#maybe this will turn into a coherent thought one day

[scribble-dribble-writes]

The Void - 8

—————

Bob x Yelena

—————

Radio silence. It had been a week and Yelena had not heard from Bob.

Very usual given that they lived in the same place, they were bound to bump into each other.

What made it more apparent was that Bob was always around, he didn’t need a particular reason to visit her or linger around her. He was always there.

So to not have him around, Yelena felt the loss of his presence deeply. She bit away her nails in the anxious thought of what had gone wrong. In the time they have known each other, they had become inseparable.

She looked at the time, everyone was bound to be in the tower this late. She left her room to go scout the area, a few of the guys were out on the helipad with their food and drinks. Ava would have retired early for the night as always still there was no sighting of Bob.

Yelena tracked back to tower control unit, she didn’t feel like reaching out to the men given that even when they were sober they couldn’t string two coherent thoughts together.

The screen lit up and she scrolled through to their schedules. Val was in control of their roster given that they were spread between making public appearances, meeting secretaries and government officials, working on intel retrievals and occasional call for help. The ‘New’ Avengers were booked and busy.

Bob had always preferred to stay indoors but over the months he had often expressed his desire to become acquainted with the outside world. So it had begun then, their midnight stakeouts. Getting ice cream or a McDonald’s meal, talking about their lives sitting in the balcony, catching up on shows, walking through Central Park. His company in her life had become so intertwined that she could never think of a life without him in it.

Something happened the day they collided into each other’s lives, it changed forever.

She got a hold on the recent calendar and it looked like someone had deliberately put them on the opposite ends of the day, there was no chance of them meeting. She instantly knew who it was.

It had Val written all over it.

She clicked on the override rules and changed it around, when as she was doing it, Val texted her.

“Why are you playing around with everyone’s schedules?”

“I know what you did, just admit it.”, Yelena texted back fuming.

“Look, I was just looking out for him.”, the response was instant, almost as though it had been rehearsed.

“Protecting Bob from what?”, Yelena texted back knowing well what was hinted and watched the three dots rise and fall till there was an answer.

“From heartbreak.”

She rolled her eyes, Val needed to be in control of everything and her life had been turned into an object she can play around with. A second ping followed and Yelena looked back at the screen.

“I can’t have my team dismantling over some high school drama.”

Had Bob said something of significance to someone else? Had Yelena accidentally hurt him.

The questions poured in and in this instance every single one of them made sense. His disappearance, his distance and his sudden change.

She put the phone away as she eased herself, there should be an explanation. Before she turned off the unit, she checked for when he was supposed to be back and it was rather soon.

She couldn’t sleep anyway, especially not after harbouring the very faint possibility that she could have been the one who caused all this. Yelena held her head in her hands, why could she never prevent herself from breaking something that was good?

She heard the sound of his boots in the hallway and perked up. Almost as if it was instinct, she followed him. She caught a glimpse of his golden cape and fear took a hold of her. Had he embraced the Sentry as a whole? Maybe it had been the void. Maybe that was the cause of this rift.

He got to his room and she followed suit.

“Where have you been?”, she asked and flinched, her tone was harsher than it was normally.

“Oh my god, Yelena.”, Bob jumped, a hand on his chest as he smiled at her.

Her mind swirled, one part of it calling her a control freak while the other melted in his presence.

Gold was his colour, he looked radiant, his hair was perfect, what was this surge of emotions? why had he not come by?

Thoughts, all these thoughts over loading her, so she crossed her arms and stood still. He couldn’t know this was her true state, her anxiety was taking over.

“Val made sure our schedules don’t match and I’ve got a lot more social events than I would like.”, he spoke as he removed his cape moving towards her.

The suit detailing out his form, she remembered when she had seen him for the first time in it, she felt flustered.

“You never told me. You didn’t text me. You went silent on me.”, she stepped towards him.

He’s not going to be fond of you now, a though flashed.

Accusing him for everything, another thought followed and she withdrew instantly.

But this was the ease, there was no sight of disturbance in Bob. He put away the cape as he got closer, Yelena stepped away as though she felt unworthy.

It didn’t stop him, he reached for her and pulled her close, his lips finding their rightful place as he kissed her forehead.

“I missed you too.”, he spoke the words and instantly her thoughts vanished. The weight disappeared and the tension was erased.

It was as though a week had not passed or that they had been separated, everything was right.

She snaked her arms around him and held him tightly, her mind finally resting.

“Want to get pizza from Sal’s?”, he asked gently and Yelena felt her eyes tear up.

She broke away from the hug to look up at him and nodded.

“Alright, let’s go.”, Bob smiled, holding on to her hand as he led her out the door.

[toji-bunny-girl]

You don't go to the library to study. You go there to have your cunt stuffed, by nonother than librarian!Gojo.

He works there 5 days a week, and you made sure to be there by your corner every single one of those days, carefully staring at him through the side of your book. Of course, he's well aware of your interest in him. You're so preoccupied with him you don't even realise you're holding the book upside down.

He doesn't realise it yet but he's slow to share the same amount of attraction to you as you are to him. He'd note the way your eyebrows would adorably scrunch together when you're actually doing your assignment for once, and you'd collapse face down onto the table when the frustration and exhaustion caught up to you. Or how your favourite colour seemed to be pink, your stationery and laptop covered in different shades of the colour.

He's used to your presence by now, having spent the last couple of weeks observing you just as you stalked him through the library. And truth to be told, he actually enjoyed it—he's got a cutie following behind him, too shy to strike up a conversation with him and too dumb to hide your little crush any better.

You quickly became the only part of his job he would look forward to, questioning what kind of crap you were going to pull up to just right before his shift. Until you're gone all of a sudden.

Maybe you were just late, he thought on the first day of your absence. Or maybe you're sick by the second day. Perhaps you're just busy with school…or maybe some another guy—

Why does he even care in the first place? You're just some stalker with a pretty face, nothing special out of the sea of girls in his DMs. Gojo doesn't like how he's fretting over a girl who he hasn't talked to before, your presence doesn't control how his day goes anyway.

Until it does.

It exasperated him by how he allowed himself to be subjugated under you. He can't focus on his seminars when the voices in his head wonder about you louder than the lecturer's, he can't flirt with the chicks on campus without thinking about that fangirl from the library and he can't sleep if his head is filled with the images of you with another guy.

What kind of spell have you managed to put him under?

He was completely and utterly chafed by the next week when he entered his shift, a frown seemingly marked permanently upon his face as he went through his chores, putting away the books back to their categorised shelves. That was until he heard a familiar pit-pats of your shoes, and saw your figure stupidly hiding behind a bookshelf from the side of his eye.

His playful spirit returned when he noted your presence, and he wandered further into the library, where no one could see the two of you. As expected, you shuffled along his steps before slipping yourself into the aisle behind him, pretending to flick through the choices of books on display.

Those were Chinese novels, and you majored in Biochemistry. Idiot, he thought with an internal chuckle.

Unbeknownst to you, he had strolled to your back, waiting for you to turn to face him. Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when you found him standing right in front of you, and you froze then and there like a deer in the headlights.

"I know you've been stalking me around here," he had a shit-eating smirk on his face as his arms rested by your sides to trap you in between them. "Freak," he whispered next to your ears, sending a tingle through your nerves.

"I-I, ah—" you stammered, trying to collect your words to sound coherent. Your face was flushed bloody red with embarrassment, and Gojo was sure he'd burn himself if he were to touch you.

"But that's okay…" he drawled. "I won't spread the word if you listen to me."

Your eyes were wide, gaping at him through your lashes as you nodded.

Fuck, were you adorable.

"You like me, huh?"

"Uhm…I, uh…"

"Hm?"

"Y-Yes," you blurted with your eyes squeezed shut, too embarrassed. Your breath was hot, and they scorched his cheeks red upon your words.

"What do you like about me?" oh god does he love teasing the hell out of you.

"Your f-face…"

"My face?" he feigned dumb. Of course, he's well aware that girls would only come chasing after his looks. But he absolutely enjoyed torturing you with his stupid questions. "Which part of my face?"

"Huh…?" your eyes were spinning, your hands raising to push his frame a little away for your comfort.

"My eyes? My nose?" his bigger hand captured the two of yours into his grasp, his fingers were icy cold against yours, and his face neared yours once again, merely a breath away. "Or my lips?"

You didn't dare to answer, the sound of your throat gulping filled the air as a few stray hairs of his tickled your cheek. His eyes peered towards yours, catching your gaze that fell upon his lips.

"There, huh?" Gojo's smirk widened, his grip on your wrists tightening a fraction. "Wanna try them?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words left your trembling lips, except for a silent gasp. He took the shift of your feature as a sign for him to advance onto you, his lips gently sucked on your soft flesh, the tiniest amount of your saliva flowed onto his tongue and they tasted better than the finest honey.

A string of your mixed essence connected his lips to yours, red and swollen as a sign of his kiss, when he pulled away. Your knees weakened in enfeeblement, and Gojo caught you before you could fall to the ground.

"You're done?" his arms are strong, and you could feel his muscles flex under your hand when you gathered your strength to stabilise on your feet. "I'm not."

His touches slowly trailed down from your arm to your hips, and you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together when his gaze fell onto them. In his eyes you could see a growing hunger that lurked beneath his bright blue eyes, it was the darker gradient that hung low in his orbs.

"Do you touch yourself here when you think of me?" your teeth sank into the flesh of your bottom lip and your eyes peered down to between your skirt, where his hand was as you vaguely nodded; hoping that he didn't see the faint motion of your head.

How wouldn't he know when all his attention is on you? His eyes scanned the faint shifts in your features when he pressed against your heat, making sure there wasn't any hint of dissent to his touch—and mostly searching for the muted salacity behind your pretty eyes.

"Sometimes…" your voice was meek, but it was audible enough for his ear to twitch at your words. His chest almost burst to your confession, and the images of your features twisting into lewd faces flashed past his mind, calling out his name with that sweet voice of yours.

A soft moan left your lips when his fingers slipped past your pink panty, drawing slow circles upon your clit. Your hips bucked as he teased, his other hand coming down to palm your ass.

"What about I make you feel good?" he gently asked, and you drunkenly nodded to your pleasure. His thumb grew charge of teasing your hardening bud, his two long fingers dipped into your already-slick cavern, reaching the sensitive parts of your inside.

Your lips tensed into a line to quell the moans that drew from your itching tummy, and your hands rested on Gojo's chest, gripping onto his shirt for support.

His fingers grew greedy for more of your whimpers, stroking past your walls, searching for the velvety spot in you. You threw your head back when he found the part he was looking for, pumping out and into the spongey surface, stimulating your nerves to their limit.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyelids flew shut when he expedited the speed of his slick-coated digits, his arm growing slightly sore as he carried you to the height of your orgasm. His cock twitched when you drew out a cry of pleasure, your breath stuck in your throat as your mind went blank from your high.

Your grip on his clothes loosened, and you panted as you rest your weight against the shelves, Gojo's damp fingers evident of the pleasure he delivered to you. He watched as you collected your remaining breath, your cheeks flushed pink in arousal and your eyesight slowly blinked clear.

A bolt flash of surprise ran through his eyes when you carefully pulled his pants down, gripping his hardened girth with your warm hands. Gojo stopped you with a grab of your wrist, your whole body tensing in creeping embarrassment—he doesn't like it when you touch him?

Your thoughts flew out the window when he spat onto your palm, before guiding your hand back to his throbbing cock. Your mind grew blank as you began fisting his length, his breath hitching when you rubbed over his pinkish-red tip.

Your touches were filled with careful inexperience, and Gojo found it absolutely fucking adorable. The soft squelching of his saliva in your hand as you pumped his cock filled the air, and he inched closer to kiss you once again.

His groans flowed into your mouth as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, drinking in the taste of you as you pleased him. You seemed to be a quick learner on your own, pumping his pulsing cock faster, gripping onto him tighter, and rubbing his sensitive tip of all.

His hips stuttered along with the movements of your hand, a sign of his close release and you were clearly relentless to please him. Your pace doesn't falter, but fastened instead and his moans muffled through your sloppy kiss, your mixed drool dripping down your chin and onto your chest.

"Fuck," his voice cracked as his cock twitched, before ejaculating his hot semen onto your clothes, slowly dripping down to your thigh. Your breaths mingled in the sultry air, the smell of your essences filled your nostrils as the both of you cooled from the aftermath of your highs.

You recognised the dirty smirk on his face when you flicked your gaze up at him, and you sank into the bookshelf in preparation for what he had conjured up in his mind.

"The library closes in 30 minutes, we'll get the whole place to ourselves by then."

[a-musing-mixologist]

Kid and Luffy: Despite every attempt not to do so, Kid respects him, and it started way back at Sabaody. He's not in the habit of granting respect to others easily, it needs to be earned and his standards are pretty damn high.

Of course he'd heard the stories of the Straw Hats' exploits, but seeing their captain come crashing through the roof of a human market when Celestial Dragons were present probably wasn't on anyone's list of probable entrances. Flashy as hell, though. Then, this unassuming-looking brat goes and does the one thing that no one, not even hardened pirates, would dare do. Punches a Celestial Dragon in the face, without a second thought at that. Kid is the kind of person to act in the heat of the moment with little thought for consequences, and it was more than clear that Luffy was the same way. Actually, Luffy was even more impulsive. His actions proved he was worth the bounty and title of fellow Supernova, and his interest in the other was piqued. Of course, that didn't mean he wanted to share the spotlight with the dumbass when it came to taking out the Marines. It was the start of a career he'd want to see through in the New World.

The incident at Marineford cemented Luffy as a rival in his eyes, but Kid was convinced that he himself had grown much stronger as well. Given two years of not actually coming face-to-face, the rivalry was rather one-sided, up until he found Straw Hat flung into a cell beside him in Udon.

Despite his best intentions, he was forced to face the fact that Luffy once again began to earn his respect. And maybe even his trust, something really hard to come by after the whole incident with Apoo and Hawkins. Like Trafalgar, the two of them fought well together. Of course, he'd rather slit his own throat than admit it, especially after seeing Luffy's concern for him and Killer. He wasn't the kind of person people outside of his little circle ever cared about, they sure as hell weren't friends, and he didn't know how to react. Then there was Luffy's shout, one that he could hear even underwater. "You don't decide where I die. That's up to me." It was a sentiment that he himself lived by. He could feel Luffy's determination, even as the breath was leaving his lungs. They were more alike than he wanted to admit.

Part of his cooperation at the start of Onigashima was repaying the debt he felt for Udon, even if he'd never state it out loud.

The events on the rooftop showed him Luffy's true strength. He found himself wanting to ensure that Luffy had a chance to fight Kaido, and was even willing to shift his focus from beating the shit out of the Emperor to ensuring that he and Big Mom got separated, and that Big Mom never had the chance to rejoin the battle. Something something actually wanting Straw Hat to succeed...

[fixated-cookies]

Hear me out. . .

Smilk in heat

Given he is a beast, it wouldn't be surprising

prepare to not walk for the next month. I think his heat would last for 7 days, with it peaking on the third and fourth day. Seven days of sheer torment!! lets get into it

WARNING- smut

this is probably going to be more like an analysis

The First Day – The Craving starts

he’s still fighting it—barely. He paces, restless, trying to distract himself with his usual theatrics. But his movements are too sharp, too stiff, his voice lower, rougher, dripping with an unfamiliar desperation. He's rather clingy, refusing to leave your side, and wants your undivided attention. "Oh dear, come closer!" He won't let go of your hand

The Second Day – The Craving Deepens

His touch starts to linger. His fingers trail against your skin longer than usual, his gaze lingers too intently, his voice softer, almost—pleading. "Again," he murmurs, after yet another kiss. "One more." But one turns into two, then three, then—oh, you’ve lost count, haven’t you? He becomes drunk on your touches and kisses and his desires deepen more.

The third day - The beginning of the peak.

The moment you stir, his body will feverishly push against yours, forcing you to feel his aching cock against your leg. He'll nuzzle into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as if it's his version of oxygen. "You smell… divine." He growls into your ear. A longing that borders on madness. He turns you over to your back, with him climbing over you. His chest rises and falls with every ragged breath, his body burning. His fingers curl around your wrists, pinning them above your head. "it hurts," he admits, voice strained, forehead pressing against yours. "I need you."

The fourth day - The Ravaging

Shadow Milk is no longer just a Cookie. He is something else entirely. A beast, a creature of unrelenting hunger, and you—his sole fixation. There is no escape. Not from the hold of Shadow Milk, not from the way he keeps you close, pressed against every surface imaginable. The bed, the counter, the floor. You've lost count of how many times he's fucked you into a stupid stupor, even after countless breaks, he continues to drag you back into his arms. His cock carves deep into your soul and cunt, marking you up from the inside. "—you still have more to give, don’t you?" He growls. You can’t answer, barely able to form a coherent thought beyond the overwhelming heat surrounding you. But he knows. Oh, he knows.

The fifth day- Utter ruin

The moment you wake, you realize something is wrong—or rather, everything feels wrong. Your body is heavy, sore, utterly exhausted. The slightest shift has your legs trembling, casting out a whimper you feel his fingers trace down your spine. There are countless marks on your neck, tummy, and thighs. His touch is possessive, a silent reminder that he’s nowhere near finished with you yet. Every time you think he’s finally satisfied, that maybe—maybe—he’s done, you can only feel his throbbing cock push back inside your ruined hole. His voice is hoarse from growling your name, from panting against your skin. The world outside his Spire has long since ceased to exist. The sixth day- the aftershock

The madness has started to fade, but his grip on you hasn't loosened in the slightest.He isn’t ravaging you anymore, but he won’t let go either as he's wrapped around you. His touch is different now. No longer desperate, no longer driven by pure instinct. Instead, it’s reverent, almost… tender. The sex on this day will be slow and soft, plenty of kisses and soft sighs that are full of praises. “You did so well,” he gifts so pecks of love and adoration onto your temple. His heat is finally cooling, but his obsession? That has not waned.

The seventh day- the aftercare

The beast has been tamed, at least for now. Expect him to dote on you excessively, his usual mocking, theatrical persona stripped away for fleeting moments of raw affection. He traces every mark he’s left behind, humming in satisfaction, whispering sweet nothings laced with self-satisfaction. "Poor, poor thing… did I overdo it?" He mumbles into the crook of your neck, massaging your tender muscles. A long and relaxing bath is in due.

[enderlovez]

Germs

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 719

Summary: Everyone is shocked when the genius germaphobe drinks directly from your water bottle, you even more so when it was actually just a plot.

Content Warning: Mentions of germs and being a germaphobe, reader has some slightly unholy thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

It's just a normal day in the BAU. You're silently sitting at your desk, scanning through the paperwork from the case you and the team just closed. It was a hard one, and you had to spend close to three weeks across the country, so it's a relief to be home.

Only problem there — the case was located in Arizona, a state commonly known for being hot. So you, and everyone else, got into the habit of drinking extensive amounts of water, a habit that's surprisingly hard to kick now that you're back in Virginia.

Not to mention how it feels so much colder here now.

You shudder and pick up the water bottle you picked up from the gas station on the way here, pulling up the top and drinking deeply from it. It's not like you're even really thirsty, but you just can't help it!

"Y/N?" someone asks from behind you, making you jump and let out this embarrassing squeak. You turn spin around in your chair to find the one and only Doctor Spencer Reid, standing in front of you with his hands clasped, nervously twiddling his thumbs.

"What can I do for you, Handsome?" you ask teasingly, fighting back the goofy smile that threatens to take over your face.

Embarrassed, his face turns a delicious crimson, hands moving to clasp together behind his back. He's so freaking adorable, all you want to do is eat him sometimes.

"May I please have..." The rest of his sentence is lost in translation as his voice trails off into something you can't hear, but you're sure that no matter what he was asking, you'd give it to him in a heartbeat.

"M'sorry, what was that?" you ask, relaxing back into your chair as you observe him. He really is the prettiest boy you've ever seen, with his glasses and puppy-dog eyes. It's a miracle you can even form a , coherent sentence when he's around.

"May I please..." he starts again, pausing briefly to look around, "may I please have some of your water?"

Your eyes widen at his request, but you smile and nod nonetheless, staring at the bottle in your hands as you pass it up to him, the top already popped up.

You're not sure what you really expected him to do with it, considering Spencer Reid would never put his mouth where someone elses was, especially not when he saw it there less than a minute ago.

But here he is, drinking from your water bottle like his life depends on it. He doesn't realize just how many people are watching him — the pretty germaphobe who doesn't even like shaking hands with people — doing something as simple as drinking.

It's not the drinking that they're watching.

You're definitely not thinking about the fact that he's drinking most of your water, just about the fact that he's indirectly touching his mouth with yours, and to say you're mesmerized is an understatement.

"Thank you," he murmurs when he's finished, a guilty yet somehow mischievous glint in his eyes as he looks between the almost empty bottle and you. "I'm sorry for drinking all your water. Maybe I could take you out to dinner to make up for it?" He pauses for a second, leaning slightly forward so only you can hear him. "As a... date?"

Mouth agape, all you can do is nod as he hands the bottle back to you and makes his way back to his desk. It's entirely unprofessional for the work place, but you can't exactly make yourself care.

"Reid, you know there's a place you can get your own water, right?" Morgan questions, eyes glued to Spencer as if he'd grown a third head.

"I do," he says as he sits back down at his desk, "that just felt a whole lot cleaner."

A breath you didn't realize you were holding escapes you as you slump down into your chair like a ragdoll, looking down at the still-wet nozzle of the bottle. With your face blushing madly, your put your mouth over the very place his was barely thirty seconds and down the rest of your water.

Since when was Spencer Reid so smooth?

Since when was he interested in you?

You have to get onto that man.

[miyadollie]

R/CRUSHES : HOW DO I TALK TO MY OFFICE CRUSH ? sillyguy0813 says : dude just borrow a stapler

★ STARRING office worker lee jeno x fem reader ( ft. best friend jaemin ) ★ WORD COUNT 2.6k + 3OO bonus ★ CONTAINS co-workers to dating, fluff !! lee jeno being a cutie, jaemin is a menace to society, workplace romance, ★ MIYA SAYS 💗 this is my first time TRYING to write a long fic :3 pls give me any constructive criticism and feedback thank uu 🧘🏼‍♀️ . update : wow i absolutely dislike my writing here but its been rotting in drafts too long and i gave up on fixing this TT

it starts with a stapler.

one you’re not even sure belongs to you. maybe you bought it once during a sale, or someone left it at your desk during a particularly chaotic week, and it stayed. quietly claimed as yours.

the moment wasn't love at first sight, no grand declaration of love with bouquets or fireworks. just a quiet tuesday morning, your inbox overflowing, the boss increasing your headache by preponing your deadlines, the coffee machine on its last breath and the fluorescent lights above flickering slightly like they, too, were tired of this job. and then there’s him.

lee jeno. clean-cut. soft-spoken. the kind of guy who always says “excuse me” when passing behind you, even when there’s plenty of space. always dressed a little too well for your casual office. not flashy—never that—but tidy, crisp. thoughtful. one cubicle down, diagonal from yours. he’s been here a while. a familiar face in the sea of semi-familiar ones. you’ve never really talked but only ever exchanged the kind of polite nods reserved for coworkers who share nothing but recycled air and a breakroom.

until today. “could you pass the stapler?” you look up, startled slightly by the voice.

he’s leaning just slightly over the low partition separating your desks, eyes trained on the corner of your workspace where your lonely black stapler sits. he gives you a smile. not flashy. not flirtatious. just—nice. warm. gentle. you blink once. then reach for it. “thanks,” he says. you nod. he returns to his screen. that’s it. except… it isn’t. because the next day, he borrows a pen. the day after that, post-its. then tape. then scissors. always returning everything. always smiling. always saying thank you like he means it. and now you’re wondering. is this flirting? some kind of extremely office-safe, hr-friendly version of it? or are you just painfully, embarrassingly overthinking it? or maybe did you have an unspoken crush on him? not that you can be blamed. - lee jeno is attractive. undeniably so. you’ve seen him once—just once—rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down in the middle of summer, and you swear you forgot how to form a coherent sentence for ten straight minutes. defined forearms. slim but strong hands. that razor-sharp jawline, often tilted thoughtfully while reading something on his screen. dark lashes. deep voice. a gym guy, apparently—you overheard it once when he mentioned it to jaemin (you weren’t eavesdropping, you just… have really good ears). you haven’t initiated anything. neither has he. but those tiny moments? the ones that make your heart skip? they’re adding up

────

FRIDAY | 4:30 PM

“soo… still down to try that new restaurant?” jaemin asks one afternoon, casually leaning on your desk during lunch with a fresh iced americano in hand��probably his fifth for the day. “obviously,” you reply, eyes lighting up. “people have been absolutely glazing it online. thanks for getting us a table!” he grins. “see you at 9 then.” just as he turns, he spins back around like a cartoon character. “oh, also—jeno’s coming. hope that’s cool?” you freeze. your face says i’m fine, but your body language screams mayday. “y-yeah. sure. totally chill,” you manage. “coolcoolcoolcool,” you say, immediately turning your head towards your computer, and then you see your reflection on the blank empty screen. you were blushing. hard. jaemin smirks knowingly as he walks off. of course he knows. he always knows. after all, he’s the mastermind who told jeno to borrow your stapler in the first place. ────

8:55 PM

the restaurant is low-lit and warm, the kind of place where the wood-paneled walls muffle outside noise, and everything feels just a little more intimate than it should. you arrive five minutes early. out of habit, mostly. or nerves. you’re not sure which. jaemin’s already there, somehow sipping an iced americano even here, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to notice your presence with a dramatic sigh. “i told you 9:00,” he says, without looking up. “it’s 8:55.” “still early.” he glances at you now, then raises an eyebrow. “cute top.” you ignore his antics, he’s just trying to get a reaction out of you. typical jaemin. your heart is already thudding too loudly, because jeno walks in right after. black shirt, sleeves rolled up. clean slacks. a bit of cologne, subtle but warm. his hair’s tousled slightly, and his eyes light up just a little when they land on you. “hey,” he says, with that soft smile. you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just smile back, scooting over so he can sit across from you. the conversation is light, easy. mostly thanks to jaemin, who fills every awkward silence with a joke, a story, an embarrassing anecdote about your office. jaemin and jeno were friends in school, you get to know that night, they were benchmates. jaemin always chose jeno as his partner for every game, every lab, and jeno just liked his company, so he stood with him always. jaemin talks about you to jeno too—how you both were first day interns and hit it off over a conversation about which seventeen album is truly the best. but every now and then, you catch jeno looking at you. not staring. not even for long. just—looking. like he’s seeing something he's trying very hard not to see too obviously. “so,” jaemin says mid-way through dessert, smirking at you over his spoon, “funny how you two never end up talking at work.” you nearly choke. jeno shifts in his seat. “like, what’s with all the stapler borrowing, huh? no small talk?” you glare at him. he grins. “i’m just saying. feels like there’s some unspoken office tension.” jeno lets out a quiet laugh. and then, after a beat—he looks at you. “i guess i just… wanted a reason to talk,” he says, voice soft. and your breath catches. your heart is thudding again. you manage a smile, small and shy. trying not to mess up words or blabber out something nonsensical. “i noticed,” you reply. the space between you feels full, suddenly. full of every little interaction. every thank-you. every passing smile. jaemin stretches obnoxiously. “well, look at the time! i’ve got a meeting with my bed in ten.” you roll your eyes. “you’re so obvious.” he shrugs. “you’re welcome.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind. leaving you and jeno, two half-finished desserts, and a quiet restaurant glowing gold in the late-night hush. “i can walk you home,” he says, gently. not pushing. just offering. and something in you says yes. to the walk. to this night. to the maybe that’s been building between you both. ────

10:45 PM

the night is cool, with a breeze just strong enough to lift the corners of your coat and make you tuck your hands into your sleeves. the restaurant’s warm glow fades behind you, replaced by the hush of quiet streets and dimly lit sidewalks. jeno walks beside you, hands in his pockets, his steps matching yours. neither of you says anything at first. the silence isn’t awkward. it’s... full. full of unspoken things. of nerves and glances and the way your arms brush every few seconds and both of you pretend not to notice. “jaemin talks too much,” jeno says eventually, voice low. you laugh softly. “it’s his specialty.” he hums in agreement, then adds, “he wasn’t wrong, though.” you glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker to yours and then away again, like he’s testing the water, like he’s afraid of saying too much too fast. “i... didn’t really need the stapler that day.” your breath catches. “oh,” you manage, and you’re smiling now. you can’t help it. “i just... i guess i liked the idea of you looking at me. talking to me.” he pauses. “even if it was just a stapler.” you stop walking, just for a moment. jeno turns, realizing you’re no longer beside him. there’s a streetlight above him, casting shadows across his face and soft highlights in his hair. “you could’ve just said hi,” you whisper. he steps closer. barely. but enough to make the air between you buzz. “i know,” he murmurs. “i wanted to. every day. but you always looked so focused. and i didn’t want to ruin that.” your heart is a mess of drumbeats and warmth. “you wouldn’t have.” silence again. then he says, barely audible, “could i maybe get your number... just for office related stuff, of course.” you nod, because your voice has already betrayed you too many times tonight. a soft smile tugs at his lips. the quiet kind. the kind you know he saves for only a few people. he walks you all the way to your apartment. and when he says goodbye, it’s not a hug. not a kiss. just a quiet “goodnight” and a look that lingers longer than it should. but your heart knows. it knows everything. ────

SATURDAY | 9:00 AM

the next day, the office is just waking up. it always feels colder in the morning—half because of the ac blasting too early, half because everyone’s too busy chasing caffeine to talk. desks are still half-empty. monitors glow. the printer sputters. someone sneezes. a mug clinks. you step in, trying to hide the stupid smile that’s been stuck to your face since last night. your coat is too warm for indoors but your hands are cold, so you hold your coffee tighter. and then you see it. your desk. something’s different. sitting neatly on top of your keyboard is a brand-new stapler. blue, shiny, absolutely unnecessary. you freeze. right beside it, a yellow post-it. his handwriting. neat. almost too neat. “thought you could use one that wasn’t cursed.     —jeno :)” you almost laugh. it’s such a him thing to do—dry humor disguised as helpfulness. but your heart? it’s fluttering like it’s stuck in a romcom scene, an angelic choir singing along in tandem. you reach out and pick up the stapler.you didn’t even need one nor were you going to use one. but you want to keep this one forever. cherish it. maybe even pass it on as an heirloom.

just then, you hear someone clear their throat. “new office romance i should know about?” you don’t even need to turn around. jaemin. of course. loud, nosy, iced-americano jaemin. “shut up,” you say instantly, trying to sound bored. your cheeks are already heating up. but he walks past you, grinning like the devil, a bounce in his step like he’s in on the joke you’re still figuring out. and then—your gaze drifts. to the cubicle across. there he is. jeno. typing. or pretending to. his posture is the same—back straight, eyes on the screen—but his fingers are still on the home row keys, just gliding about. and when he feels your eyes, he glances up. It's brief, barely a second. but he smiles. like last night wasn’t just dinner. like it meant something.

a few hours later, a message pops up.

jeno lee “did the new one pass inspection?”

you “it’s still under review by the council. but i think they approve ;)”

jeno lee “let me know if it jams. i’ll personally fix it.”

you smile. a full smile this time. the kind that makes you reach for your coffee, lean back in your chair, and breathe in like something in your world has shifted.

jeno 💗 “what’s your go-to coffee order?”

you “anything except that poison jaemin drinks every day. ‘i like my coffee as dark as my soul’ ahh guy.”

jeno 💗 “haha.” “noted.”

the next morning there’s a cup of coffee on your desk, with yet another post-it note. “it’s the new specialty at a cafe near my place. i thought you’d like it :)”

that was truly the best coffee you had ever tasted. and maybe he started getting it for you every day. ────

WEDNESDAY | 9:00 PM

it's another day at the office. rain taps gently on the windows, a soft drumbeat to the silence of overworked employees and abandoned coffee mugs. you’re still at your desk & so is he. the fluorescent lights overhead are dimmer than usual, humming low like they’re tired too. you stretch your back, glancing at the clock. 9:04 pm. “still here?” comes his voice. you look up to see jeno leaning on the edge of his cubicle wall, sleeves rolled up, tie a little loosened. “so are you,” you shoot back. he smiles. “want company for the walk back?” you nod before your brain catches up.

the streetlights blur against the wet pavement, reflecting like oil paint smudged across the road. jeno’s shoulder brushes yours every few seconds—neither of you move away. he talks about the weird way jaemin eats ramen. you laugh. you tell him about your favorite childhood cartoon. he says he watched it too, and suddenly it’s three blocks later and you’re still talking. at a red light, you both stop. he glances down at you. you glance up. it’s a pause so charged you swear the rain quiets. “...you looked really pretty today,” he says suddenly. his voice isn’t confident or smooth—he says it like a secret. you don’t respond right away. just tuck your hair behind your ear, your face heating. he notices. the light turns green and you simply walk on. on reaching your apartment building you stop at the steps. he’s still holding the umbrella. you don’t say anything. he doesn’t either. there’s that moment again—that pause like the world might tilt if either of you moves. “i’m really glad you came to dinner that night,” he finally says, voice quieter than before. “been wanting to talk to you properly for months.” you blink. “...really?” jeno chuckles. “you had the office’s only decent stapler. of course i had to make a move.” you laugh—nervous and shy and full of everything you’ve been holding back. he takes a step closer. just one. not too much. “but also,” he adds, and this time his voice is a little more sure, “i like you. not just the lunch break, passing-notes kind. the kind where i want to sit and mindlessly watch silly romcoms with you, the kind where i want to walk you home every day and make sure you had dinner. the kind where - " he goes on. but words fall on deaf ears. you feel your heart clench, sweet and sharp. you’re about to respond when— “...so, if you’re okay with it,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck, “can i officially take you out sometime? like, not just coffee machine and post-it flirting. a real date.” you blink. once. twice. your face is warm. your chest feels like it’s glowing. “...yes.” you don’t even hesitate. his smile is soft. wide. genuine. and when he hands you the umbrella and waves goodnight, walking back with his hands in his pockets and a quiet bounce in his step. you think, maybe this started with a stapler. but it’s gonna end with something a lot more permanent. ──── BONUS : FEW WEEKS LATER | 2:00 PM

you, jeno, and jaemin were perched on the edge of the rooftop, paper lunchboxes balanced on your laps, chinese takeout - courtesy of jeno. the breeze is nice, the sky a little overcast, and jaemin's halfway through an enthusiastic rant about the company’s new vending machine layout.

“and like .. why did they move the green tea to the bottom row? what kind of criminal.. oh, thanks man.” he says as jeno hands him a napkin mid-rant, like muscle memory.

you say while giggling, “you guys are like an old married couple.”

jeno chokes on his rice. you pat his back helpfullly , still giggling.

jaemin just shrugs. “what can i say? i raised him well.”

jeno glares at him. mouthing ' stop. talking.' he knew jaemin could slip up any moment. for he always did.

jaemin does not stop talking.

“i mean, not to brag, but if it weren’t for me, he’d still be hovering awkwardly near your desk pretending he needed your stapler.”

you blink. “wait. what?”

jeno drops his chopsticks.

jaemin freezes. realizes.

“oh..." he mutters.

your jaw drops. “waitwaitwait. you told him to borrow my stapler?”

“in my defense,” jaemin says, holding up both hands, “i was just trying to save him from dying of heart failure every time you walked past. it was either that or fake a paper jam crisis.”

jeno is silent. fully hiding behind his lunchbox now.

you slowly turn to him. “is this true?”

“…maybe,” he mumbles.

you snort, trying to hold in your laughter. “oh my god. so all this time..”

“don’t act like it wasn’t genius!” jaemin interrupts. “you’re welcome, by the way. this whole slow-burn coffee shop romcom office love story? all me.”

jeno groans. “can i push him off the roof.”

you lean into jeno’s shoulder, grinning. “you should’ve just said hi.”

he sighs. “i wanted to. but every time i tried, you were always typing so fast. and glaring at your screen like it personally insulted your ancestors.”

you snort. “fair.”

jaemin raises his water bottle. “to true love, born from borrowing office supplies.”

jeno snatches it from him and takes a sip without asking. you think that’s revenge enough. read more ❤︎ please like, reblog and let me know your reviews (๑>◡<๑) this work is a piece of fiction and is not intended to reflect the real personalities, actions, or beliefs of the individuals portrayed. the idols mentioned are used purely as fictional characters for storytelling purposes. no harm, disrespect, or objectification is intended. everything written here is entirely imaginative and not based on real-life events or relationships.

[fluffylino]

loner ! minho - drabble

you've observed him in your classes. he's hot. he's always by himself. little did you know he was fascinated with you too...

-contains mature themes (risky sex oops)

minho's in your class. he's there almost for every single lecture. never skipping unless he didn't show up to uni.

theres something about him that makes your heart race. maybe because you were just like him. the silent ones in the class who mostly sat right at the back where you could be at peace and avoid most interactions.

somehow the two of y'all never sat together, sometimes sitting on opposite ends of the small class or maybe on the bench infront. you watch him at times whenever the lesson content gets boring. taking in the sight of him paying attention.

was he really paying attention or was he just lost in his thoughts?

were you ever in his thoughts?

did you ever make an appearance in his mind?

.

.

its a long day. back to back lectures since 8 in the morning and you're tired. this time your class was being held in a small private classroom that nearly no one knew about except the people in this specific class.

neatly taking off your shoes outside the carpetted stairway.

noticing the larger pair of combat boots that are tucked away from all the other shoes.

mindlessly you keep your shoes near his. because he had mindlessly been doing that for the past few weeks. placing his shoes next to yours.

silently entering the class, only to realise you had losf track of time in the canteen. 10 mins since your class had begun and here you were.

heart thumping nervously at all the eyes on you, as you quietly scutter to an empty chair. the teacher has made all of y'all sit in a semi circle. for more integration and freedom.

and you find yourself seated directly across minho. taking in the sight of him entirely as your professor absentmindedly continues talking about something.

your eyes can't help but trail down to his hands. watching him crack his knuckles and adjust the rings he wore on his digits.

the black shirt complimenting his physique and his leisure way of sitting making your stomach churn with arousal.

why were you finding him so ravishing today? seeing him so upfront worked wonders on your imaginative brain.

blinking slowly as you thought of how his fingers would feel against your body. maybe even between your legs...

blushing heavily when he glances at you briefly. and from the corner of your eye, you swear you see him hide a smirk.

.

.

class is over and you're about to leave when you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. and you're quick to turn around.

masking on a kind smile which immediately falters.

"wait back with me..." its him.

bag slinging across his shoulder as he stands beside you. quietly waiting for everyone to leave. with a long stride, he closely the door of the classroom. latching it smoothly and for a second you think he's uncomfortable with you.

what if he noticed how obvious you were.

"u-uh is everything o-okay?" you mumble, taking a few steps back when he stands in front of you. minimizing the gap as much as possible.

"i don't know, you tell me..." he lets out, tilting his head with intent. your mouth opens and closes. going speechless and every single coherent thought escaping your mind.

"...i d-don't know" you stutter unconciously. struggling to maintain eye contact with him. looking anywhere but at his eyes.

"do you...." he starts off. clearing his throat before looking at the latched door for a second, turning to purse his lips at you in a somewhat shy manner.

your bag sliding off one of your shoulder's and falling on the ground with a soft thud when he holds your chin.

making you look up at him the whole time.

"do you want to eat ramyeon...with me?"

minho whispers. purposefully leaning closer to breath heavy on your parted lips. your own breath shaking as you unconciously refuse to create a gap between y'all.

"or am i just eye candy for you?" he adds with a playful tone.

"no! i mean...n-no. you're more than just...that"

you mumble, cheeks heating up furiously. eye candy? that meant he knew you were watching him.

"well this eye candy's wondering if you just wanna keep staring at him or instead do something about it..."

.

.

.

"is this what you were dreaming of"

minho whispers huskily, hand stuffed down your pants. pulling you higher up on his lap. fingers tracing over your cunt. your nervousness dying down when he touches you like he's meant to be the only one touching you so intimately.

"m-sorry" you whimper. feeling concerned with yourself for imagining such vile things. filthy dirty thoughts during innocent moments.

"no baby, this is what i dreamt of too"

rubbing his middle and ring finger up against your folds. teasingly feeling up your clit. knowing that this was the first time you'd let anyone touch you like this.

"dreamt of dirtier things...so fucking filthy"

slipping his digit past your entrance and you keen. stomach burning with the unfamiliar intrusion.

"thought of you riding me on one of these stupid chairs" minho breathes out. curling his digits upwards to rub your walls. grunting when you grind down on his fingers.

"m-me too...wanted to ride you...want to ride you"

you gasp out, covering your mouth at the risks y'all were taking. an empty locked classroom.

"your s-shoes" and he smiles.

"you noticed. couldn't get over the size difference"

he teases, pulling his fingers out to lick them seductively. deciding to draw fast rough circles on your clit. stimulating the bundle of nerves so fast that you shake in his hold.

"don't you have class?" he asks, knowing damn well that right now class was the last thing on your mind.

"i have you." you moan, praying that luck ws on your side and that you'd get the time to taste him...

.

.

.

.

.

inspired by the dream i had last night AAAAAAA im screaming without the s-

[acid-ixx]

— masterlist !

i'm thinking of this one au where it's not really a neglected batfam fic but it's within the timeline of again &. again. a darker fic, where instead of being taken in by the family, you were left to fend for yourself after your mother's death— which basically turned you into a version where you're more traumatized than you are with the awareness that bruce, who was supposed to be your father to take you in, never once came to find you after the incident.

which cues to you following your mother's footsteps: becoming the same wo/maneater. but instead of working in the streets or finding bars to perform and sell your body to— you force yourself to learn to be more promiscuous at an early age, find your mother's old clients, become trained by other criminals associated with her— your mentors aren't the greatest, they only use you to up their customer counts, they don't care about you, whether you cry or not, whether the clothes you wear are too tight or if you're tight in budget to even afford food.

you're exposed to the cruelty of the world at an early age. learn that bluntness, letting go of any empathy for people will be the only thing keeping you alive.

leading to your adult life: you became an underground model. with no known last name, with the reputation of an enchantress. your life is shrouded in mysteries, in conspiracy theories and endless rumors and dirt about your name—

but that doesn't matter, scratch that, your point of view doesn't matter because in this fic idea, i just want to focus mainly on how the batfamily starts becoming obsessed with you. i want to create something inherently focusing on their perspective of it all.

your mystery, your allure, your overall poise and stage presence. maybe bruce once forced himself to watch one of those boring runway performances, and he just sees you and sees himself in you—

which leads to this: one day of finally being able to attend one of bruce's fancy galas, courtesy of a very personal invitation from bruce from backstage. each member of the family manages to have one single interaction with you. any casual talk, any jokes thrown their way, a dance with one, a light, almost hesitant laugh to another— colored contacts hiding the ugly dimness which in turn piques tim's interest, makes him want to dissect your thoughts.

like, i don't know if i'm formulating my thoughts coherently enough for this concept to be entertained. but to sum it all up, just imagine those shows where it's told through a perspective of multiple people focusing on one cryptid, on a case long unsolved, a creature which holds no known record to human history— and soon those people's lives become revolved around that one mystery, consumed by familiarity at most.

because you are part of their family, none of them ever knew until the very end. think of that horrendous tom taylor plot twist within the nightwing run where there's this one girl who confessed being dick's long lost sister— now imagine you actively trying your best to stay unknown to them, long since given up through idolizing them through broken tv screens and focusing on yourself instead. you're well aware they're up to something, that they're pinning their curiosity onto you—

cue to me telling alexa to play anxiety by doechii, where like i said: not one thing is revealed about your thoughts unlike in the original a&a series, but rather me writing a series of everyone else's personal thoughts on you and how they each spiral into straight up obsession and the need to keep you for themselves despite never knowing why really.

because in their eyes, you've always been just a model who randomly piqued their attention. they never knew that you were always connected to them from the start— not until the very end at least.

any thoughts on this idea or do i scrap it?

just send in a comment or an ask because i'm in a writing crunch hehe.

[critterbitter]

re: your thoughts on legendaries (which is very cool and based) what’s your take on the differences between legends:arceus giratina and platinum giratina, especially since you defined them as hating the world? specifically the bit where giratina (at least seemingly) actively defended the world from cyrus trying to destroy it, after trying to do the same thing with volo’s help centuries prior?

Weird ghost worm upon yee (AND MORE ART BELOW CUT!)

Anyways, here’s my mad ramblings about Giratina and Arceus’s backstory.

Tldr: Giratina’s a conglomerate of angry souls scorned by Arceus.

(Here’s the playlist. It’s all about worms.)

How it Started.

The original one has chosen favorites over the passage of time. Heroes, legends, protagonists…

Arceus intervenes for those it loves, and the consequences of a god touching the mortal world is devastating in its entirety. One act of divine intervention causes entire civilizations to collapse. One whispered suggestion drives an entire legacy insane.

So Arceus, paralyzed by its love for the mortal world, acts very little, learning from its mistakes. Apathy soaks through every motion. And thus is the way of the world.

But people love the Originator. Religions are born from Arceus’s rare deeds, and generation on generation taught its benevolence. Imagine spending your entire life chasing after that golden light. Imagine knowing its real and there, and it loves you.

Imagine begging it for help, and seeing it turn away when you need it most.

I think those people would feel very abandoned indeed, if they spent their lives worshipping, and receiving no response at all.

Giratina is born from the abandoned, the lost, and the angry. They’re a hundred thousand souls who’s adoration turned to spite. They’re an entity who demands for Arceus to look at them, so they can finally rest.

Arcues can not look at them in full, because if it does Giratina will fade.

(Scio, beloved. For I can not let you go.)

So the Original One banishes the Unwanted Beast into the distortion world, and Giratina seethes, and starves, and screams.

(Here are two truths about the Beast Between Dimensions—

1. Some part of them still loves Arceus. Arceus is their anchor, after all— the sole reason why they exist, why they are. But Arceus can not love it back in a way that matters, and that hurts.

2. Giratina is made of a thousand voices. Some of these voices remember that there’s a world above. They miss it.)

Why Giratina attacked Hisui in PLA:

PLA Giratina’s not a new god, but they’re very, very bitter and barely coherent on a good day. Volo serves as a conduct to help unite the broiling mass of ghosts against Arceus, and thus Giratina’s hatred overcomes any flickering affections they have for the land.

It doesn’t help that Arceus intervened for Hisui, sending Akari to directly stop Volo from summoning Giratina.

(As for Volo, well.

Imagine being a child who was thrown into the future due to Palkia and Dialga’s fits, who learned his people (his world) no longer exist beyond a shadow in the history books and a single, bitter lore keeper.

Volo doesn’t remember his original culture beyond vague imprints and singing praises to Sinnoh, but he knew he was loved, and he knew his family is dust four hundred years in the past. There’s a special sort of rage in him that echoes Giratinas.)

(Why did you abandon my people, Arceus? What kind of god are you, to leave those who love you so callously behind?)

(Maybe some part of Giratina recognizes Volo, beyond a feeling of kinship.

Maybe some part of Giratina grieves because it recognized the child Volo was.)

When Volo gets his pound of flesh, (when he realizes Arceus is not beholden to him, that the inherent alien morality Arceus holds is not a personal slight), Giratina will finally rest.

Anyways what I’m trying to say is: Arceus is never a person, but a nebulous embodiment of the connection shared between pokemon and humans. It tries to experience what it’s supposed to embody, but millennia of watching people be and cease has given it choice paralysis, apathy, and a hoarding issue. If something lasts forever next to it? Good.

Giratina was once a person. (Correction, a LOT of persons.) They don’t think very linearly either, but they have context on mortal matters and are thus the more benevolent and malicious of the two. One day, time will smooth them into something like Arceus. We can only hope the two keep each other in check.

THE DIFFERENCE OF LEGENDS ARCEUS GIRATINA VS PLATINUM PEARL GIRATINA

If the ancient version of giratina is an angry conglomerate of ghosts scorned by Arceus, the modern iteration of Giratina’s a creature that’s more settled in its skin and more assured in its duties. Giratina still has beef with Arceus, but they unionized into one being who’s love of the mortal world has triumphed over its ancestral grudge. One might even postulate they have shifted their anchor from Sinnoh the god, to Sinnoh the place.

((We call this character developement. Good for you, weird ghost worm!))

(((FULL DISCLOSURE, VOLO BEING FROM THE PAST IS INSPIRED FROM FOXFALL. You know. The fic that got me into this fandom. Please give it some love.)))

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #13 死

† the wound that always bleeds †

"Like a mathematical equation, turns out sleeping next to a warm body has always been the solution, which to Jungkook is ironic. Just how ironic it is to Taehyung, that Jeon keeps pretending he's above everything and everyone."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6,5k

rating: mature

content: walk of shame (not), sharing secrets, best friend gossip, 8 hours of sleep for jeon (yay), v's sadistic streak shining through, v being a psychotic lil' shit, takama stepping in to save the day, v ruining lives for the fun of it and jimin being too soft for his own good (why do i always do this shit to jimin bro)

☠ author's note ☠

First of all, Kiki Nation on Tumblr is FUCKING UNHINGED. The goal was 200 notes and it took y'all less than 24 hours. I'm flabbergasted. But also it was smut so... understandable. I see you, horny little gremlins. I respect your dedication.

So here's chapter 13! (I had to proofread this while revising tax law so if something doesn't make sense, it's your fault somehow. Don't question my logic.)

AHHHHH I finally got to show off V's more psychotic nature! His little sadistic side coming out to play! He's such a little shit I love him. Writing characters with mental instability is my emotional support activity.

Well well well, things are slowly unveiling, huh? So what the fuck happened?! Who is Sylvia?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!

That's for me to know and you to lose sleep over for now (◕‿◕✿)

You know, sometimes I genuinely forget you don't have access to the absolute chaos that is my brain. Like it's genuinely hard for me to understand this from an outside perspective because I have the whole plot mapped out in excruciating detail, but you're still in the dark and it's like—is it too obvious? Is it too vague? AM I BEING COHERENT?

The eternal struggle of writing mysteries when you already know the answer. It's like trying to play poker while everyone can see your cards except you think they can't but maybe they can a little bit?? This is why I don't sleep.

Anyway, that's it for now! Love you all, you enablers of my questionable coping mechanisms! (ง •̀_•́)ง

EDIT: If you haven’t read the prologue… you must. Otherwise this is going to be hard to understand bahahaha.

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The alarm rips through your dreams like a knife, and god—you've never hated a sound more in your life.

Your eyelids feel like they're made of lead, your body heavy with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from... well. Last night's activities.

The blankets are so warm, and you smell like pine and sex and masculine. Just five more minutes...

Then reality bitch-slaps you awake. You're in Jeon's tent. At dawn. Which is exactly where you're not supposed to be.

His leg is thrown over yours, arm draped across your waist like he's trying to keep you there. It's almost... cute?

No, not cute. Definitely not cute. Just annoying. And inconvenient.

You nudge him with your elbow, trying to wiggle free without fully waking him. The grunt he makes is surprisingly soft.

"Stay still..." His voice is rough with sleep, half-muffled against your shoulder. "Just five more minutes. Let me doze off again before you go."

You huff but stop moving. It's just five minutes, right? Not like anyone's awake yet anyway. And he's so warm, his breath steady against your skin.

It's... nice. In a way that's probably dangerous.

His breathing evens out quickly, dropping back into sleep. The mighty Chief Jeon, passed out and cuddling. If you weren't so tired, you'd probably laugh.

When you finally ease out from under him, his body twitches slightly—this tiny, unconscious movement that's so unexpectedly human.

It's so weird seeing him like this, soft and sleep-warm skin. Almost makes you forget he's the gang's deadliest assassin.

Or one of them, if you consider V.

Better not tell Jeon you thought that, anyway.

You wiggle back into your clothes as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him—leggings, panties, bra, that stupid crewneck that started all this. No need to give the rest of the camp a morning show.

You crawl out of his tent like the trained seductress you are—silent and graceful. Well, as graceful as anyone can be at ass o'clock in the morning.

The camp is dead quiet except for the occasional snore from distant tents.

Your heart doesn't stop hammering until you're safely away from his tent. The morning air hits your skin, fresh and sharp, washing away the lingering scent of pine and sex.

With each step, you build up that sense of normalcy that someone who didn't fuck a chief last night should wear. No walk of shame here—just a perfectly normal morning stroll. Nothing to see.

The portable table catches your eye as you pass��someone's left out water bottles and snacks like offerings to the gods of late-night hookups. You grab a bottle, the plastic cool against your palm. The water helps, but it doesn't quite wash away the taste of him.

Not that you're thinking about that. Nope. Not at all.

You take another sip of water, trying to convince yourself you're totally fine with how things went down.

(You're not.)

Because seriously—what kind of assassin doesn't carry protection? The absolute audacity of Jeon, walking around looking like that, with those hands and that mouth and those fucking bedroom eyes, and not being prepared?

Criminal. Actually criminal.

Not that you're thinking about his hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd worked you up so perfectly, taking you apart piece by piece until you were shaking.

You drain half the water bottle in one go, but it doesn't help. Your body's still humming with leftover want, still craving more than just grinding and kisses.

Because fuck—it was good, but you know it could've been better. Could've had him filling you up, stretching you open, making you see stars...

If only he had brought condoms with him.

"Fucking hell," you mutter, slightly crushing bottle. The plastic crackles satisfyingly in your grip.

You can't even properly be mad at him. Not when he'd made sure you came first, not when he'd been so attentive to every little sound and movement.

But still.

The fact that you'd been this close to getting properly railed by Chief Jeon, only to be cockblocked by his own lack of preparation?

Infuriating.

Your core throbs at the memory of his cock pressed against you, at how big he'd felt even through layers of fabric. God, the things he could've done to you if he'd just—

Fucking stupid sniper. The audacity of leaving you wanting more.

And oh, there will be a next time. You're getting that dick properly, even if you have to staple condoms to his fucking forehead.

Because someone who looks like that and kisses like that and uses his hands like that? Yeah. You're not done with him yet.

"Good morning."

JM's soft voice yanks you out of your definitely-not-horny thoughts. He looks adorably rumpled, all oversized sweater and messy salmon hair. His cheeks are pink from the cold morning air, making him look even softer than usual.

"Morning," you manage, grateful that your voice sounds normal.

He takes a sip from his own water bottle and you mirror him, mostly to have something to do with your hands.

"Sleep well?" You ask because it's polite, and also because talking about sleep is way better than thinking about what you were doing instead of sleeping last night.

His smile is warm and genuine. "Yeah, I did. And you?"

"Yeah." You nod, aiming for casual.

Like you didn't spend half the night grinding against Chief fucking Jeon. Like you're not still feeling the ghost of his hands on your skin.

Just a normal morning chat. Nothing to see here.

You give JM a quick wave and head back to your tent, trying not to look suspicious. Like you didn't just spend the night getting railed—well, almost railed by his coworker.

God, that's weird to think about.

When you peek inside, Yunjin's already stirring, one eye cracked open in the dim light.

"Y/N?" Her voice is thick with sleep.

"Yeah, it's me." You whisper back, watching her untangle herself from Eunchae, who's apparently decided Yunjin makes an excellent teddy bear.

It's kind of adorable, actually.

She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. When she looks at you again, her brow furrows.

"You didn't sleep here?"

You open your mouth, ready to spill everything—about Jeon's hands and his mouth and how fucking good he'd been—but snap it shut. Not exactly tent-appropriate conversation.

"No."

Her eyes go wide, and she leans in close. "Did you sleep outside? In the freezing cold?"

"No, no, I didn't sleep—" You cut yourself off, suddenly very aware of all the sleeping bodies around you.

The tent walls might as well be tissue paper when it comes to privacy. A quick check outside confirms you're clear.

You duck back in, keeping your voice low. "We can't talk about this here."

You can see the exact moment sleep leaves Yunjin's eye, replaced by that familiar spark of gossip-hungry curiosity. Her lips curl into a grin that says she knows something juicy is coming.

"Okay, I'll be ready in 5." She's already reaching for her clothes, suddenly very awake.

You duck out of the tent to give her privacy, leaning against a nearby pine tree. The bark digs into your back through your clothes, but you welcome the discomfort. Keeps you from getting lost in memories of other things that were digging into you last night...

Nope. Not thinking about Jeon's hands. Or his mouth. Or the way he'd—

Fuck.

When Yunjin finally emerges, her pink hair is a mess and she's practically vibrating with curiosity. You tilt your head toward the edge of camp, where the trees grow thicker. Perfect for spilling secrets that definitely shouldn't reach certain ears.

You find a fallen log away from the other tents, tucked between snow-dusted pines. The wood is freezing through your pants, but whatever. Some things are worth a cold ass.

Yunjin plops down next to you, already leaning in close. She smells like campfire smoke and cotton candy.

"So, what's going on? You look like you've been through hell and back."

More like heaven and back, but you're not about to say that out loud.

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. The memory of his hands, his mouth, his everything makes your pulse skip.

"Jeon happened."

"Jeon?" Yunjin's eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into her forehead. "As in, Mr. I'll-Kill-You-With-My-Thumb Jeon? That Jeon? What the hell did he do now?"

There's teasing in her voice but you catch the flash of concern in her eye.

Sweet, but unnecessary.

"He didn't do anything... wrong." God, your face is burning. "We were alone and things got... intense."

"Intense how?" She draws out the words, scoffing. "Did you two fight each other to death—?"

"It's not like that." You cut her off before she can get carried away. "I mean, we did fight at first but then—well—"

You gesture vaguely, like that explains everything.

"We didn't plan it. It just... happened."

"What happened?"

She crosses her arms, looking supremely unconvinced. Then, presses her lips together, biting back a smile.

"So what, you got stuck and stepbro came to your rescue—"

"Yunjin!" You slap a hand over her mouth, mortified.

Your skin's still tingling with phantom touches and she's out here making porn references? You drop your hand with a scowl that's only half-serious.

Looking anywhere but at her knowing grin, you mutter, "it was mutual."

The words come out barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might summon him. Or worse—his ego.

Yunjin's smirk turns absolutely feral. "Oh my god, I knew there was something brewing between you two since the croissant thing. Come on, spill the dirty details."

You laugh, but your neck's getting hot just thinking about it. Leaning closer, you drop your voice even lower.

"Well, one minute we were fighting, and the next..."

You tell her about his hands, his mouth, the way he'd taken you apart piece by piece. How every touch had felt like lightning under your skin.

"He's like a fucking storm," you try to explain, but words feel inadequate.

How do you describe the tempest that is Jeon?

"And?" She's practically bouncing now, pink hair falling in her face as she leans in.

"And it was... intense. Like our bodies just clicked, you know? The way he touched me, the way he moved..."

"Holy shit." Yunjin lets out a low whistle. "Sounds like Chief Murder-Eyes knows how to fuck. I'm almost jealous."

You can't help but laugh, relief flooding through you at finally being able to talk about it. "I mean, we didn't actually—you know. No condoms. But still, with everything going on... with the gang and the rules..."

"Well, it's just fucking, right?" She cuts in, voice matter-of-fact. "You didn't break any rules."

Her words hit different, reassuring—exactly what you'd said to Jeon last night.

Right. No strings attached. Just two people scratching an itch.

"Yeah." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Just some good ol' fucking."

Yunjin's laugh is warm, understanding. "Well then, there's nothing to worry about. Just be careful. Jeon's not just any guy. From what I've heard, he's got layers, and not all of them are pretty."

You snort, rolling your eyes.

"Pffft, I know." You lean back. "I only have eyes for the pretty. And his dick."

That sets you both off cackling like teenagers sharing secrets behind the bleachers. It feels good to laugh about it, to make light of something that could've been way more complicated.

Yunjin stands, brushing pine needles off her pants. "Well, I gotta head back before they start sending out search parties for us. But we'll talk more about this later, yeah?"

"Yeah, later."

You're grateful she's not making a bigger deal out of this than it is. Just two adults having some mind-blowing- well, almost mind-blowing sex. No feelings, no drama.

She punches your shoulder playfully before heading back to camp, leaving you alone with memories of callouses on your skin and that fucking lip ring against your mouth.

Not that you're thinking about round two.

The early morning light bleeds through the tent, and for the first time—his eyes are not open to perceive it.

Jungkook stirs slowly, consciousness creeping in like the dawn. His hand reaches out, seeking the familiar cold touch of his phone screen.

Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Eight fucking hours without a single nightmare clawing at his mind. No cold sweats, no jolting awake with a scream lodged in his throat.

Just... peace.

His eyes drift to the empty space beside him, still holding a ghost of warmth where you had been. The indent in his pillow, the lingering scent of chai tea mixed with his pine—evidence that last night wasn't just a fevered dream.

Interesting.

The tactician in him can't help but analyze this development.

Eight hours of proper sleep, achieved simply by having another body next to his. The data suggests a correlation worth exploring. It's purely scientific interest, of course —nothing to do with how your quiet breathing had somehow matched his own, creating a rhythm that had lulled him into the deepest sleep he'd had in months.

His lips twitch, almost forming a smile.

Who would have thought that the solution to his insomnia would be so... straightforward?

Just add another warm body to the equation.

Simple.

Efficient.

The gang's best sniper, finally getting proper rest because of a quick hookup.

There's probably irony in there somewhere.

Jungkook stretches, feeling unusually light. His muscles are loose, relaxed in a way that has nothing to do with the previous night's activities.

Well, not entirely due to them.

Eight hours.

He could get used to this.

Jungkook sits up, letting the cool morning air hit his skin. Eight hours of actual sleep has him feeling... different. Not better, exactly. Just less like death warmed over.

He takes his time straightening his tent—a habit drilled into him and not voluntarily.

When he makes it outside, the camp is quiet except for the occasional bird call. His hands find his pockets as he heads toward the mess area, following the siren call of caffeine. The neat row of coffee cans almost makes up for sleeping on the ground.

Almost.

But then he sees V.

And just like that, his rare good mood evaporates.

Evaporates fast.

Jungkook's tongue clicks—automatic. His body already tightens before his mind even catches up. For a second, he considers turning back, caffeine be damned. But no. That'd hand the bastard a win, and Jeon doesn't hand out victories before breakfast.

V's lounging like he owns the clearing. Hair a tousled mess, skin flushed from either a fight or a fuck—Jeon doesn't care which. He just notes the details, stores them. It's habit. Just another target to assess.

The bastard tracks his approach with lazy, half-lidded eyes and that signature smirk—like he already knows he's about to ruin something.

Jungkook grabs a can off the table. Doesn't even look at V yet.

"Had fun last night?" The words come out dry, flat. No bite. Just noise.

V lifts his chin, amused. "Some of us don't need to buy intimacy with imported espresso machines."

Jungkook opens the can with a sharp hiss. Keeps his eyes on the label. "Didn't realize desperation was charming now."

"I call it efficiency." V stretches his arms overhead, exposing fresh marks on his throat. "In and out. Simple. No cleanup. You should try it—might loosen that iron rod you've got jammed up your spine."

Jungkook takes a slow sip of bitter coffee and finally looks at him. "You're bleeding self-worth all over the ground. Try wiping it up before someone slips."

V laughs, delighted. "There he is. I was starting to worry you'd gone full ghost. Thought maybe you finally snapped and joined the meditation club upstairs."

Jungkook doesn't answer. He's already turning away, walking slowly toward the edge of camp—toward the trees. Not far. Just enough distance to mute V's noise.

Of course, V follows. He always does.

"You know what your real problem is?" V's voice floats lazily behind him. "You think control's the same thing as peace."

Jungkook says nothing. Another sip. The coffee's still shit. V's steps crunch through the grass behind him. Closer now.

"But it's not. You're not calm, Jeon. You're just buried."

Jungkook stops. Just briefly. Looks up at the sky like it might offer patience.

V grins, eyes glittering. "Bet it gets lonely. All that quiet. All that nobility. Ever wonder why no one's lining up to warm your bed these days?"

Jungkook doesn't flinch. Just watches a bird take off from the trees. "Didn't realize we were counting bodies now. Thought you preferred keeping score in blood."

"Oh, I do," V murmurs, stepping beside him, too close. "But you—God, you used to have heat, you know that? Used to burn. Now it's all smoke and mirrors. All that rage shoved behind protocol and detachment."

Jungkook doesn't look at him, but his hand tightens around the can.

V keeps pushing, voice sweet as poison. "You used to laugh. Fuck, remember that? You'd stay up past curfew, cheat on drills, get into knife fights for fun. Now look at you—clockwork killer with a loyalty complex."

"You done?" Jungkook's voice is sharp now. Controlled, but edged.

"Not even close." V steps in front of him, cuts off the path. "See, I get it now. You stopped fucking because you can't do casual anymore. Too dangerous, right? Someone breathes near you and you start imagining futures."

Jungkook's jaw tightens.

V leans forward. "What was it RM said? 'Attachment makes you weak'? Or did you have to learn that one the hard way?"

"Careful," Jungkook says, low.

V just smiles. "I'm not touching your secrets, Jeon. Just pointing out the obvious. You're terrified of getting close again. You think if you fuck anyone, they'll catch feelings. Or worse—you will."

Jungkook doesn't blink. Doesn't speak. But the can in his hand dents slightly under his grip.

V notices. Of course he does.

"I mean, maybe that's why no one touches you anymore." He tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. "Not because you're intimidating. Not because you're better. But because they all see it—the grief in your bones. The guilt. Like it might rub off."

"You talk a lot for someone with nothing to say."

V grins, stepping aside, letting him pass. "And you say nothing hoping it makes you mysterious. But guess what, Jeon? I see right through that bullshit."

Jungkook exhales slowly through his nose. The air is cool, the trees just ahead. He keeps walking. He doesn't rise. Not yet.

But V's still behind him.

And he's not done.

Jungkook moves, calm steps through dew-soaked grass. The can in his hand hisses with pressure, dented from his grip, but he doesn't look back.

"You know what your problem is, Jeon?" V's voice cuts through the morning air, sing-song soft. "You're so far up your own ass you can't see what a joke you've become."

Jungkook doesn't bother with a glance. Just takes another sip of his shitty coffee. Tries to drown out the taste of chai from his tongue.

"The perfect soldier," V continues, pacing a few feet behind, voice louder now. "Marching in lockstep behind Commander like a good little ghost. You think if you bleed enough for RM, he'll forgive you for what you let slip through your fingers?"

Still no answer. Just another sip of that bitter, mass-produced garbage. Jungkook focuses on the taste—the chemical bitterness coating his tongue, sharp and synthetic. Easier to focus on that than the ache V's voice digs up.

"Nothing to say?" V's tone lifts, faux-curious. "Come on, where's that famous discipline now? Or did you leave it behind in your tent last night?"

The can pauses mid-sip. Barely a hitch. Just one second too long.

Jungkook lowers it slowly. "Your obsession with where I sleep is weird. Maybe try journaling."

V grins wide behind him, practically skipping to keep up now. "You're right. I should write this all down—'Jeon, once fierce and unfiltered, now drinks piss-coffee and pretends not to feel anything.' Bestseller."

"You done with the poetry?"

"Almost," V chirps. "Just wanted to make sure you knew everyone sees it. The way you're chasing scraps of forgiveness like a dog with its tail between its legs. You used to lead the escapades. Now you just brood and play pretend."

Jungkook stops walking.

V nearly collides with him, amused.

"Touch a nerve?" he murmurs.

Jungkook's head tilts slightly, eyes still forward. "You should work on new material. The old lines are starting to bore me."

V steps around him, circling like a vulture. "That's the thing about ghosts, Jeon. They're repetitive. They just haunt the same places. Same faces."

Jungkook's eyes shift. Cold. Level.

"You sound jealous."

V barks a laugh. It's short, sharp, too loud for the quiet trees.

"Of what? Your sad, monk-ass existence? Nah. I just miss the guy who could take a punch and throw three back."

"He grew up," Jungkook replies coolly. "Maybe you should try it."

"Nah," V says, too quickly. "That guy didn't grow up. He crawled into a cage and slammed the door shut."

Jungkook takes a step forward, chest brushing V's shoulder as he passes. "Or maybe he realized some things aren't worth fighting for anymore."

"Oh?" V pivots, stalking behind again. "Like loyalty? Brotherhood? Control?"

Jungkook doesn't turn. "Like noise."

V's smirk sharpens. "Funny you mention that. Because the silence after you let her die? That was deafening."

That stops him.

One step shy of the treeline.

Jungkook doesn't move, but something in the air shifts. Not loud. Not visible.

Just cold.

Real cold.

He sets the coffee can down on a mossy rock, slow and steady. Wipes his hand once on his thigh.

"You sure you want to go there?" he says, soft as snowfall.

V's smile flickers. Not with fear—he doesn't do fear—but with pleasure.

This is what he came for.

"I'm just saying," V hums, circling again, low and lazy. "You've been pretending for so long. Pretending she didn't matter. Pretending you're fine. Pretending you're not still clawing your way out of that night like it didn't gut you."

Jungkook says nothing.

But his silence means something now.

"I was there, Jeon," V says, inching closer. "You looked at me like I'd ripped out your heart and eaten it."

"You did," Jungkook murmurs. Still not looking at him.

"And yet," V's voice softens to a whisper, "you still didn't pull the trigger."

"Because you weren't worth it."

V snickers. "That's not what your eyes said."

Jungkook turns his head slowly. "No. That's what restraint looks like. Something you wouldn't recognize if it slit your throat."

V's lips curve, crooked and violent. "But you wanted to. You still want to."

Another long pause. Jungkook's jaw flexes once.

"Not as much as I want to forget you ever mattered."

And that—that hits.

V's grin falters. Just for a split second. The moment is small, but Jungkook catches it. He always catches everything.

Then, it changes again. V watches him like a cat watches a cornered bird. Head tilted. Smiling like he knows what's coming, and he's going to savor every second of it.

"You know what's funny," V says, voice maddeningly casual, "I always wondered if that was the problem."

Jungkook doesn't bite. Doesn't blink.

V goes on. "Not the rule-breaking. Not the secrecy. But who you broke the rule for."

Jungkook's gaze sharpens. Just a sliver. Just enough.

V catches it, of course. "Maybe if it had been someone else. Someone... less delicate. Maybe then, I'd have understood."

Jungkook's jaw shifts—tightens, releases.

"You picked soft," V continues. "You always hated soft. But that's what you chose. That's who you let in."

"Don't," Jungkook says quietly.

But V's already grinning, teeth and cruelty.

"God, what was her name again? It's been so long." He taps his chin mockingly. "Right there. Tip of my tongue."

Jungkook turns away. Starts walking.

He needs to get away from that sicko before he does something stupid.

"Don't go yet," V calls behind him, voice lilting like this is a game. "Help me out, will you? Dark hair? Big eyes? Always looked like she was about to break?"

Each step Jungkook takes feels heavier now. Like the gravity around him's been recalibrated.

"Jeon," V sings. "C'mon. Starts with an 'S,' right? S... Ssssss—shit, it's gonna bug me all day if you don't help."

Jungkook stops walking. Doesn't turn.

"V."

One word. Dead calm. A warning that sounds like the moment before a trigger snaps.

But V doesn't stop. He never does.

"Wait—don't tell me—Sarah? No. Sophie?" He's grinning now, wide and unhinged. "No no no, it was something sweeter than that, wasn't it? Something fragile."

Jungkook's whole body goes still. His shoulders square. Not aggressive. Not defensive.

Bracing.

"I won't tell you again."

"Oh, don't be like that." V's voice drops to a near-whisper. "We're just reminiscing."

"You say it," Jungkook murmurs, quiet enough that the wind almost eats it. "And this conversation takes a very different turn."

"Isn't that the fun part?" He replies.

Jungkook turns back to walk away. But before he can do just that, V opens his mouth again.

"No, wait, wait, wait! I remember it now."

V tilts his head, feigning thought, acting like he just got enlightened by the powers above.

Then—

"Sylvia."

The name detonates behind Jungkook's eyes.

He moves before he even registers it—before thought can catch up to instinct. One hand fisting V's collar, the other slamming him into the nearest tree with bone-rattling force.

His voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.

"I told you," he breathes, "to shut the fuck up."

V chokes out a laugh, even as Jeon's forearm presses against his throat. His smile is bloody, triumphant.

This is exactly what he wanted.

"There he is," V wheezes. "Knew you still remembered."

Jungkook tightens his grip.

"You don't get to tarnish her name with your mouth."

"Oh come on," V gasps, grin never faltering. "You're the one who made her matter."

Another inch and V's feet almost leave the ground. Jungkook's pulse is thunder in his ears. Vision tunneled, voice low.

"You don't touch her memory."

V's eyes shine with something unholy. "Why not? You left it out in the open."

Jungkook doesn't say anything. He just breathes—through his nose, slow, controlled—because if he doesn't, he'll crush the bastard's windpipe right here and now.

"You never even cried for her," V says, voice straining now. "Not once. I watched you. All that grief, and nothing came out but silence."

"Shut up."

"She begged for you, Jeon." V's voice slips into a mocking lilt. "Right before I pulled the trigger."

His hands go up, mimicking the movement of guns. Two fingers, cocked and pointed.

"Bang. Bang." V grins. "Guess some lessons need to be learned twice."

Jungkook's fist curls tight, shakes from the effort of not slamming it into V's face.

"She looked at you," V whispers, "and said thank you."

That's it.

Jungkook lets go of his throat—and punches him hard enough to split skin across V's jaw.

Bone cracks under knuckles. Blood spatters across bark. V staggers, but he's laughing—fucking laughing—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fucking finally" he slurs through red teeth. "Welcome back, Kooks."

Jungkook doesn't hesitate.

The second punch lands even harder than the first—knuckles slamming into cheekbone with enough force to whip V's head sideways.

Blood sprays from his mouth this time, a thick crimson arc that spatters across tree bark, across Jeon's hand, across the ground between them.

Still, V laughs.

It's breathless, giddy, delighted.

"Fuck, I missed this," he rasps, tongue darting out to taste the blood slicking his bottom lip. "So you're still human, huh?"

He licks it slow, like he's savoring it.

Like it's dessert.

Jungkook steps back just enough not to kill him.

"You don't get to call me that," he says, voice low and splintered. "Not anymore."

V blinks once, mock-innocent. Then that crooked smile curls back up, jagged and satisfied.

"Oh, right." He taps two fingers against his temple. "Because I'm not Taehyung to you anymore, huh? I'm V." His voice twists around the name like it's something sacred. "Your words, not mine. Or was it mine first? I forget."

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He can't.

Not when his pulse is pounding in his ears, his vision swimming at the edges with a red haze he hasn't let himself feel in months.

V steps closer, shoulders relaxed, body loose with that particular high only someone like him can ride. His lip's still bleeding, and he doesn't wipe it off this time—just lets it drip, red on his teeth, staining the corner of his mouth.

"God, you hit harder than I remember," he says, eyes gleaming. "Must be all that repressed emotion. You're like a soda can in the sun—shaking, sealed tight. One little crack and boom."

Jungkook doesn't say anything back. He's not looking at him anymore. He's looking through him. Past the trees. Somewhere far and unreachable.

But V keeps talking. Of course he does. Because once he has momentum, he's unstoppable.

"I always knew it was still in there," V's finger digs in his chest. "That spark. That fire. You've been playing dead so long I almost believed you were gone. Almost."

Jungkook's hands are fists again.

"You've been sleepwalking, Jeon," V continues, grinning like he's high on the taste of violence. "Dead-eyed. Robotic. Miserable. Just waiting for someone to fucking jolt you back awake."

He leans in close again. Too close.

"I'm just giving you a favor."

"You don't do favors."

V cackles, loud and wild. "Sure I do. You just don't like the way they taste."

Another pause. Jungkook's breathing is steady now, but it's forced. Every inhale pulled through clenched teeth.

"You think this brings me peace?"

"No," V says, licking blood off his thumb now. "I think it brings you clarity."

There's something predatory in the way he steps back, finally, giving Jungkook space—but not out of mercy, no.

It's rather just to admire the way he's held together by muscle memory and sheer willpower.

"You pretend you buried it," V says softly, quirking an eyebrow. "But it's still there. Under the skin. Under the guilt. Under all that self-hatred."

"You're wasting your breath," Jungkook replies.

But V just keeps smiling, lips slick, eyes blown wide with delight.

"You can't kill the part of you that liked it. The rage. The power. The need. You just locked it away in a box and lost the key."

V's voice drops now, low and rich and terrifyingly gentle.

"And I'm the only one who still knows where it's buried."

That's when Takama steps in.

No warning. No sound. Just a hand locking around Jeon's bicep before the next blow can fly.

"Enough," Takama says, firm and calm.

Not a command.

A lifeline.

Jungkook doesn't resist. Not yet. But his chest heaves, and the knuckles on his right hand are starting to swell. V leans lazily against the tree now, licking the blood of his lower lip that won't stop gushing out.

"Aw, don't stop now," he drawls, voice hoarse from the chokehold and the punches. "We were finally getting somewhere."

Takama doesn't even look at him.

His grip stays tight. Not painful. Just steady. Anchoring.

"Let it go," his second in command says under his breath.

Jungkook's eyes stay locked on V's face. Not with hatred. With control.

The kind that takes every ounce of strength to maintain.

"You should've stayed buried," he murmurs.

But V just laughs. Loud, unhinged, manic.

"And miss this reunion?" He wipes blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. "Never."

He steps back, licking the burgundy remnants from his fingers as he turns to walk away.

His voice floats over his shoulder like a final cut.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Jungkook doesn't answer.

He just watches him disappear into the trees, that thorned scent of roses lingering behind like a stain you can't scrub off.

Some poisons don't kill you right away.

They stay in your blood.

Rot you from the inside out.

Blood tastes like copper and victory.

It slicks across his tongue, drips warm from the split in his lip. He doesn't wipe it off. Why would he? It's a mark of success—Jeon's control fractured, broken open just enough for the truth to spill out.

The scream he didn't let out. The grief he still pretends doesn't exist.

Taehyung practically skips through the camp, boots crunching over frost-stiff grass. His knuckles sting from where Jeon deflected that second hit, but the ache feels earned. Like something sacred.

He exhales, slow and sweet, watching the vapor curl into the cold morning air.

That was better than sex.

No, scratch that.

That was sex.

Pushing Jeon to that edge—watching the cold, calculated sniper fucking explode in real time? That's the closest Taehyung ever gets to euphoria.

The high is still rushing through him as his tent comes into view. The buzz behind his teeth. The heat in his skull. He's not even pretending to slow down.

He lifts the flap with a flourish, practically singing, "Honey, I'm home," as he sweeps inside.

Jimin's already there. Cross-legged on the floor like some kind of aesthetic devotional painting. His salmon hair falls messily across his forehead, catching light like spun sugar. He doesn't startle—he never does—but his head tilts just slightly in that way Taehyung always notices.

"You're late," Jimin says, not looking up from whatever he's scribbling into that little black journal. "Let me guess. You pissed off Jeon again."

"Mmhmm," Taehyung hums, swaying into the room. "It was glorious."

He doesn't wait for an invitation. He never does. Two steps and he's folding himself into Jimin's lap like a lithe, bloody jungle cat.

Jimin grunts at the impact, but he doesn't move. Doesn't push him off.

He never does that either.

"You're bleeding," Jimin says quietly, brushing hair back from Taehyung's temple before his eyes drift down. "Lip's split."

"Little love tap," Taehyung breathes against the curve of Jimin's neck.

He nuzzles there a moment, deep inhale. Jimin smells like warmth. Like brown sugar and caramel and fabric softener.

Soft things. Domestic things.

He doesn't know why it makes his teeth itch, want to take a bite.

Jimin finally meets his gaze—and there it is.

That flash of worry in his eyes. That's the part Taehyung likes. Not the sympathy. The fact that it costs Jimin something every time he pretends this isn't poison.

"What did you say to him this time?"

Taehyung grins slow, letting his tongue drag over the blood at the corner of his mouth. "Just reminded him of something he didn't want to remember."

"Don't play stupid. This is getting out of hand." Jimin's hand brushes lightly against his jaw, tilting his face to examine the cut.

The pads of his fingers are warm. Careful. It makes something behind Taehyung's ribs twitch.

"Jeon's going to snap one of these days," Jimin adds, voice low.

"He already did," Taehyung whispers.

And he can't help it—he giggles. It bubbles out of him like champagne and gunfire, bright and wrong. He presses closer to Jimin, legs tangling, arms looping around his waist. The tension bleeds out of him slowly, replaced by that delicious hum of control reclaimed. He can still feel Jeon's rage in the fibers of his hoodie. It clings like perfume.

Jimin doesn't move. But his breathing changes. Shallow now.

"You're high on it again," Jimin murmurs.

Taehyung pretends to consider it. "Maybe."

"It's not healthy."

He shrugs, lashes fluttering as he leans in. "Neither are we."

Jimin sighs through his nose. Doesn't argue.

For a moment, they sit like that. Quiet.

Taehyung lets himself rest his head on Jimin's shoulder, lets the silence expand between them. This kind of stillness is rare. He doesn't know how to hold it without squeezing too tight.

Jimin's voice finally cuts through. "Let J-Hope look at it. That lip's going to get infected."

"For you?" Taehyung draws his thumb along the line of Jimin's jaw, soft and mocking. "Anything, love."

The way Jimin flinches is small. Almost imperceptible. But Taehyung feels it.

That's the thing about Jimin. He's not like the others. He doesn't play back. Doesn't bite or snarl or shoot. He just absorbs it all, like a sponge in a slow leak.

And Taehyung knows it's cruel—knows he's twisting something tender into something sharp—but he does it anyway.

Because this is what's left. This is what he has.

"You don't have to keep doing this," Jimin says, eyes on the floor now. "With him."

"Sure I do," Taehyung murmurs, already curling into his lap again, like a cat that doesn't want to answer. "The show must go on."

Jimin shakes his head once, slow. "You're always like this."

"Good things don't change."

There's no bite in it. No anger.

Just truth.

And then, before Jimin can speak again, Taehyung presses a finger to his lips. It's light. Thoughtless. Charged.

"No more lectures," he says. "Tell me something sweeter."

"Like what?"

Taehyung smiles, eyes gleaming. He leans in, close enough for Jimin to taste the blood on his breath.

"Tell me a secret."

Jimin's lips are warm beneath his finger. Too warm.

Taehyung holds it there a beat longer than necessary, just to feel the resistance—such a pretty little line of defiance, always broken down the same way.

Gently.

Repeatedly.

"Tell me a secret," he whispers again.

Jimin doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

Because his eyes do. The way they drop. The way his breath skips. The way his hands twitch against the floor like they're unsure whether to push away or pull Taehyung closer.

It's always like this. Hesitation that tastes like anticipation.

Taehyung leans in. Presses his mouth to Jimin's cheek, just shy of his lips, and breathes him in—caramel warmth, a little bit of sweat, and something almost shy beneath it.

He imagines for a second biting down. Hard. Leaving a mark. Branding softness with something it doesn't deserve.

Instead, he draws back and tugs Jimin forward.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Right into his lap.

Jimin doesn't resist. He never does. Just settles into the space Taehyung makes for him like he's made of silk and apology.

God, it's addicting.

"So obedient," Taehyung murmurs, mouth ghosting along the curve of Jimin's jaw. "You always melt so easily, Jiminie."

He feels Jimin's pulse jump under his hands.

Feels it in the way his thighs tighten just slightly, in the way his spine curves—not in retreat, no.

In submission.

Taehyung smiles. The kind that never touches his eyes.

This is the part that matters.

Not the tenderness. Not the connection. This.

The aftershock. The reward.

The thing that lets him bleed out the rest of Jeon's name from his teeth.

His hands roam lazily—up the curve of Jimin's back, slipping under the hem of his shirt just to feel the skin heat beneath his palms. He doesn't rush. He doesn't need to.

Jimin's already folding.

Taehyung tilts his head and brushes their lips together—barely. Just enough to taste breath.

Then he whispers, soft and cruel against Jimin's mouth, "Let me ruin you for a bit."

Jimin exhales shakily. Doesn't nod. Doesn't speak. Just presses closer.

Perfect.

And Taehyung?

Taehyung finally feels calm.

Not better.

But calm.

The high burns slower this way.

Controlled.

Directed.

And by the time Jimin's head tips back and Taehyung's fingers slide lower, he's already thinking of the next morning—when he'll do it all over again.

Because Jeon's fists can bruise skin.

But Jimin's silence?

It lets him feel powerful.

goal: 400 notes lmao I'm not doing this shit again in 24 HOURS.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[gf2bellamy]

i have a very self indulgent fic request in which maybe the team is at a bar or party or something and someone puts a cowboy hat on spencer and reader is like …..oh😳 bc he lowkey looks fine asf,, maybe he catches on and starts teasing her abt it or in spencer fashion hes just completely clueless to how fine he looks,,,, save a horse and all that

cowboy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: they're at a bar a/n: i was reading this request while i was walking to the train station and i literally started giggling , when i read it ! i love the idea so much <3 i hope this is what you asked for :)

You stood next to Spencer, your arms crossed as you watched him line up his shot.

The dart game had been intense—Spencer versus Derek.  

Spencer adjusted his grip on the dart, his brow furrowing slightly as he calculated the angle and force needed. You held your breath, your eyes flickering between him and the board. With a quick motion, he released the dart.

It sailed through the air and landed dead center in the bullseye. 

You immediately erupted into cheers, clapping your hands as Derek groaned loudly, throwing his head back in defeat.

Without thinking, you turned to Spencer and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “Good job!” you said, your voice bright with excitement.

For a moment, Spencer froze, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. But then his arms wrapped around you, his hands settling lightly on your waist as he returned the hug.

When you leaned back, still smiling up at him, his hands lingered on your waist for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly as he looked down at you, a small, pleased smile tugging at his lips.

“Man, not again,” Derek grumbled in the background, slumping into a chair. Penelope Garcia patted his shoulder sympathetically. “There, there, big guy. Even athletes have their off days,” she teased, earning a half-hearted glare from Derek. 

 You leaned closer to Spencer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “I’m so glad you wiped that grin off his face,” you said, a playful smirk on your lips. “He’s been bragging all day about how good he is at darts. It was driving me insane.” 

 Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Glad I could help,” he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of pride.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he’d been secretly thrilled to show off a little—especially in front of you.

It wasn’t often he got to flex skills outside of his usual intellectual expertise, and the way you’d cheered for him made his chest swell with pride.

Just as the moment settled, JJ appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a mischievous grin on her face. She plopped something onto Spencer’s head before he could react.

“Winner gets to wear this,” she announced, her tone dripping with amusement as she walked away. 

Spencer blinked, reaching up to touch the object now perched on his head. “What—?” His fingers brushed against the brim of a cowboy hat, and he froze. “Is this a cowboy hat?” he asked, his voice confused.

He knew JJ well enough to know that if he tried to take it off, she’d just put it right back on him. Resigned, he adjusted it slightly, his expression shifting to one of bemused acceptance. 

You, on the other hand, were struggling to form a coherent thought.

Because Spencer Reid in a cowboy hat was… well, it was something else entirely. You stared, your mouth slightly open, as Spencer turned to you, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

 “Is it…?” he trailed off, waiting for your response. When you didn’t immediately answer, his concern grew.

You blinked, finally snapping out of your daze. “Uh, yes. Yeah, it’s a…” You paused, your eyes raking over him once more. “It’s a cowboy hat,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

You quickly looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. 

Spencer, still adjusting the cowboy hat, glanced around the room, his eyes landing on JJ. She was busy chatting with Derek, her laughter ringing out as she teased him about his loss. Seizing the opportunity, Spencer reached up to remove the hat, but before he could, your voice stopped him. 

 “Wait—” you stammered, your hand instinctively reaching out as if to stop him. Spencer froze, his fingers still gripping the brim of the hat, and turned to look at you.

 “What?” he asked, his voice soft. His eyes searched yours.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s just… you look… nice,” you managed to say, though your words came out in a rushed, stuttering mess. “I mean, the cowboy hat . It… it suits you.” You immediately regretted speaking, feeling your face grow even warmer under his gaze. 

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard by your compliment.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if he were about to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Then, slowly, a small, shy smile spread across his face. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Thank you.” 

He let go of the hat, leaving it perched on his head, and you couldn’t help but notice how his smile seemed to brighten his entire face.

You found yourself smiling back at him.

 “I mean, it’s not every day you see Dr. Spencer Reid in a cowboy hat,” you added, trying to lighten the mood and mask your own embarrassment. “It’s… kind of a good look for you.” 

 Spencer chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Well, if you say so,” he replied, his tone playful but genuine.

He adjusted the hat again, this time with a little more confidence. 

[youleftmenochoicebut]

GOLD RUSH — regulus black x reader.

SUMMARY. — your secret relationship with regulus isn’t so secret anymore.

PAIRING. — regulus black x fem!pureblood!reader

WARNINGS. — reader has a 1st year brother; this is shitty;

A/N. — im desperately trying to write something coherent for reggie and it’s not working

“if you stare at that poor girl for a little while longer i’m pretty sure her head’s gonna set on fire.” Barty’s voice is quiet as he leans in closer to your ear, and you tilt up your head at him, quickly hitting his shoulder. you’re standing in front of the potions classroom, and out of your friend group it’s only the two of you - Evan back in his dorm claiming to be sick, Dorcas not every making any excuses as to why she didn’t show up, Pandora being a ravenclaw, and Regulus… well, Regulus.

Regulus is standing in the darkest corner of the hallway, having a conversation with some hufflepuff (a good friend of his who you have known of for a while) who’s batting her eyelashes up at him, and you wonder if he’s truly that oblivious to notice or just chooses to ignore it. either way you shrug, turning to Barty with a grimace on your face that’s supposed to be a smile.

“damn, babe, with that look on your face you might just scare away potential suitors.” he tugs at your braid, swiftly making it fall apart, and your frown deepens.

“not in the mood, Barty.” you roll your eyes with a scoff, leaning back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. your parents have been bugging you about finding a suitable future husband to marry after you graduate ever since this school year started, and as it all nears spring you’re only growing more restless. of course they don’t know about your relationship with Regulus. sure, they would be over the moon at the news, the younger Black brother being… hot shit amongst the mentally challenged elders, as Evan described it once. which is exactly why you want to keep it under the wraps for as long as you can.

it’s been going pretty well you’d say, both of you not having much problem with acting casual, but lately you’ve been struggling with that. you’re not jealous, Merlin forbid, you’re just… well, maybe you are the tiniest bit jealous. in all honesty, who wouldn’t be? it’s Regulus Black.

you enter the classroom hand in hand with Barty once the clock strikes nine, splitting with him when you make your way to your desk. during this class you actually share your space with Regulus, and so you give him a small smile when he sits down beside you.

the whole day passes in a blur for you, as it usually does, and soon enough you’re in your favorite place of all Hogwarts. you’re sitting on a huge plush couch in the room of requirement, your head resting on your boyfriend’s lap as he runs his slender fingers through your hair. both of you dressed in some comfortable clothes instead of the everyday robes, your wands laying down on the wooden table in front of the sofa.

“i haven’t written back to my mother yet.” you murmur after a moment, eyes set on Regulus’ face, trying to catch every detail of it.

his skin is pale, sheer thin, and if you believed in them you could’ve said he’s a ghost. his lips are always so plump looking, now outstretched in a smile, his gray irises staring right back at you with that loving shimmer to them.

“have Alistair?” he asks, your younger brother’s name leaving his mouth so quiet it’s practically a whisper, and he raises his eyebrows. you shrug, and a moment later you shake your head.

“i’m not sure. i think so.” you reply, internally groaning at the mere thought of your sibling, and you push yourself up on your elbows then fully sit up, reaching out for one of the mugs standing on the coffee table. they’re both filled with hot chocolate, and you take the pink one into your hand, sipping on it slowly. “little bugger is snitching on me, i try to avoid him.”

you watch him chuckle and reach over for his mug, then the two of you lean back against the couch. you can feel yourself sinking into the cushions, and a delighted sigh escapes you, before you catch Regulus’ amused expression and purse your lips together quickly.

“i just can’t wait for all of this to end, so we could move away.” you mumble, setting your cup back down, and he nods. he leans in closer, his hands resting on either sides of your middle, and for a beat he only looks at you. then suddenly his smile widens, and he kisses the top of your nose.

“chocolate on your nose.” he whispers playfully, his lips brushing innocently against your cheek next, then your jawline, your chin, slowly trailing down to set on your neck for a longer while. “just three more months, ma chérie. and we’ll leave it all behind.”

his breath is hot against your skin despite the chilliness of his hands that wrap around your waist, helping you into a laying down position. his caress is gentle, soft, just so so loving.

“a cozy cottage somewhere in a quiet village. maybe wales?” you breathe out, your hands coming up to first rest on his shoulders, but you quickly move them up and tangle them into his dark curls.

“mhm, like we planned.” he nods, making you yelp in surprise as he suddenly sucks on your pulse point, and you swear you can feel him smirk against the column of your throat. “a whole lot of protective spells to keep us safe and hidden from everyone. and then maybe we can focus on what’s good. plant a tree and have a dozen of children.”

“well, i don’t know who’s gonna give you a dozen of children, cause it’s for sure not me.” you scoff, a chuckle escaping your lips as you pull him back from you, and he takes the opportunity to give you a kiss. it quick and sweet, and his hands start to wander under your shirt, ghosting over the outline of your bra teasingly.

you leave the room of requirement in the middle of the night, fingers intertwined, and your guard let down. your clothes are wrinkled up, hair messy and tousled, and there’s already a slight limp to your walk. you’re both sure no one’s going to see you, i mean come on, it’s 2am. but the moment you step a foot outside, and the magic door disappears behind you, you hear a victorious laugh.

your brother is standing right there, just a few strides away from you, grinning from ear to ear. you immediately groan, gaze locking with Regulus’ for a moment before you step forward.

“i swear to Merlin, Alistair, if you tell anyone about this…” you start menacingly, hand clasping on the boy’s shirt collar, but it gives you an opposite result of what you’ve hoped for.

“sod off, Y/N! i’m writing about this to mother right when i get back to my dorm!”

[xoxochb]

been far too long since I wrote a make-out blurb </3

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

the taste of his lips is of the ocean. like the waves against the sand, the shoreline.

and no matter how many times your mouth was to be tangled with percy’s, it would always be as life-altering as the last time.

you’re not very surprised that his french kissing tactics are knee weakening because he was half god after all. and you thank the gods every day for that.

his oh-so calloused fingers trace over your waist just barely, yet enough to send shivers down your spine. your own hands dig into his biceps to steady yourself atop his lap.

your brain feels staticky and hazy— wiped of any memory, coherent thought, and anything as simple as knowing your abc’s. this is alongside your bones that feel utterly weak and unable to properly function as they are supposed to.

especially the moment percy’s tongue coaxes your lips apart to explore the warm cavern of your mouth, and tangling with your own.

you think, perhaps you’ll die right here and now.

the way his mouth molds against your own is like he had been born solely for this purpose. to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you.

and that’s just what he does!

your skin heats up with every movement, with each touch. and soon you will be turned into tiny ashes or maybe a puddle.

and your heart, racing so wildly you presume that at any moment it’ll burst out of your chest. then, you’d have no choice but to hand it to percy as he would keep it safe forever.

you pull away from the kiss with reluctance. you inhale the sweet oxygen and drop your head onto percy’s shoulder.

“you’re going to kill me.”

percy rubs your back soothingly. “I won’t let you die, sweet girl.”

you lift your head and take one of his hands, placing it over your heart so he can feel your rapid heartbeat. but he removes his hand and places his mouth over it instead, pulling down the edge of your bra for easier access.

you allow him to do so, too worn out and breathless for articulate words at the moment.

though as it turns out, his lips on your chest doesn’t help that very much.

[riorsonhouse]

in the archives

𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝗿𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗽𝗹𝗼𝘁, 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 ~𝟮𝗸 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁. 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗶'𝗺 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆

𝗶 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸, 𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘇𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻'𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗱 𝗶'𝗺 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆. 𝗶𝗳 𝗶 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗿, 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝘁 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁.

𝙖���𝙤𝙪𝙩 ᯓ★» 𝙭𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧. 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙖𝙩 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙭𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ᯓ★» 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩!! (𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 - 𝙭𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙣’𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙮, 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙤𝙮𝙚𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙨𝙢??)

𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘋𝘕𝘐 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶

ᝰ.ᐟ

it’s late, much later than you promised yourself but these books aren't going to read themselves, and you really need to study. the entire space you're occupying is covered with books, no space left on the table as you try your best to absorb as much information as you possibly can.

you rub your tired eyes, trying to focus on the ancient text in front of you. the words are starting to blur together, and you can feel the beginnings of a headache forming at your temples. you've been staring at the pages so long you fear you may start to hallucinate. vaguely you hear the sound of footsteps, and you know you may have to call it a night soon.

no, those are actual footsteps.

heavy footfalls come walking towards you, you only glance up ever so slightly, just enough to notice the Rider black the person is wearing, you sigh.

“Riders are not allowed to be here right now,” you start the speech you've uttered a million times now, anytime a Rider wanders in well past their allotted time. “you can return at a later time when the Archives…” you trail off when you look up completely and meet Xaden’s eyes. he’s got his signature smirk on his face, the on that makes your heart skip a beat.

you glance around quickly, making sure there's no one else in the Archives at this late hour. your heart is racing, both from his presence and the thrill of doing something you probably shouldn't. the way he's looking at you makes your breath catch in your throat.

“how did you even get…?” your question hangs in the air, because Xaden can do anything he sets his mind to. “did you need something?”

“that's a loaded question,” he counters, and then he's standing next to you, looking over your shoulder at the many, many books you have spread out.

“what are you reading?” he asks, bending so that his lips are right at your ear. “anything interesting?” his hands find themselves on your waist.

“maybe not for you, but to me, this is all interesting.”

he laughs lightly, turning his head and kissing the side of your neck gently. “are you at a place where you can take a break?”

“maybe…” you lean into his touch, almost forgetting for a second where you are.

“i’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says, his voice low and rough. his warm breath tickles your skin as his lips brush against your ear.

"let me show you just how much i've missed you," he whispers, and the sound sends shivers down your spine. you can barely form a coherent thought as his hands begin to wander, exploring your body with a familiarity that makes your heart race.

“we're in the middle of the Archives,” your voice betrays how aroused you are. you want to sound firm, but your words come out heavy, laced with your desire for him, even if you are doing something that would easily get you kicked out of the Quadrant.

“looks to me like we're surrounded by bookshelves,” he he slowly brings his hands up your body, stopping just below your breasts, waiting to see if you're comfortable. “and you're the only Scribe dedicated enough to be in here this late…”

his flattery makes you roll your eyes, but you find yourself leaning more into his touch, his body is all muscle behind you, his scent is filling your nose and making it hard to think. he reaches up to cup one of your breasts then, and a small moan from you has him nearly melting.

“can i taste you?” he asks, bring his hands back down to your waist. you nod, not trusting your voice to not squeak. “you're all i think about at night when i have my hands on my cock,” he says, moving away from you slightly, you almost want to complain about the loss of contact but you shudder as he bends down, gathering up your robes to pull them up over your hips, exposing your underwear.

“i think of the sounds you make,” he stands up again, kissing your neck again, his tongue wet against your flushed skin. “how tight you feel wrapped around me when you come.”

you very nearly moan at his words, he’s always been vocal, but gods. you feel the rush of arousal flow through your body, settling low in your stomach.

his palm touches your lower back, gently sliding up between your shoulders, pressing your upper body forward. you find yourself laying on top of the tome you were studying.

“Xaden, these-” your breath hitches as he lightly kicks your feet apart, leaving your legs spread. you clear your throat, his fingers pull down your underwear, the cool air hits your core and you shiver.

“Xaden, these books are older than Basgiath.” it's a warning, but you're not sure who you're giving it to. he certainly doesn't care, he's sinking to his knees behind you.

“we have to be careful around- oh,” your words die in your throat, a moan slipping past your lips before you could stop it as he licks from your clit to your entrance with a broad swipe of his tongue.

there's a deep rumble of a moan that escapes from his mouth, and the vibration of his has your knees weakening. you turn your head enough to see him, and the sight of him on his knees behind you pushes you even closer to an orgasm.

you feel his fingers at your entrance and you know you won't last much longer. there's just something about his fingers that always does you in, he’s magical with them. he pushes two inside you, curling them against the spot that has you seeing stars. with his fingers buried deep inside you, his mouth goes back to your clit, sucking lightly at the sensitive bud, and that's what pushes you over the edge.

“i’m gonna- fuck, Xaden, i’m-” your orgasm steals your words, but he knew you were going to come anyways, you could feel his smirk against your pussy.

he lets you catch your breath for a moment, he stands up and cleans his face a bit before he helps you stand up and turn around to face him. he looks handsome like this, under the mage lights having just eaten you out.

you reach up, running your fingers through his dark hair, tugging gently as he leans down to kiss you. his tongue traces your bottom lip, asking for entrance that you gladly give. you can feel him hard against your thigh, the evidence of his own arousal making you ache with need all over again.

“you're…really good at that,” it's all you can get out. there’s no other words for what he just did. he chuckles slightly at your comment.

"i'm always happy to show you just how good i can be for you," he says, his voice low and gravelly. he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear, making you shiver with anticipation.

he lifts you enough to set your ass on the table. you move some of the more important books away, in your haste, one gets knocked off the table, a gasp almost leaves your mouth as you watch it fall only to be scooped up and deposited on a nearby table by shadows. Xaden’s lips are on yours a half a heartbeat later.

the kiss is all heat, swirling tongues and moans. you can taste yourself on him, and it's so sinful and so filthy you feel yourself clench around nothing, a whimper falling from your mouth. you reach down towards his pants, fighting with trembling hands to get them down.

his hard cock springs free and you both take a deep breath. his hands grip your thighs and he pulls you towards the edge of the table so that he can line himself up with your entrance. he runs the head of his cock through your folds once, twice, coating himself in your release before he angles himself downward and sinks into you in one fluid motion.

the fullness is almost overwhelming, but it feels so good it nearly takes your breath away. “Xaden,” you sigh, your head ripping back in pleasure as he starts up a solid pace. with one hand on your hip to hold you steady, he grabs you by the back of the neck with the other, lifting your head back to face him.

“look at me when i’m fucking you,” he says, accentuating his request with sharper pushes of his hips, his hand reaching bf between you to rub against your clit. “wanna see the pretty faces you make when you take my cock.”

the only sounds in the Archives is your wetness, both of your moans, and the sound of skin slapping together, the mixture of it all turning you on more, only adding to the sound more. Xaden’s eyes wander your body as he fucks you, but when his eyes travel down to where you're connected, where his cock is pounding in and out of you he nearly crumbles.

“look at you, you're doing so good for me, taking me so well,” his praise shamelessly goes straight to your clit.

“and you’re doing it right here in the Archives, anyone could walk in a see you right now. i could bathe us in shadows so we're hidden but,” he pulls out suddenly, flipping you back onto your stomach, you use your hands for leverage and arch your back, he slide back in and begins his pace again. the wind nearly leaves you at how deep he is from this angle. “you wouldn't want that though, would you? i bet you want someone walk in and see me fucking you like the little slut you are.”

the moan you let out is guttural. every thrust of his hips sends his cock deeper and deeper inside of you and he's all you can think of. Xaden floods all your senses until you're nothing more than a whimpering mess on the table for him.

his hands are gripping your hips so tightly you know there will be bruises tomorrow, but you can't bring yourself to care. you can feel another orgasm building rapidly, your walls fluttering around his thick cock as he drives into you mercilessly. "Xaden, please, i'm so close," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper.

his pace falters a little bit, his thrusts growing sloppier and he chases his own orgasm.

"come for me," he commands, his voice rough with need. "come on my cock." his words combined with a particularly deep thrust send you over the edge, your second orgasm washing over you in waves of pleasure. your walls clench around him rhythmically, and with a deep groan, he follows you over the edge, spilling inside you as his hips stutter to a stop.

for a few seconds after, you both stay there panting. there's ringing in your ears, and you're fairly certain that if you tried to move, you'd simply fall over. eventually, brought back to earth by Xaden pressing soft kisses along your back, over your clothing. it's a sweet gesture that's vastly different from what he was just doing.

he pulls out gently, and you nearly whimper at the loss of him. he helps you stand, and you can feel your knees shaking slightly. with gentle hands, he helps you fix your clothing, pressing one last soft kiss to your temple. you take a moment to straighten up the books on the table, making sure nothing was damaged during your activities.

he pulls his pants back up, tucking himself back in. “are the books okay?” he asks, you're certain he's mostly joking but you answer anyways.

"they're fine," you say with a small laugh, running your fingers over the spines of the books. "though i should probably get back to studying now."

he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "or we could go back to my room and continue this somewhere more... comfortable."

“let's not push our luck too much in one night,” you say, kissing him quickly, “zihnal has been kind enough to us so far, let's not test his patience,”

Xaden chuckles, his breath warm against your neck. "as you wish," he says, pressing one final kiss to your shoulder before stepping back. "but don't study too late. i'll see you tomorrow?"

you nod, but you can't honestly say you will. the odds of you and Xaden being able to see each other regularly are not great, but you both like to pretend regardless. “see you tomorrow.”

he leaves quietly, his footsteps fading into the depths of the Archives. you turn back to your studies, but your mind keeps drifting to the warmth of his touch, the taste of his kiss. with a sigh, you force yourself to focus on the ancient text before you, knowing that these precious moments with him are all you can have for now.

[connorsui]

UNLIMITED ACCESS!

This was wonderfully requested by my beloved @madam8 who gave me such a beautiful idea for a sylus date and I couldn't let go of it until I completed it 😭😭🩷🩷 like it's so cute that even when I was studying I kept thinking of new ways to end the fic or new scenes to add into it. --- it was ...AAUGH- my heart ...tho I do apologize for how long this one took out ur girl was busy trying not to fail classes 💀💀 ...lol 💅🏻

p.s if you see my corpse surrounded by flowers anywhere you can blame it on this ask ✨️ I LOVE IT

It started, as most things with Sylus did, with...

extravagance.

He had a habit of planning nights that felt more like events—private rooftops overlooking the shimmering city skyline, candlelit dinners in places that required reservations months in advance, evenings where the very sky seemed to bend to his will.

Luxurious. Impeccable. Always grand.

And while you loved those moments—loved him—there was something else you had been craving lately.

Something... simpler.

So one evening, as he idly twirled a glass of dark liquor between his fingers and casually mentioned taking you to a private villa on an island, you leaned into his space, resting your chin on your palm, and asked—

"Why don’t we do something more…plain? Just for the day—I mean."

Sylus stilled slightly, red eyes flickering toward you, waiting.

"Don’t get me wrong, I love our dates," you continued, "but I think it’d be nice to just do something fun. Silly, even. Maybe a little childish?"

A playful smile curled at your lips.

"Just… something where you don’t have to rent out an entire skyline to impress me."

He raised a brow, surprised. "You wish for something plain?"

You grinned. "Exactly. So let’s just have a normal date. Like—oh! What about an amusement park? Or an arcade? Or the fair!"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a measured movement. "Your ideas are enjoyable… I wouldn't mind indulging in them."

"Yeah! It’ll be fun, I promise. We can see what rides you like, if you’ll actually tolerate roller coasters, or if you’re one of those people who insists they’re too predictable." You smirked. "Oh, and you have to try winning me something from one of those carnival games."

He regarded you with that ever-neutral gaze, quiet and considering, before finally murmuring—

"For you, I wouldn’t mind fulfilling that request."

You smiled, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek, already excited for whatever simple, carefree date he would plan.

Or so you thought.

Because somehow—somehow—things escalated.

Instead of just buying tickets like a normal person, Sylus had decided the best course of action was to…

Buy. The. Entire. Damn. Park.

Your favorite amusement park, to be exact.

And now here you stood at the entrance, staring up at the massive sign that should have been buzzing with families, groups of friends, and screaming children running past in excitement.

Instead, it was silent.

The ticket booths? Closed. The parking lot? Void of life.

The only people here were you, Sylus, and the staff, who stood patiently, waiting only for the two of you.

You turned to him slowly, your brain still buffering.

"Sylus… I—when I said I wanted a fun day with you… this isn’t exactly what I had in mind."

Sylus, as usual, looked completely unbothered. "Did I get the wrong park?"

You blinked. "…No, but—Sylus, what—" You gestured at the empty surroundings, struggling to form a coherent thought. "You didn’t have to—How did you even do this?"

He tilted his head, as if you had asked a genuinely confusing question. "I bought it."

You took a deep breath. "No, I know that, but why?"

Sylus blinked at you, expression calm yet calculating, like he was trying to gauge whether you were actually upset.

"Would you prefer a different one? I can acquire another if this one isn’t to your liking."

You choked. "Acquire—Sylus, I meant let’s just have a normal day at the park! With other people! Like… buying tickets, not—not monopolizing an entire amusement park for us!"

He hummed thoughtfully. "That would be inconvenient. I don’t like crowds."

Your brain short-circuited. "Okay, fair, but I’m not even sure how to react to this." You ran a hand down your face, staring at the vast, empty park. "Do I just… accept this? Should I ask you to sell it back? Is it even going to open to normal people when we're not here?"

Sylus exhaled softly, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His red eyes, sharp yet steady, held an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I wanted you to have the best experience," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate—like he was peeling back the layers of his thoughts just for you. "No interruptions. No strangers ruining our time. No one else pulling your attention away."

His thumb ghosted along your jaw, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

"I wanted today to be ours. Every moment, every ride, every second—only for us."

Your heart squeezed at the weight of his words.

Sylus was always confident, always in control—but this was different. This wasn’t about power or extravagance.

This was about ...you.

He had done this for you.

Damn him.

Damn him and his ability to turn something so ridiculous into something that made your heart melt.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples before looking up at him again. "You really don’t do things halfway, huh?"

His lips twitched, almost smirking. "Would you expect anything less?"

You huffed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

His hand slipped from your chin to your wrist, fingers curling around it as he tugged you toward the entrance.

"Then let’s stop worrying about it and enjoy it as much as we can."

You let him pull you forward, your brain still catching up to the fact that this was happening. That you were about to experience an amusement park that was literally all yours for the day.

And honestly?

You weren’t going to complain.

But as you walked in, something felt... strange.

The park was…alive?

Despite the complete absence of other guests, the workers were still here—acting as if today was a completely normal day.

Vendors stood at their booths, flipping burgers, making cotton candy, lining up pretzels under warming lamps. The game stalls were manned, workers casually leaning against counters, ready to hand out prizes.

The park’s parade performers were still marching down the street. A princess in a poofy dress waved at you. Mascot characters moved in synchronized greetings, despite the fact that no one was here but you.

It was… surreal.

Sylus squeezed your hand as you slowed to take it all in. "I told them to proceed as usual. It would’ve been eerie if everything was frozen."

You turned to him. "So… it’s like the park is still running, but we’re the only ones who get to experience it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Don’t you think it’s better this way?"

You inhaled deeply, looking around again.

Sylus watched you carefully, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Are you alright?"

You hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course! I mean—” You hesitated again, glancing around as your expression softened. “It’s nothing wrong, I promise! I love that you did this, I do, but…” You exhaled, running a hand through your hair before looking up at him again.

“I just—I wanted this day to be special not just for us entirely, but to have a moment together surrounded by everyone and everything.” Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. “The chatter, the energy, the crowds moving past us. The chaos of it all.”

You shrugged, a little sheepish. “I know you don’t like being around too many people, and I love that you wanted to make this day perfect for me, but part of what makes an amusement park so special is the shared experience, y’know? That feeling of being one in a sea of people, laughing together, screaming on rides, getting bumped into by kids running past, standing too close in lines because there's no choice…”

Your words trailed off as you searched his gaze, unsure how he’d react.

For a moment, Sylus didn’t say anything. His red eyes remained locked onto yours, unreadable, but there was something contemplative in the way his fingers idly traced over your knuckles, as if considering your words carefully.

Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose—slow and measured, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“…I see...I- ” His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a shift in his tone.

He glanced around, taking in the completely empty pathways, the stalls with no customers, the parade performing for no one but you two. The sight of the workers, stationed and waiting, but missing the usual life of the park.

Sylus was pragmatic. He saw a problem, he solved it. Simple. To him, the best way to ensure you had an amazing day was to remove all obstacles—the crowds, the noise, the inconvenience of waiting in lines or dealing with other people.

But now, as he watched you, something seemed to click.

“…Would you like me to open the park?”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—you mean, like, right now?”

He nodded once. “If it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered. "Sylus—I didn’t say all that just to guilt you into—”

He raised a brow. “It’s not about guilt. You wanted to share this moment with people and I took that possibility from you” He pulled out his phone as if he could undo an entire park shutdown with a single call—which, knowing him, he probably could.

You stared at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh, reaching to stop his hand before he could dial. “Okay, hold on, let’s think about this rationally—”

Sylus merely looked at you, waiting for what you were bound to say next.

You exhaled, lacing your fingers with his properly. “Look, it’s okay. I love what you did, and I will enjoy this day with you.” You squeezed his hand. “I just needed a moment to process it, that’s all.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his red eyes scanning your face as if committing every little twitch of emotion to memory. Then, his gaze flickered past you, landing on a nearby booth.

A teddy bear stand.

Without a word, he turned, gently tugging you along by the hand.

You blinked in surprise. “Wait—where are we—?”

He stopped in front of the booth, staring at the rows of stuffed bears lined up in varying sizes, from tiny keychains to ones nearly as tall as you. His jaw was set, unreadable, but his grip around your hand was firm.

“Sylus?” You tilted your head at him, watching as he eyed the game—a classic ring toss setup.

“I failed to give you what you really wanted,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You should at least receive something in return.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it.

Soft, but laced with frustration.

Like he was genuinely bothered that his attempt to make you happy had missed the mark.

“Sylus…” You squeezed his hand, stepping closer. “You don’t have to win me anything—”

He ignored that, already rolling up his sleeves with practiced ease. His focus was entirely on the game now, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the distance, the weight of the rings stacked beside the booth’s attendant.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

Sylus said nothing, simply holding his hand out for the rings. The worker—completely unphased, as if watching an overpowered, absurdly rich man win rigged carnival games was just another part of the job—wordlessly handed them over.

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Sylus, you really don’t have to—”

The first ring landed perfectly on the bottle.

Your mouth snapped shut.

Another.

And another.

Without missing a single shot.

The worker gave a small, almost-impressed nod. “Pick your prize.”

Sylus turned to you, expectant.

You stared between him and the game, caught between laughter and disbelief. “This your way of an apology gift?

“And would that change anything if I said yes?”

“Sylus –”

You huffed, shaking your head before pointing to one of the bigger teddy bears—one with a white soft, plush face and an oversized red ribbon around its neck.

Sylus retrieved it without hesitation, turning to face you fully as he held it out.

“ you sure you didn't have me in mind? ” he said simply.

You giggled at him, your fingers curling around the soft fabric as you accepted the gift. “mayyybee”

It wasn’t about the bear. It wasn’t about the game.

It was him.

Sylus, who never half-assed anything. Who overthought in ways you weren’t always aware of. Who, despite his arrogance, still hated feeling like he had let you down.

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“…You’re too much at times” you murmured, hugging the teddy bear to your chest.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Says the one getting emotional over a stuffed animal.”

You shot him a playful glare, but when he reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, you softened.

“....Still,Thank you, for everything-- I mean” you murmured.

Sylus didn’t say anything, but his grip lingered—just for a second—not thinking of letting you go.

But as you continued walking, you caught the way his fingers brushed against his phone once more, a brief flicker of thought crossing his expression.

You narrowed your eyes. “Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not secretly opening the park back up again ….behind my back…are you?”

His lips curled, amused. “...perhaps”

[retiredteabag]

Unknown Rivals

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: There was only one thing worse than being paired with Sukuna for an important school project, and that was realizing the slacker somehow had a higher class standing than yourself.

Tags: Academic rivals, enemies to eventual lovers, type A reader, mentions on anxiety.

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You had been partnered with Sukuna for weeks now, and you were starting to lose it. After turning in your draft for the final presentation, you had learned of your classmates status as a student.

After having assumed that every meeting the two of you held was more of a free tutoring session for the lazy man, it would turn out Sukuna was the only student in class who was rivaling your own grades.

After this information had been absorbed, you left class without so much as a glace the boy's way.

It killed you to know that he was so nonchalant, that he barely put any effort into class and work yet he was up there with you.

He likely thought you a fool, all that time "teaching" him, he probably spent mocking you.

You couldn't help the flood of thoughts that overtook you, thoughts of him mocking you to his friends, thoughts of him screenshotting your messages to send to some group chat, thoughts of him making jeers at your intellect while you explain a concept ad nauseam.

Oh, how you hated him.

It didn't help that you so desperately craved approval from others. Teachers, friends, parents. You wanted it all. If you hadn't their validation, what did you have?

You worked tirelessly to earn the grades you maintained, even if people teased you, called you stuck up, or a sycophant. Was it so wrong to want to be liked?

And here he was, above it all, putting little to no effort into his work and still coming out on top.

He must have found it real funny. Probably had a good laugh every Friday when you met to "work" on your project.

That is why you found yourself writing up a short email, explaining how you no longer had an interest in meeting with him to prep. Requesting he develop his final presentation alone and informing him that from that day forward you would research, write, and present separately.

You hadn't even requested he send in his work for your review, though he had never done it before. No, you would do your part as far away from Sukuna as you possibly could and hope he never looked your way again.

This project was a big deal, you would be presenting it not just to your classmates and professors, no, but company stakeholders as well. They would be coming out to the auditorium to see students speak during finals. Some might even be looking for possible interns.

Apparently Sukuna knew what he was doing so maybe you didn’t need to monitor his work.

You were still going to stress about it though.

--

"UGH! I just cringe to think of every conversation. Why was he even meeting with me?"

You and your roommate had gone out for dinner and you were regaling her with the woes of your school project while she dipped her fries in a generous coating of milkshake.

"That boy looks like he's never held a coherent thought in his head, I doubt he cared to spare any consideration to something other than himself." She spoke with her mouth full, taking another bite, "He looks pretentious."

She wiped her fingers off on her jeans and reached for another handful of fries.

"But that's just the thing" You sigh, "he looks like he wouldn't handle complex thought but-" you're cut off by her giggle but you push onward, "-I'm serious! But he's apparently some wonder boy, a reeeeeal academic." You end your thought with a huff, dipping a nugget into some ketchup, and finishing your meal.

"Well now your Fridays are free, that's nice at least." She shrugs and all you can do is nod. "Who would have thought popular Sukuna is a nerd like you."

"He's not a nerd." You point a finger at her, "He doesn't even study! And I don't get why everyone likes him, he pays nobody the time of day."

"Are you kidding me?" She makes an incredulous laugh, raising her browns.

"What?"

"You haven't the slightest clue why he's so popular? Have you seen the man?"

As much as you hate to admit it... she was a little right. He was undeniably attractive. And his tattoos stretched across his body in a way that made him look like art. He wasn't a peacock either, flaunting himself, he seemed indifferent to the whole thing. He really was just one lucky bastard.

I seriously hate that guy.

--

The next week was filled with your typical busyness, avoiding your project partner didn't really occupy too much space in your mind, especially since he hadn't taken the curtesy to even respond to your email.

That was why, when you eventually saw him straighten his posture the second you entered the shared class, him stalking your movements carefully, you couldn't help but feel frustrated.

Did he say anything? No. Did he try to get your attention? No. But he kept looking at you, and every so often during the lecture, you could feel his gaze in your direction. Serving to annoy you further. He could pay no attention in class and still catch up to your academic level.

Stop being a distraction.

Ugh.

--

After the last fiasco with this professor, you weren't exactly looking forward to sharing a word so you found yourself packing up the moment class was over. It hadn't even taken you putting away your folder for you to feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey."

You narrowed your eyes in his direction. Sukuna spoke.

"We should probably discuss the presentation."

This might have been the most you had ever heard him say at a time. About school or otherwise.

"I sent you an email, you know?"

You shuffle your bag to fit everything comfortably and zip it up. Continuing on, "We already split everything up, if you'd like to see my slides so you can match my format you'll find them in the email I sent." You swung your bag over your shoulder, "Last week."

You were making your way to the classroom door, fully prepared for him to shrug it off, but he seemed to have kept up with your pace, speaking down into your ear as you made it to the threshold.

"I've looked over your slides. That's not what I'm talking about." He followed behind you, opening the classroom door wider to stand next to you.

"Sukuna. I emailed you. I've emailed you several times. What about our project do we need to discuss that you couldn't have just emailed me about?" You try to keep your voice down, your professor was still at his desk.

"Shouldn't we... I don't know, be practicing?" He shrugs.

"...What?"

"Practicing? For our presentation? I don't know, I figured you would be the type to want things to flow smoothly."

You pull back, "I do want things to flow smoothly, like I already stated in the email, I am going to present first, then wait for questions, and then you'll go and do the same."

He raises a brow, "I got that." The way he looks at you and speaks so patronizingly distinct as if to suggest you were the slow one. "I'm just saying, we should practice at least once, I want to make sure you can do it."

It took you a moment to understand what he had just said. No way, NO WAY he had just suggested that YOU didn't know what you were doing. You bark out a laugh. "I'm sorry? You want to make sure I can do it?"

He stands still, looks up at the ceiling, and hums, "Well, you're so anal about stuff, I figured you'd want to."

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, "I'm sorry I like things to be done right." You swing your bag a little more aggressively. "I'll send you my presentation notes so you can make sure I can do it."

You start to march down the hall, offended by his lackadaisical insults when he swoops up to you in just a few strides. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying.... wouldn't it soothe your anxiety to go over it together? I don't think it's wrong to suggest that we would do better after having gone over it at least once."

Oh sure, he was thinking about your anxiety, how kind. You roll your eyes.

You saw him out of your periphery and clutched your bag to your chest as he approached. When you turned to see him he had his arms raised in defense. "If you really care so much I'll add my slides to the presentation and send it to you."

"Good." You swung back. "I've only been asking for," you roll your eyes, walking backward to one of the campus exits, "oh, I don't know, weeks?"

"Fine." He huffed, squinting at you, "But we seriously should go over it so I can be sure you don't ruin my work with your public speaking." He was smirking at you, you had never seen that look on his face and you hoped never to see it again.

"Oh-" You gasp, "my gosh." You stomp away, whipping out your keys, "Thanks Sukuna, I'll try not to ruin all your hard work since you're such a team player."

That man was dead to you.

--

You would never say it to his face, but as finals approached, you were beginning to feel the typical sickness in your stomach. You made recordings of your note cards to listen to at night, practiced your speech endlessly, and changed the batteries in your clicker at least three times.

You had always been anxious, memories of puking before tests as a child still live on in the churning of your gut. This anxiety helped to motivate you but was unnecessarily intense, your own mother had told you to loosen up in the past but that was simply not something you were capable of controlling.

"Well, you're so anal about stuff-"

Oh, that man pissed you off. And after all that effort to seem cool and composed in all of your "tutoring" sessions, he could still tell that you cared. Cared more than you should.

You would never be the cool girl.

And this was why you were growing more upset with the understanding that you felt- you knew you really would feel better if you could just have the chance to practice your speeches.

But your pride had gotten in the way.

Couldn't he have just said that he wanted to practice instead of making it seem like he didn't believe in you?

His email did come, by the way. No words, just an attachment.

And damn him, the slides we good, not too crowded, and perfectly concise, he even had his speaker notes included and as you whispered them to yourself while sitting on your mattress you became determined.

You would not let this man outperform you. There would be employers present looking for interns and if you wanted to be noticed you could not be seen as the weak leak between the two of you. Especially not if it was Sukuna.

You started your email at 11 that night and rewrote for far too long.

Yes, you would practice your presentation with him, because and ONLY because you wouldn't allow him to drag you down.

It would also help settle your nerves, but he didn't need that confirmation.

It was on. Partner or not, you were fighting for the top spot in class and if your speaking ability fell short in comparison to his, you could not ever stand to look at him again.

But one thing you knew for sure as you sent the email, was that your advisor would be receiving some correspondence about avoiding a certain someone in future semesters.

It was past midnight. You started drafting a note about your class enrollment needs.

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Tags: @blueyesuguru @monimonster57