you up to now?”

Yuichi twists the dishtowel in his hands. “Uhhhhh, so you know—you know Leonardo?”

His cousins both snort. Yuichi whips around to pin them with a glare. “What was that? Why did you do that?”

“Do we know Leonardo?” Botan asks dryly. He’s very sarcastic for such a tiny rabbit. “Hamato Leonardo? Gee, I dunno. You only bring him up nine billion times a day.”

“I do not!”

“Ignore them, baby,” Auntie says, amused. “What’s this about Leonardo?”

“Uh, well, he hasn’t been around lately. And I work with his big sister’s girlfriend, so I asked her about him, and she told me that he was—I mean, I guess he got hurt during that invasion. She couldn’t tell me much, so I was going to meet his sister tomorrow morning.”

Auntie drops the sponge in the dishwater and braces her hands on the edge of the sink, brow furrowed. “What? That poor boy was hurt and you didn’t tell me until now?”

“I didn’t know until now,” Yuichi says. Then, a little desperately, he adds, “Please be normal about this.”

“I’m making him a care package and you’re making sure he gets it,” Auntie steamrolls over him in her most no-nonsense tone. She abandons the dishes left in the sink and starts bustling around the kitchen. “If you’re seeing his sister in the morning, I’ll need to get started on it now.”

Yuichi gazes out the window at the darkening sky, praying that his ancestors will smite him on the spot, but unfortunately he lives to see tomorrow.

Also unfortunately, April doesn’t cancel or blow him off the next morning, and is even earlier than their agreed-upon meet-up time. She’s standing outside Run of the Mill when he gets there, her arms crossed and her mouth set, and if she’s nervous about all the big yokai milling around on the street, opening their stores or heading down to the market, she doesn’t show it at all.

She picks Yuichi out of the crowd with steely brown eyes and he steps up his pace a little bit, Spot trotting faithfully at his side.

“Good morning,” he says, hoping it’s a safe enough start when she seems annoyed with him already.

“Yeah, you too,” April replies. She considers him for a minute, then uncrosses her arms and stands a little taller, squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin. “Sunita told me you wanted Leo’s number. Look, if this is some kind of joke, I’m not laughing.”

Um. What? Dumbly, Yuichi parrots, “A joke?”

“Leo may be the absolute worst sometimes, but he’s still one of the best people I know all the time,” the human goes on hotly, as if they’re both on the same page here. Yuichi has the sinking feeling that they’re reading completely different books. “Whatever you’re trying to get back at him for, it ain’t worth it. You do anything to hurt him and his brothers would go on the warpath, and frankly so would I.”

“I’m not trying to get back at him for anything,” Yuichi blurts. Honestly the only thing he wants payback for is all the real estate in his brain that Leonardo takes up, but that’s not something he’s willing to admit, out loud, with his mouth, where someone might hear him. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you can’t stand Leo,” April says plainly. “You always look pissed off when he’s around. I know he can be annoying as hell, but if you can’t see how good he is, too, then that’s your loss.”

Something in Yuichi’s chest folds right in half. Wow, it hurts a lot.

Historically, resting bitch face runs in his family. Usagi Miyamoto was known for many things, one of which was his dark, glowering expression. He isn’t smiling in a single painting of him that exists. Yuichi is usually very proud of every single trait that he’s told he inherited from that famous samurai, but maybe he could do without this one.

Now he’s combing through every interaction he’s ever had with Leonardo, every conversation. He’s picking apart each exchange and trying to look at it from a third party’s point of view. Did it seem like he didn’t want Leonardo around? Is that what Leonardo thought?

The striped turtle had a way of plowing unceremoniously through uncomfortable silences, of carrying the conversation when Yuichi’s tongue was all tied up, and it seemed as easy for him as it always was for Sunita—her vibrant personality and Leonardo’s charming one, filling the gaps Yuichi’s social awkwardness tended to create.

But maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe it was easy for Leonardo to talk to Yuichi because he figured he had nothing to lose—because he thought Yuichi disliked him already.

Suddenly, the only thing Yuichi wants to do is go back home, march up the stairs to his loft, climb back into bed, and stay there for approximately a hundred years. Spot leans his head against Yuichi’s leg, sensing his downward spiral the way hounds are trained to sniff out foxes.

“That’s not true,” Yuichi says. It sounds weak to his own ears.

He doesn’t know what else to say, and Leonardo’s sister isn’t willing to fill the silence the way Yuichi’s friends are. He looks everywhere but at her, flexing his hands, then remembers what he’s holding.

“Oh. This is from my aunt,” he tells the ground, holding out the embroidered bag Auntie forced upon him before he could slip out the door. “Sorry. I told her about—and she—yeah. Please tell Leonardo it’s from anyone else. Tell him it’s from Señor Hueso.”

“He’ll know it’s not from his tío at a glance,” April says. She sounds surprised and agreeably lifts the bag out of his hands. Huffing a laugh at how heavy it is, she gazes at Yuichi thoughtfully, then takes a peek inside. 

He probably should have seen that coming. Yuichi does his best to sink into the ground and disappear as she takes in the tupperware containers and plastic-wrapped pastries.

April looks back up at him. Some of the ice in her eyes has thawed.

“I’m definitely telling him it’s from you,” she announces.

“From Auntie,” Yuichi stresses desperately.

“Right,” April says. She’s grinning outright now. She shoulders the bag like it weighs about as much as a handful of grapes, and props her free hand on her hip and says, “You got your phone with you?”

“Uh-huh,” Yuichi says, dazed. Is this what whiplash feels like? He felt sort of like this when he crashed his bike in the watermelon field last year.

“Give it.” April makes a grabby gesture, swiping his phone from him immediately when he holds it out. She taps at it for awhile, then tosses it back. Her own phone chimes from the pocket of her jacket, cluing Yuichi in to what she was doing. “There. You’ve got my number and I’ve got yours. If Leo likes his present, I’ll pass your digits along.”

Her tone has warmed considerably. She winks at him and Yuichi has to remind himself sternly that it would not be cool to bury his face in his ears and hide there until she went away.

Is Leonardo’s entire family like this? Because it feels like Yuichi has just survived a tornado or tsunami or some other terrifying force of nature, and this conversation wasn’t even ten minutes long.

April waves cheerfully and takes off at a brisk jog, weaving through the Hidden City streets like she was born and raised here. Yuichi sinks onto a bench, presses his forehead against his knees, and calls Chizu while he’s still all curled over into a yokai pretzel.

“I’m calling in a favor you owe me,” he says by way of hello the second she picks up. “Meet me at the market street.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she replies dryly.

“It involves getting ice cream and making fun of my life choices.”

“We’ll be there in twenty.”

Yuichi ends up blowing the rest of his pocket money for the week on parfaits from their favorite street food stall, and his friends definitely don’t hold back laughing at him when he unpacks the latest installment in the befriending Leonardo saga, but it doesn’t seem as hopeless with the three of them around.

Gen in particular, big softie that he secretly is, hoists Yuichi up to ride on his shoulders as they make their meandering way back to Usagi Farm. It’s the rarest of gestures. Not even Kitsune’s best doe-eyes gets her a shoulder ride.

His friends make Yuichi feel ten feet tall.

And the next morning, he wakes up to nine new texts from an unknown number. A lot of them are just strings of exclamation points and emojis. He knows exactly who this is.

Yuichi’s fingers tighten around his phone as his ribs seem to tighten around his heart. A grin spills across his face before he can help it, mirroring the relentless summer sunshine pouring in from the window above his bed.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

remembered that one thing cc!tommy said when talking about the finale where he raised the question about whether c!dream planned it or not and this appeared on my notes app suddenly. help.

TWs: abuse, infantilisation, codependency, isolation, possessive behaviour, victim blaming, manipulation, c!Dream’s perspective is it’s own warning tbh.

—

“dream?”

tommy's eyes were adorably wide, his face innocent and curious. so dependent. helpless, apart from dream's mercy.

prime, he couldn’t thank xd enough for this. it was perfect.

“yes, my little bug?”

“i, uh…” tommy took a nervous glance to the floor, fiddling with the white hair on his fringe. seeing tommy with all those scars, every one proof of the fun the two of them had done together, yet completely oblivious to any of it, was so amusing it was hard to not laugh sometimes. “you remember when we met? and, uh, the other boy, the one with the horns.”

huh. hearing that stupid fucking ram mentioned still filled him with utter rage. he'd ruined everything, hadn’t he? and it couldn’t have been tommy's fault. kind, sweet tommy, who'd been the only one to reach an olive branch, who'd been the only one to realise he was simply misguided and never wrong even to the last. he had to have been manipulated, forced. the idea of anyone hurting tommy like that, just to get at him, filled him with pure, blind rage.

at least when he hurt tommy it was always for their own good.

he forced his tone to be level. “what about him?”

“i want to go and meet him again, maybe? i went out, and i found his base is super close to ours, so i was thinkin', maybe the two of us could go and-“

tommy yelped in surprise as dream slapped him. it wasn’t anything harsh, not enough to do more than sting a bit, but the hurt in his eyes was an almost comical overreaction. of course, though, it was the first time he'd hit tommy since the incident. he'd get used to it, if he kept misbehaving.

“oi! what the fuck, man? i- i- why did you hit me?” tommy sniffled. good to know he was always a little drama queen. how fascinating. “dream, i thought you- i thought you wanted to be my friend…”

“shh, shh. tommy, of course i want to be your friend. you’re almost like a little brother to me, remember? and that means i have to keep you safe. even with tough love.” dream smiled, gently reaching out to ruffle tommy's hair, revelling in the adorably confused look on his face. “it’s normal, tommy. this is how all friends act, remember?”

“oh.” tommy sounded utterly ashamed. “i- i didn’t fuckin' know, man. it just… it doesn’t feel right. it feels all like- like it makes my stomach turn all wiggly and throat all burny. like i'm getting a fever or sommat.”

“and that’s why you need me, right?” dream beckoned tommy over- his tommy, his sweet, helpless little brother, his to protect, his to watch over. if the rest of the server would reject his gentle hand, he could at least take care of one person. maybe he wasn’t useless. wrapping his arms around tommy, he let the boy cry into his shoulders. seeing tommy so unguarded was proof he was helping, right? “i know you can’t remember much, little bug. i can remember it all for you.”

tommy continued to throw himself a pity party for a bit, before pulling away, still sniffling. “i- i know you’re right, man, you always are, dream. always. but why can’t we meet him?” oh so innocent. so naive. it broke dream's heart, sometimes.

“tommy, the outside world is dangerous. it'll chew you up and spit you out. it'll change you, from the brother i love into a scared little shell. it'll convince you to hate everything that keeps you safe, to misbehave. it'll tell you you need to hide your kindness behind a shield, that you need to be angry and aggressive and hide everything you love. it’s safer here, where i'll never judge you or hurt you, right?”

tommy raised a hand to his cheek, furrowing his brow. “but…” he sighed. “alright, dream. but if you’re lying about this, i'm gonna fuckin' kill you.”

oh, if only he knew. “of course, tommy. i'd never lie to you, would i?”

tommy lowered his head, obviously ashamed of himself for questioning dream. good. he was learning. “course you wouldn’t. sorry, man.”

“oh, tommy. if only you knew what i've been through to keep you safe.”

[yanzinator]

Yo I just got accepted as a RPer for Haruka in a BA RP server and I'm really proud of the audition I submitted and I want to share it somewhere else because only two people looked at it and they called it "Alright" which is good but also I don't think they appreciated my hard work enough so here. I needed to submit botha sol story and a combat story so it's two parts.

pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease click the read more link.

Slice of Life

Features Airi, who’s relationship stories I barely remember. Sorry if she feels off.

Haruka was outside a café in trinity staring at one of the cupcakes displayed through the glass. She thought it looked really good but she had no way to get it without wasting the server’s time so she just kept looking at it. Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder. She was really startled and jumped back. It was a trinity student. “Hi, are you-” Haruka was freaked o1ut, someone is talking to her, she clearly disturbed this student, and in her territory no less! “IMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRY” she started running away as she screamed her apology. The trinity student was extremely surprised. “Wait!” she called after her, but Haruka ignored it as she ran.

After a bit of running Haruka found an alley that looked comfortable. It had some weeds she could look at. It let her feel like home. As she was analyzing and tending all the weeds she lost track of time. It was fine, she had nothing she needed to do today anyway. After a while one of the students passing by suddenly turned towards her. Haruka didn’t notice. It was the same student as earlier. “Hey”. Haruka Fell back turning towards the student. She extended a hand to Haruka, “hello, my name is Kurimura Airi. What’s yours?”. Haruka got up, without accepting Airi’s help, and immediately bowed “Imigusaharuka” she said hurriedly and quietly. “What was that?” Airi couldn’t hear her properly. “Imsorryimsorry, uh” Haruka started straightening from the bow “I’m Igusa Haruka”. Haruka was looking all over the place to avoid eye-contact. “I saw you looking at the dripping ocean cupcake earlier. Do you like cupcakes?” Airi said. “Uhm uh” Haruka started stuttering, she had trouble producing an answer. “I bought an extra one in case I ran into you” Airi pulled the cupcake Haruka was looking at earlier from her bag and handed it to Haruka. “Oh uh, thanks!” Haruka took the cupcake, looked at it for a few seconds, crouched down, and started eating it. Airi was confused by the crouching, but she followed suit so she could be at eye level. “So?” Airi tried for a response. Haruka finally looked her in the eyes, “thank you”, she returned to eating the cupcake, Airi watched her. When Haruka finished the cupcake she shyly said “hey, uh, what do you like? I’ll get you something in return.”. “Oh don’t worry about it,” Airi replied “I want everyone to enjoy cupcakes, even if you don’t have money.” Haruka looked up “you want money?” Haruka got her wallet and pulled out all the money she had in it, 6400円, and handed it to Airi. “huh? No wait, it only cost five hundred. You have money? Why didn’t you buy the cupcake yourself?”,”I uh- I didn’t want to annoy the cashier” Haruka looked at the floor as she said this. “well, you can pay me back for the cupcake then. Will I see you around?”, “I, uh n.. Yeah.” Haruka was only here for this once, but she decided she’ll come back to talk to Airi again.

Combat

Features the rest of Problem solver 68.

Problem Solver 68 was on a mission to assassinate a head of some company they never heard of. They were currently outside the HQ, waiting for a group of employees to walk by. As soon as one that had more than 4 did, Haruka went to knock them out. Despite having a shotgun, her weapon was still the quietest between Aru’s old style sniper rifle, Kayoko’s Demon’s Roar pistol, and Mutsuki’s Machine Gun. She snuck up behind them and as soon as she was close she fired off her whole clip as fast as she could. By the end of it all four were completely out. After confirming no one noticed them, PS68 took Their badges wore them. They walked into HQ, got through the inexplicable 50m of hallway, around the reception desk, and swiped their badge on the elevator keypad and got in, pressing the button for the top floor, floor 10, while everyone around them ignored them completely. This was going surprisingly smoothly. They arrived at the top floor and the elevator doors opened, and they saw a single chair faced away from them holding a tv person, with no other furniture in the very large half circle room. Aru immediately shot at the tv person, causing him to fall off the chair with his head shattered. They went up to the body to check what happened because that wasn’t what typically happened when a tv person gets shot. Aru pushed the body to lay on it’s back and realized what happened. “It’s a fake person, it’s just a tv on a scarecrow, they were expecting us! We need to search the whole building, Me and mutsuki will take the right emergency stairwell, Haruka take the left and Kayoko will take the elevator down to the first floor and make sure the head doesn’t escape. Haruka search the odd numbered floors”, and everyone went to their designated routes. 

Haruka started down the stairwell but after the first turn before she even got down one floor, people were waiting for her to shoot at her. She jumped back behind the turn. This was a surprise, there were also too many of them. Then she heard Kayoko’s Demon’s Roar. The shooting stopped, she turned the corner and everyone there were panicking, so she ran down shooting. She quickly dispatched everyone there, then looked back and saw Kayoko coming down “Elevator’s disabled. They planned to trap us.” Kayoko walked past Haruka and into the 9th floor, Haruka followed. The floor had a few rooms, all large with a single desk and chair, and a drawer cabinet clean of all items. All the rooms there were identical and empty other than the furniture. They went down this time down the other stairwell. Haruka was a bit hesitant “Hey aren’t we supposed to go down the other stairwell”, “that was before we realized they planned to kill us from the beginning. Come with me, we need to meet up with Aru”. They went down to the door connecting to the eighth floor, and stopped there until Aru came out. 

“What are you doing here? You should be on the other stairwell” Aru questioned, “they planned from the start to kill us here, whoever hired us was probably in on it, we just need to escape. The elevator is disabled.” Kayoko replied. Aru nodded and they went down the stairwell. There weren’t any more people on their way down, and they didn’t stop at any of the floors. When they got out of the stairwell they immediately stepped into fire. They immediately ducked behind the reception desk. This was tough, there was a 50m gap between them and the only way out, and they were getting shot at by rifles. The only one of them who could shoot back accurately was Aru. She peeked out from above the desk to aim, but she immediately got hit in the head and fell back. “Owww” Haruka realized that if this keeps up, Aru is gonna get really hurt. She had to do something. To the shock of literally everyone, she jumped out from the desk and sprinted towards the shooters. They all focused their shooting completely at her, she gott hit by tens of bullets, it really really hurt, but Haruka pushed through. Better her than Aru. She had to keep telling herself that to stay up. As soon as she was in shotgunning range, she shot as fast as she could, at whoever was closest. Everyone around her was panicking. She kept shooting and getting shot, there was nothing to hide behind, the pain was starting to be too much, when suddenly there were explosions all around her. Haruka’s self-diversion allowed everyone else to follow her without getting shot at, and also allowed Aru to actually start shooting. Now that they had the positional advantage they quickly dispatched the blockade and escaped.

[btscontentenjoyer]

This chapter was soooo much fun to read, I really had a blast. And that ending has me both nervous and excited to read the next chapter.

"Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream." Damn, I feel just like OC must feel, because I was completely fooled lmaoo.

"A muscle in her jaw twitches as she blinks back at you. “I would certainly never say anything of the sort. If something was unclear, I'm happy to get a translator on the phone. It might make things easier for you to understand?” 😐😐😐😐 I always wonder how people like that don't know that shutting the fuck up is free and they should do it more often.

"And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger." Ah, can't say I didn't predict this, but I also can't say I'm happy that I'm right. It's such a common defense mechanism to revert to anger when we feel hurt, and especially when we're not ready to face the reasons why we feel hurt. I feel like that's what's frustrating OC the most and why she's taking it out on Yoongi specifically, not only because he's the one in the room with her. Feelings are scary and complicated and frustrating, man.

"It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time." 😔😔😔

“Wow, glasses? Really?” I feel extremely called out, but I mean, it's specifically Yoongi in glasses that's the problem, okay.

"He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.” He lives to see her suffer, huh. Although I feel bad for poor OC, I can't say it's not entertaining lmao.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.” If he won't say it outright, then I will. I'm extremely proud of OC for becoming so capable at a job where everything was completely new to her. And for not giving up despite her embarrassing mistakes and a certain mean colleague, who's recently become less mean. It really takes a lot to keep going and become so good at your job in this kind of situation and yet she did it!

"Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work." Aaaaw our best boy 🥺🥺🥺 I'm glad to see OC thinking of him and I hope they can work things out and be able to get along well again because I love both of them.

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?” M, you really manage to create such fun side characters, even when they only appear for a chapter or two!

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.” Lmaoooooo I snorted at this, she's amazing.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head." I'm seriously really enjoying all of these characters.

"All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.” Tiffany should meet Jimin since they both have this sixth sense for fanfic tropes.

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame." Lmaooo, I have literally not stopped laughing and smiling this whole time fr.

"You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened." I love love love seeing these more introspective thoughts about OC's feelings and fears.

"You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.” Me and OC are really on the same wavelength today huh.

"You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.” She's speaking only facts and she has the same moon sign as me??? No wonder why I love her.

"You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?” I find all of OC's lines in this conversation extremely endearing actually. It is hard to say what you want, especially when you're not sure what it might lead to.

"Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it." 🥺🥺🥺

"What else would he be nervous about?" Oh shit, I didn't think of that 😳😳😳 Thinking about Yoongi making sure OC's not uncomfortable with him sleeping on the bed and worrying about the way their relationship is progressing makes me melt.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper." 😳😳😳 Damn.

"The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?" They are definitely waaaay past that.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.” I just- this man- he has proven it before, and is proving it once again, that he can be a menace while still half-asleep or completely exhausted. And that is just as scary as it is hot.

"Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people." !!!!!

Morning sex is a whole 'nother level of intimate, no matter how feral it is, and I am here for it!

“If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” So very brave of OC to say that when he uses every piece of information like that to be an even bigger menace.

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” I love that lmaooo, the power of having good head game.

"And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore." Okaaaay, we're getting somewhere.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.” Hell yeah! Although I have a feeling he won't win and I'm hoping I'm not right this time 😔😔😔

"You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.” Damn straight. Good to know she has her priorities sorted.

"It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room." I truly love all of these little moments between them we're getting this chapter 🥺🥺🥺

"You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze." Yoongi being nervous and looking for comfort in OC has me 🥺🥺🥺🥺

"Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him." 😔😔😔 It does not feel good to be right. But at least they can attend as an actual couple when he wins one next year 😏😏😏

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.” Damn, how can you be an asshole on so many levels, dude.

"When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be." Poor Yoongi man, nobody deserves to be treated like this, and yet it happens all the fucking time. And the person who's a victim of all of that bullshit always has to be the bigger person and walk away or they'll just make it worse for themselves. It makes me so pissed off too.

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.” Cuteee

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.” So he's going the route of caring for a person a lot, but also having a very low opinion of yourself, and therefore thinking that they'd be better off with someone else. A very painful one, indeed.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.” Ah, I forgot about that, another thing that explains so much about how she's so hesitant to do anything with Yoongi that is remotely different from hate.

"Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.” Lmaoooo

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.” 🥺🥺🥺

"Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out." Damn, this is a very very fun scene to read.

“In love with you.” Oh my fucking god, the way I gasped out loud after reading this!!! YOONGIIII!!!

"In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth." So domestic, oh my god.

"The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open." Punching my pillow and kicking my blanket as we speak. I was not prepared for these kinds of feelings and now I'm overwhelmed. All I can say is that I love them.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.” Jimin is just what I needed right now too, it seems.

"As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up." Whew, I don't know if I'm ready for this next chapter 🥺🥺🥺

Damn, that was one hell of an ending to one hell of a chapter. I really did have a lot of fun with it though. I actually really loved OC in this chapter. Something about her just really stood out to me this time and as I said earlier, I found her endearing and cute. I also feel like we got an even bigger glimpse at her innermost thoughts. I felt like I could really understand where she was coming from and that might have something to do with her starting to come to terms with some of her feelings as well.

No matter how hard I can tell it's going to be, I really am looking forward to the next two parts, so that Yoongi and OC can finally be able to admit some things to each other and to themselves. Even if they have to go through some angst, it will all be worth it in the end if they feel more free to express what they really want.

look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 16k 🙈

contains: explicit sexual content 👀 literally jumps immediately into it (well.... you'll see 🤭) so buckle up!!! serious warning that this chapter does contain a few instances of racism directed at reader/yoongi (being denied customer service, implying they need a translator, and comments insinuating yoongi is psy/bong joon-ho. pls proceed with caution and take care of yourselves 💜) also features: hotel drama, reader being v dumb in classic reader fashion but she gets there, a whole lotta tension and angst and misplaced anger, some new friends!!! and yes they're 3 idols see if you can figure out who 🤪, erotic bed sharing and handholding lmfao, probably the most drinking that has happened in a chapter yet (which is saying a lot honestly), of course the GRAMMY RESULTS.... oh yeah and yoongi in glasses, yoongi in a suit, yoongi playing piano, yoongi almost getting in a fight, yoongi rapping, yoongi WEARING CAT EARS (yes these are all warnings!!!!!! 😩) - ok and here are ur smut specific warnings: semi-public sex (mile high club anyone ✈️), cunnilingus, fingering, sex dreams, nipple play, dirty talk, reader has a voice kink 🥴, clit stim, unprotected sex AGAIN 💀, she squirts again don't @ me lmao, aaaaand some lovely mouth/throat fuckin 🫡

A/N: i feel like i have nothing to say that isn't just overwhelming gratitude to you all for being here 🥺 so i'll keep it short!!! sit back and get comfy bc this one's a lot, here we go y'all..... you ready?? 💜

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for their help betaing!!!

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

~*~

You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.

You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.

The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”

You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?

“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.

“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.

You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.

“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”

Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.

“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.

You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.

“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.

Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.

Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?

Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.

But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.

Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.

“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.

~*~

Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.

Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.

She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”

“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”

The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”

Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.

“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.

She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”

You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.

“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”

There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I apologize, but due to the volume of bookings, our prioritization for room distribution is based on attending to the needs of our highest priority clients.”

Your jetlag-addled brain can’t keep up with the corporate talk. “And who are your highest priority clients?”

The smile on her face doesn’t falter. “As I'm sure you can imagine, we have quite a wealth of…” she pauses, as if choosing her next words carefully. “Local talent booking with us for the weekend.”

Your eyebrows nearly shoot off your forehead. “I'm sorry, you’re saying you can’t fix the mistake you made because we’re not from here?!”

A muscle in her jaw twitches as she blinks back at you. “I would certainly never say anything of the sort. If something was unclear, I'm happy to get a translator on the phone. It might make things easier for you to understand?”

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.” 

A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.

“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.

You’re so hot with rage that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you angrily follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.

Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.

“I can't believe you let her get away with that shit. She was being fucking racist, Yoongi.”

“Yeah,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I know she was. I've traveled overseas a lot more than you have.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!”

“It means,” Yoongi grunts as the doors slide open with a soft chime, “I've learned to pick my battles.”

You storm after him down the hall to your room, and he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.

He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.

“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”

Of fucking course.

The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.

And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.

“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”

The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.

~*~

You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.

When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.

Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.

“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.

He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.

The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.

“You wear glasses?”

The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”

“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”

You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”

The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”

You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”

He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”

“Guess so.”

The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.

His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.

You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.

The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.

At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.

“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”

“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”

He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”

The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.

“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”

They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.

“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”

As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.

“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.

The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.

You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.

“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”

Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”

Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.

“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”

“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”

Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”

You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”

“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.

“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”

All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”

“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.

“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was fucking racist—”

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”

“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.

“Is it?”

“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.

“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”

A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.

“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.

Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.

You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.

And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.

A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.

You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”

He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”

“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”

You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”

“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”

“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.

“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”

The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”

Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”

You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”

“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.

“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”

“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.

After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.

“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”

“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.

“So, can I be honest?”

“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.

“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”

You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”

The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”

Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”

A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”

Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.

“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”

“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”

Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”

While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.

A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.

Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.

The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.

So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.

Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.

“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“I am?”

“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him. 

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue. 

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt. 

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older white men you can only assume to be American industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Don’t tell me— oppa gangnam style, right?” The man talking does his best approximation of Psy’s dance, and you consider crawling under the nearest table.

“Nah, come on, he’s obviously the one who did Parasite,” another guy laughs.

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you can’t seem to find your manners. “Oh good job, Yoongi, I see you found the fucking racists.” You don’t miss the smirk he tries to conceal.

There’s a loud reaction from all of the white men, who clearly seem more entertained than hurt by your dig. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.” 

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜

[nyxoholicwrites]

Hi hi just wanted to know if you were still writing the blooming panic truth or dare series! I just finished reading toasters part and I thought it was so good! I can’t wait for the rest of them :>

Hello! hope you are having a good day! First TY <3

second, just for you bbygorl (genderneutral), you have given me a boost and so i post

♥ 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓟𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓬 𝓛𝓘'𝓼 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽: Truth or Dare Series: The Server Troll ♥

Part 1: The Dare Part 2: The FFXIV Enjoyer Part 3: The Server Troll Part 4: The Moderator Part 5: The Grad Student

TW: a teensy tiny bit suggestive

Prompt: Gasp! You got xyx?! Who could have foreseen such an outcome??

“I dare you to kiss xyx!”

“ Well doll, seems I get to keep my promise hm?”

His deep verdant eyes bore into their soul, entrapping them within a lush forest of green, each green hue imitating the tall wooden pillars. They felt lost and yet found in them, the leaves were sharp yet welcoming, and the more they locked their eyes with him, the more and the harder they fell.

Within a sharp second, they closed their eyes, where, behind the dark screen, even for a moment, they searched for more willpower, something, anything, that will help them survive the impending kiss.

He always played this game of push and pull, the harder they pushed, denying even a fragment of a feeling, the more he pulled them in, trapping them within his vines. As time went on, and their bond grew, they began to master his game, battling him head-on, pulling him when he pulled them, leaving them both in an endless duel with spectators begging for either to complete the final pull.

But then he pushed.

He pushed them away when the tension was too thick, he pushed when the blade was at his throat, unknowing his opponent's next move. Will they end the duel with mercy as they pushed or end it in red, leaving him vulnerable and helpless?

Deep down he was afraid of that demanded final pull. It was fire he wanted to touch, to embrace its warmth but feared the burn.

He feared being vulnerable, having the flames eat him, burning his flesh and bone, leaving him with one thing and one thing alone. Weakness.

“ Seems so pretty boy, I hope there is some bite behind all that barking, I’m not one for empty promises.”

Pull.

“ Would you look at that neither am I, guess I have to prove I am an obedient pet and follow orders hm?”

Pull.

“ It seems to be that way, now be a good boy and bite.”

Pull.

“ Should the biting be literal or…?”

Fuck… uh…what was it we were doing again?

“ It seems my opponent is coming down with a fever and therefore we can’t participate, what an absolute shame.”

And there was that push.

However, a new opponent approaches in the form of…June?! They hastily made their way to the towering giant before them, shoving them both into a spare room, it seems that the spectators wanted blood on the battlefield.

“Nope, no, nu huh, you two are going to kiss and you will not leave this room till it happens. Now, less of this will they won’t they,” gesturing strangely at them both, “And more kissing!”

As if to punctuate their demand, the door slammed before them with a strength they have never witnessed before, thus leaving the two both confused and shocked at the circumstance and event before them.

The room was quiet, save for the distant shouting behind the locked door, there was nowhere for either to push the other away, and the pull was stronger with the close proximity.

As if to slice the tension, Xyx stepped away, striding to the other side and finally sitting on the comfortable bed, embracing its soft and plush texture.

“ Well, it seems I have some biting to do hm?” A small laugh broke out, though he had a talent for concealing his true feelings with a laugh so charming, aiming to please others with its fake nature, but they knew better. They knew him better.

Though he was faking it, so enchantingly did he laugh, it was as if he knew the effect his laugh had on them, how every tone and note of his voice struck their heart so impactfully, piercing their bleeding heart further and further.

He used his humour and saccharine laughter as a disguised push. 

A push they had become acquainted with for oh so long.

And they were tired and exhausted of this game, and so, it was time.

So they pulled.

“Xyx, look, I. Damn, I don't know how to say this but I can't go on like this. This whole situation is, it's wonderful but I need to say that I-”

His eyes widened, was he afraid? Scared? Did their final pull become his final push?

They could already predict the excuse awaiting to be spoken, or yet another distraction.

They were tired of distractions.

And he pushed.

“Doll, isn’t this bed comfortable? I should ask Toaster where they get their-”

And they pulled. Knowing deep down, this was their cliff, where like a fool they will plummet, consumed by the satiation of passion and their ever-living infatuation. Unknowing of the fall that awaited, whether it was sharp stones preying and waiting to pierce their heart or the gentle, accepting flow of a stream. 

“ Stop avoiding the subject. Please. I-I, look I like you. Romantically. And I don't expect you to like me back, to me your friendship is more than enough. Hell, just being with you and knowing you are happy brings me enough joy.”

They began to walk towards their cliff, sitting on the lush covers where their nails pierced its surface, hanging on to whatever safety they could before the fall as they felt the stones crumble in his eyes.

“ I know my timing is terrible but I just want you to know how wonderful you are. You are just so- what’s the word? Charismatic, yes! The way you charm people with your humour and intellect is so beautiful to me not to mention how much you care for those around you-”

“ Stop, please.”

There it was. The awaited rocky surface that patiently stood and gazed at them, waiting for the fall, piercing what little hope they had placed in this final push.

And they panicked.

They panicked because this was their death, the death of their relationship. The remnants of their bonds laying before them in pieces, and even when fools fall, they panic and fight for their life. They attempted to piece together the remnants in an anxious hurry.

“ Oh my god I’m so sorry  thought I wouldn’t overstep any boundaries but here I am messing it up-” 

Their hands had covered their face, shielding them behind the comforting wall of darkness where his piercing verdant eyes couldn’t penetrate their threshold and yet he did. With a soft touch, he held their hands in his own, tracing his thumbs across each knuckle as if analysing each curvature and bump.

“No doll, I just needed you to stop because…because I feel like I will burst if you go on. FYI, I like you too, probably more than I can admit.”

“ W-wait you do?!”

As they began to remove his hands, they remained firm in their grip, his hands holding theirs, further shielding them from witnessing his embarrassment.

“I think it's best you don’t look at me, I can’t break your cool image of me just yet.”

“You can't break the image if there wasn’t one already.”

The teasing tone emitted a chuckle out of him, even in such moments they didn’t lose their ability to tease him, and that’s what drew him to them.

The banters, the sarcastic remarks, the teasing tone, everything of theirs simply made his heart grow fonder with every interaction. 

“ Oh haha, you are such a comedian I am practically rolling in laughter.  If I can be frank-”

“But I thought you were Xyx.”

“ No, actually now I am legally Frank.”

“ Well then it's a pleasure Frank I am y/n.”

They began to laugh, and as if their masks fell, so did their hands fall from their face, but rather than parting, the pair held on, fearing to push the other away if even a finger was out of place.

Everything in this moment was perfect. It was a true showcase of their hidden feelings coming to light from where they had previously dwelled in the darkness of their desires.

“ This will sound sappy-”

“ Too bad I like it when you are sappy.”

A peculiar smile began to form on his face, one they haven’t seen before. It wasn’t one born from flirtatious teasing, nor his usual trollish remarks, but he had a soft smile, such a smile that engraves itself in your heart where it leaves its imprint for many years to come and lives on the very surface of their heart.

The heart-thumping kind of smile.

A smile outshining the sun itself.

It was his smile.

“I guess I have no choice but to be sappy huh love?”

They pushed him onto the bed, landing on top of him. His hands were pinned above his head thus leaving a confused but nonetheless pleased grin on his face, gone was the sappy smile from his face as mischief replaced it. It was alright though.

It was his smile after all.

“ I knew you had it bad for me but love, I didn’t know it was that bad. Can’t say I can’t get used to this view.~”

“ You just had to ruin this didn’t you?”

“ Yes I did.~”

Soon their banter ceased and a tickle war began. Historians say it was the dual of the century, where love plagued the air and our courageous heroes fought valiantly.

The match continued till both were out of breath and silent giggles replaced the booming laughter. Soon they found themselves resting on his chest, tracing small circles on his arms fearing this was all a dream, but they were slowly failing to stay awake as their eyes began to slowly shut as his heart beat with a steady rhythm.

The melody formed their favourite lullaby, a song they could get used to for eternity and into as many lives as they could spend with one another.

“ Wait, what about the others? Aren’t we supposed to go back?” Their tone betrayed their state with a soft yawn at the end of their speech.

“ Nah they will be fine, besides,” he spoke and placed a soft peck on the inside of their wrist, “a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“ A gentleman you say, well then I sure hope so after all, it would be a shame if someone were to attack said gentleman.~”

“ Love, it's a dangerous game you are playing~.”

They smacked his head lightly, eliciting a playful ‘Ow!’ from the man below.

“You are such a dork.” 

“ But I’m your dork?”

“Yea you’re my dork. Guess what Xyx?”

“Hm?”

“I love you~.”

He shoved his face at the sheets, groaning at their sickly sweet tone, as his cheeks shone a deep crimson, betraying his supposed frustration at their declaration.

“ Lord help me.” the word barely audible as they were muffled by the soft sheets.

And soon they erupted into a fit of laughter as their smiles grew ever so fondly. After numerous attempts at pulling and receiving what seemed to be an endless amount of pushing, they finally won the game and pulled the ultimate prize. Love.

“ God that was cheesy.”

…….

“ CAN THE TWO OF YOU GET A ROOM?!”

“WE ARE ALREADY IN A ROOM!”

AN: when i found out this mf has a birthday a day after mine i went ballistic your honour