#no she doesn't care she's just bored i tell you

[genoskissors]

The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy - Initial Character Thoughts

This is going to have a lot of Danganronpa comparisons, name analysis, and just my overall thoughts on each character before the game is out. Feel free to comment your own thoughts!

Darumi Amemiya (飴宮 怠美)

"A young woman known for her mood swings and obsession with all things dark and depressing. She's a big fan of killing game stories and has no fear of death. If she has to die, all she wants is a death that's as dramatic and flamboyant as humanly possible."

Crazy thing I'm about to say, she reminds me of Genocide Jack. She sticks her tongue out a lot and seems to be completely desensitized to anything regarding death. It makes me think she's just desperate for a thrill in her life.

I don't really like her design but I think if the vibrant colors were turned down, it would be much better. I do enjoy it in a way, being able to dress however you want reveals a lot about someone's confidence. I love how she looks in her other outfit and I honestly think if her shirt was less white, I'd love her hair.

Ame means candy, miya means palace, daru means lazy, and mi means beauty. Daru is not common in names, so it definitely has a meaning. This name doesn't have any straightforward meaning to me, but I suppose Darumi is a more unique character. Her name might make sense later. I do theorize, for the lazy part, she was bored before getting into dark stuff, kinda like Junko.

Eito Aotsuki (蒼月 衛人)

"Takumi's most trusted ally. Eito cares very deeply for his friends and isn't shy about expressing those feelings, corny as they may sound. He's been weak and sickly since he was little, but his impressive intellect might be just what the team needs to guide them through the war safely."

We are all thinking about the exact same image. Anyway, I think I'll love him because it seems he has a bit of a crazy side as well (I love crazy people). He's also very forward and compassionate, so I'll enjoy seeing both sides of him.

He looks like one of Nagito's beta designs which I think tells me everything I need to know. I find him cute but his jacket being the same color as his skin kinda throws me off. I'm also curious as to why he wears gloves, he's dressed like it's winter.

Ao means blue and tsuki means moon. His first name is interesting, as the kanji for Ei is the same kanji used in the game's title, meaning defense. To means human and is also a common ending for a boy name. I find the term blue moon fitting for his appearance, and I assume his role in battle will mostly be defense.

Gaku Maruko (丸子 楽)

"A guy who's true to his personal desires (to put it delicately). He's a coward and always looking out for himself. However, there's something so refreshingly honest about his pettiness that it's hard to hate him. Gaku's also good at taking care of other people once he opens his heart to them."

I will not lie, I don't think I'm going to like him. I'm okay with a character being a coward and I'm okay with a character being selfish, but both does not seem like a mood maker to me. I think I'll find him annoying but I'll be happy to be surprised.

He's got some patchwork in his clothes, so I think he might come from a troubled past. His shirt is really stupid looking though, but it's stupid enough to circle back to being slightly cute.

Maru means round and ko means child, but together, Maruko is a type of meatball. Not exactly the same as Western ones, but very similar. Gaku means comfort. I think his first name goes well with the fact he takes good care of those close to him. In Japanese, Gaku is also a homophone for the word school. As for Maruko, I don't know.

Hiruko Shizuhara (雫原 比留子)

"Leader of the Special Defense Unit. A cold, almost heartless beauty, she always says what's on her mind, even if it means offending others. She's just as merciless on the battlefield, where she gets a twisted sense of pleasure from tearing invaders apart."

She enjoys murder, I think I'll like her. I'm very curious as to why she's considered the leader of the group. The way she's described as merciless on the battlefield makes me think she has murdered before. Maki but a little more crazy (I love crazy people).

She has a lot going on that I really enjoy, the piercings, the makeup, the hair clip. She's also 5'11, which I think will be funny next to our 5'6 protagonist.

Shizu means droplet and hara means original, but is also just a common ending for Japanese surnames, like Saihara and Gokuhara. Hi means compare, ru means remain, and ko means child. Hiruko, spelled 蛭子, is also one of the names of Ebisu, a God of fishing, wealth, and fortune. Ebisu also uses the kanji 比, which is in Hiruko's name. Her last name is also water related.

Ima Tsukumo (九十九 今馬)

"One of a set of twins - Ima is the elder by a few minutes. He acts like a carefree joker, but underneath that humor is a hint of something darker. A hardcore siscon, he thinks of nothing but protecting his sister. If anything or anyone dares to threaten Kako's safety, Ima will show them no mercy."

This might ruin people's perception of me, but I don't care that he's a siscon. Like at all. It might be an uncomfortable attribute but after four Danganronpa games, I could not be less phased. I think I'll like him since he seems silly but also a little crazy (I love crazy people).

One of the cutest characters here. I thought he was a girl at first but he just has luscious eyelashes. I love the color of his hair and the streaks in it, I think they go well with his eyes. His sprite here looks very chummy.

Tsukumo means ninety-nine, which is one less than a hundred and how many days they have left after day one. Ima by itself means now but his name only uses the “I” part of it and then uses horse for the ma part. Basically 今 = Ima and 今馬 = Ima. It would be the same with or without the last kanji, but I assume it's there to make it seem more like a name. However, I can't help but connect him to Oma.

Kako Tsukumo (九十九 過子)

"One of a set of twins - Kako is the younger by a few minutes. She's prone to spacing out, but also has a keen mind and a healthy sense of curiosity. Kako is a big fan of mystery stories and wants to be a private investigator when she grows up."

She seems like a regular teenager to be honest, but the spacing out and solving mysteries reminds me of Chiaki. I think I'll like her, but I can't really pin her personality based on this description.

I adore her hairstyle and her bow. The color of her hair looks really nice with her eye color. Funny enough, I didn't realize her and Ima were siblings until I saw the eyes. Like the uniform did not give it away for some reason.

Like her brother, Kako's last name means ninety-nine. The kanji for ka means past, contrasting the meaning of her brother's name. I like to theorize there will be a character named something including future, but that's a reach. Ko means child, it's a very common ending for female names. It might just be to make Kako seem more like a name, but perhaps it also represents childishness.

Kurara Oosuzuki (大鈴木 くらら)

"The scion of one of the most wealthy families humanity has ever known. She's proud, overbearing, and acts like she's better than anyone else. She always wears a strange tomato mask, never showing her true face."

I like the proud type of character, someone like Miu or Byakuya. She seems to be more focused on degrading others than uplifting herself though, but that's just based on her quote. I also really want to see her face but oddly if it's never shown I won't be disappointed.

I don't really care for masks that completely cover a character's face, I like to see at least some parts, but the fact the mask expresses emotions makes me content with it. I also thought it was a Jack-o-Lantern at first, but I guess it's just a scary tomato? The rest of her outfit is nice, fits the rich girl thing.

Oo means great, suzu means bell, and ki means tree. Suzuki is a very common Japanese last name, so adding great in front of it makes sense for her prideful personality. Kurara is a type of plant that is very bitter. I assume this will also relate to her personality.

Kyoshika Magadori (凶鳥 狂死香)

"A young samurai who's utterly clueless about the modern world. Has never even heard of multiplication tables, let alone learned them. She has a disturbingly close relationship with her katana, the Holy Jumonji Sword."

Kyoshika is who I think my favorite character will be. She's very Tenko like, a character I love very much. Her birthday is 11/11 which I hope is a joke about how she cut 1111 perfectly in half. While she isn't very modern, I can still see she has a reliable personality. Her name also hints she might be a little crazy (I love crazy people). Lastly, Ninja's are cool.

I love her outfit, especially the katana on her hip and the huge cape. She also has a normal ponytail, not often seen in Danganronpa. I like how her ponytail looks like a shuriken. Her face reminds me of Maki a bit, another character I love. I also love the colors. I just really love her so far.

We have a very straightforward name here. Maga means bad or unlucky and dori means bird. Unlucky bird? Crows are often associated with death, but that might not be the message it's going for. Kyoshi literally means crazy to death. Ka means scent, but is also just a common ending for a girl name.

Moko Mojiro (喪白 もこ)

"A young woman who is blowing up on the high school pro wrestling scene. Her courage and boundless energy is a source of inspiration for the entire Special Defense Unit. Whenever she has a problem, she faces it head on. She didn't choose the wrasslin' life - it chose her."

Her personality reminds me a lot of Aoi. Probably with more courage though. She seems like she'll get along better with girls than boys. The boundless energy makes me think she'll be fun to play, but we'll see.

We finally got ourselves another buff woman, Sakura fans rejoice. I like how her hair, face, and outfit are cutesy, it shows she can be physically strong while still being girly, something Sakura wanted.

Sigh... I don't get her name at all, Mo means mourning and jiro means white. Her first name is in Hiragana so I don't know the exact meaning, nor do I really have an idea on her last name. I thought about Peko and how pekopeko is an onomatopoeia. Mokomoko is an onomatopoeia for something thick and soft. Not sure if that relates to her personality. I'd say her last name is a death flag but everyone dies in this game so that doesn't mean much.

Nozomi Kirifuji (霧藤 希)

"A high schooler who combines a kindhearted nature with dogged determination in battle. She's very passionate about the Special Defense Unit's mission, but also seems to be hiding something. For some reason, Nozomi is identical in appearance to Takumi's childhood friend Karua."

I'm a sucker for characters hiding a big secret, so I'm excited for hers, I assume it's related to Karua but how so? Much to think about. She's kind and passionate, so I think she'll be very easy to like as a character.

Cute, cute, cute, cute, cute!!! She is adorable from her hair to her shoes. I really like her hair especially. Her name is cute too. I think she's my favorite design overall, it's pleasing to look at.

Kiri means fog, which, like Kirigiri, I believe represents the mysterious aspect of her. Fuji means wisteria, which are purple just like her. Nozomi means hope, which is a name I was surprised Kodaka never used. I always thought Nozomi would be a great name for Chiaki, but I'm getting off track. Overall her name is peaceful but mysterious, fitting her description.

Shouma Ginzaki (銀崎 晶馬)

"A young man who, by his own admission, has absolutely nothing going for him. On a scale of one to ten, his self-esteem's at negative five. He's constantly putting himself down."

It seems like a lack of self-worth is gonna be his whole thing. I'm not really looking forward to it. Nagito did it too, but was also a very positive person, but it seems Shouma is just depressed. I just don't want everything he says to be about how he's worthless.

His design is okay. I think I'd like it better without the hat but it's not too bad, just makes him look a little immature. I do think his face and haircut are cute. He's also very small.

Gin means silver and zaki means small peninsula, but is mostly associated with being an ending for a surname, so I doubt it changes the meaning. Shou means crystal, and like in Ima, ma means horse. The silver and crystal parts are definitely connected, maybe he's wealthy? Or maybe it symbolizes his personality instead. Not very sure.

Takemaru Yakushiji (厄師寺 猛丸)

"An old-school delinquent who lives to ride and rides to live. Despite his rough-and-ready demeanor, Takemaru's really a nice guy on the inside. Impulsive, straightforward, and honorable to a fault, he's sworn to never use his strength to bully the weak."

He seems like a generally good character but I can sense there will be a lot of him yelling. Honestly, he just seems a lot like Mondo to me, so I don't have much to say. I like Mondo but I'm not sure we need another one. Also he says he doesn't hit girls, kids, or the eldery, so first thing I know is he sees girls as weak.

Give him the corn hair and he's literally Mondo. I do like Takemaru's hair though, it's kinda cute. He's got a lot of scars on his face, so I feel like he might be a little reckless. All the characters have dull skin but I feel some vibrance would do him good.

Yaku means disaster or evil, shi means master, and ji means temple. The temple part adds up with the old school aspect, like in Saionji and Shinguji. The first part likely just represents him being a delinquent. In his first name, Take means fierce and maru means round. I think this is mostly just a pun, “Takemaru Hair” is a hair style associated with delinquents.

Takumi Sumino (澄野 拓海)

"The main character of this story. A completely average high schooler from a completely average family. He can be a little indecisive and pessimistic at times, but when he has something to protect, he'll fight with everything he's got."

Classic average high schooler as our protagonist, expected for these kinds of stories. I'm in no way a hater of the archetype, I love Makoto, Hajime, and Komaru lots, so I think I'll like him too. His introduction is pretty negative, but I find pessimism to be an endearing trait, so I feel like I'll love him.

I'm not really a fan of the bright red hair, but it's not bad. I would like if the red and black in his hair switched. Also, classic ahoge. I find his eyes beautiful, they're very sharp, great for a pessimist. Not much to say about his outfit.

I don't know why but I really like his name and the kanji used in it. It just sounds and is written nice. Sumi means clear and no means field, but it's also just a common ending for surnames. Taku means opening land and mi means ocean. I think the opening land part fits the fact he's in a new place and the sea is more metaphorical for how vast it is.

Tsubasa Kawana (川奈 つばさ)

"A young woman who knows a lot about machines and what makes them tick. She had a bright, lively personality, but isn't good with stressful situations. When she gets nervous, she gets nauseous, and then..."

She is so cute I already know she'll be one of my favorite characters. She's energetic and social but gets sick when nervous, I can very much empathize with her... If this game has things like free time events, I'd like to spend some with her.

I absolutely adore her design. Her hair is beautiful, her entire outfit is cool, I like the way she carries herself. She also has the classic Danganronpa mouth mole, a need for all of Kodaka's games. Her necklace thing is odd but I'll look past it.

Kawa means river and na means doubts, however, the kanji for na isn't really known for its meaning and is mostly associated with being a part of a name. The last sentence implies she throws up when nervous, so, for lack of better phrasing, maybe the river represents that? And doubt is what fuels that nervousness? I think I'm reaching here. Tsubasa means wings, which I think is bright and lively like her personality.

Yugamu Omokage (面影 歪)

"A striking young man who's been in the business since long before the war started. Unlike the rest of his family (who are also assassins, by the way), Yugamu believes that killing should be done with love. He enjoys torture and other immoral forms of pleasure."

He's crazy like for real crazy (I love crazy people). His description makes me raise an eyebrow about what exactly "immoral forms of pleasure" are but I won't make assumptions until the game is out. He kills for love which reminds me of a character I love with all my heart. He'll never compare to her but it's okay.

The outfit is very nice but the random organs are a bit odd. That's probably the point, but it's just really random. I find him ugly and I love it. His hair is also bad and I love it. I love this ugly boy.

Omokage means face shadow, referring to imagining someone's face with your mind. Kind of like imagining someone, usually dead, is there with you. Yugamu means distorted. Another on the nose name. Remembering a face but it's distorted, could refer to his own scarred face, or perhaps forgetting what someone who has passed away looks like. He has a strong connection with love, so perhaps someone he once knew. It likely just refers to his own face.

Sirei and Nigou (ＳＩＲＥＩ) & (ＮＩＧＯＵ)

"The principal and commanding officer of Last Defense Academy. To put it another way, a weird little robot that orders the members of the Special Defense Unit around. Under his command, Takumi and the others will be working to wipe out the mysterious School Invaders." "Sirei's assistant and second in command. An odd little robot that has a gentle, caring personality, but is also prone to making careless mistakes. He's completely loyal and subservient to Sirei."

I'll keep it short and simple, if these two aren't funny I won't care for them at all.

I kinda like their designs. It's unique how you can see their brain and heart, but I think that's because those two are the most vital organs. Also, what's with Nigou's lips? I don't even know their gender so I'll just use they/them for the time being. The English description says "He" but the Japanese text doesn't explicitly use he and there no other instance to use.

Their names are romanized in Japanese as well, so they don't have an obvious meaning, but I have a theory! I believe Sirei is 司令 “Shirei” meaning in command and Nigou is 二号 “Nigou” meaning number two, as in second to Sirei. Sirei and Shirei are pronounced the same in Japanese.

Final Thoughts

I'm hyped for this game. I haven't talked about the gameplay aspects but my absolute favorite thing in games is multiple endings. A hundred endings is a paradise for me. A lot of the sneak peaks leave me curious, so I'm excited to play it. April 24th! I think I'll enjoy the cast. I also like the majority of Kodaka's characters because they're so complex, so I have no doubts about loving this new cast.

Sorry for any spelling errors, this was a lot to proofread.

[kooffeecup]

★ Happy Together ~ two shot — part 1 ★

When an accident takes your laugh away, along with your one leg. Will jungkook stay?

Genre : angst, fluff, tragedy

" Are we taking the strawberry ice- cream dad?", the little girl beside Jungkook asked. " Of course we are. It's your mom's favorite after all ", he said smiling at her making the little girl giggle softly along with her dad.

Jungkook was in the store picking up some groceries for the week. His daughter, a cute 5 year old with long black hair and big brown eyes, sat in the shopping cart as he pushed her around the aisles. She kept pointing at different things and asking for them, but jungkook did his best to explain that they needed to stick to their list.

" Now let's go. We can't be late. Otherwise momma will eat dad alive", Jungkook said and his daughter started laughing again.

jungkook pulled the cart up to the front of his house and parked it in the driveway before helping his daughter climb out of the top. He then pushed the cart up to the front door and rang the bell, the sound echoing through the house. He could hear footsteps approaching from inside, and a moment later the door swung open to reveal his wife, looking as lovely as ever.

"Hey you two," she said warmly, her gaze falling on her daughter first. "Did you have a good time at the store?" The little girl nodded eagerly, bouncing up and down. "We got ice cream!"  your favorite ice cream, " her 5 year old daughter replied.

Jungkook couldn't help but grin at his daughter's enthusiasm. "Yep, strawberry ice cream," he added, patting her little head. "Just like Mommy likes. " You smiled.

" Give me the groceries. Mom and dad are coming and I haven't cooked anything yet", his wife said trying to take the items from his hands. Jungkook chuckled as he handed the grocery bags to his wife. "Careful, they're heavy," he warned. However, his words fell on deaf ears as she simply snatched them from him and made her way to the kitchen. "I need to start cooking before my parents get here," she said over her shoulder. " It doesn't matter they love everything you make", Jungkook said, making her smile.

" Go and take a shower. Please if you can, get amara ready too. I'm gonna be very busy for a few hours ", she said and Jungkook nodded. " Don't overwork & tell the maids to help you okay? And if i can make some time i will come and help you with the cooking ", he said before peaking her lips and she smiled at him and walked away.

Jungkook took a shower fast and got his daughter Amara ready for dinner. His parents will be here soon. He got some time and thought about helping his wife but his daughter won't stop clinging on him. " What do you think you are doing little girl ?" He asked and held his baby in his arms.

" I'm bored ", Amara said, pouting her small lips. " So what does Amara want her dad to do about it ?" Jungkook asked again. " Amara wants to listen to her dad's first love's story", she said and Jungkook looked at her curiously.

" What? Who told you about this? ", He asked. " I heard you and mom talking about it the other day. I wanna know too", she said and looked at him with her puppy eyes making her dad give in all over again. " Alright, but don't tell momma that i told you about this okay?"He asked to make sure about it. " I won't tell a soul", amara said, making him laugh a little and then he started to tell her the story of his first love.

10 years ago :

Jungkook huffed before leaning forward and tapping the desk lightly to get the nurse's attention. "Excuse me," he said, trying to keep his tone polite. "I'm looking for a patient named YN. Do you know which room she is in?"

" Are you a relative" The receptionist  asked. " I'm her boyfriend", he said. The receptionist looked up briefly from her computer, barely sparing him a glance before returning her attention to the screen. "Room 142. Down the hall on the left," she said.

Jungkook's heart raced as he sprinted down the long hospital corridor, barely taking the time to dodge any staff or equipment in his path. All that mattered was getting to you as quickly as possible.

His feet carried him past room after room, his mind focused on nothing but seeing you. Finally he reached room 142 and practically burst through the door.

There you were, lying in the hospital bed, looking pale and exhausted. As soon as jungkook laid eyes on you, his heart ached. He rushed to your bedside and grabbed your hand, his grip tight and shaky. "y/n," he breathed, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm here. I'm here now."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, never letting go of your hand as he took in your appearance up close. You looked so small and helpless in the white hospital gown, and seeing you like that broke his heart. He wanted to say so many things, but all he could manage was a soft "I'm here." He lifted your hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never leaving your face.

" Jungkook, " you called out. Your voice was weak and strained, barely above a whisper. He leaned in closer, placing his hand gently on your cheek. "I'm here," he repeated, his voice filled with tenderness. "I'm right here, baby."

Jungkook sat in the chair by your bedside, deep in thought. He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that weighed heavily on his shoulders. It was supposed to be a simple date night, but now here you were, lying in a hospital bed.

He replayed the events of the evening over and over in his mind. If only he had been there with you. Maybe then you wouldn't be in this situation. But he hadn't been. He had been too busy with work, and you had insisted on going alone & wait for him. But the accident happend. No one could have predicted this outcome, especially not jungkook. He looked down at your pale, fragile form, his heart aching with remorse. He should have been there with you, watching out for you and keeping you safe. But instead, he had been too busy, and now you were the one paying the price.

" How are you feeling "?, Jungkook asked. You just looked at him with your teary eyes not uttering a single word. " I'm so sorry. I should have been with you", he said as tears started to fall from his eyes. " Don't blame yourself Jungkook. " you said.

You suddenly burst into tears, your voice quivering as you spoke. "I lost my leg. How am I going to survive now?" Jungkook's heart clenched in his chest as he watched you break down before him. Seeing you like this, so vulnerable and distraught, was more than he could bear.

"No, no, no," he whispered, his own eyes filling with tears. "Don't say that. You're going to survive, and you're going to be okay. You're strong, You are so much stronger than you know. I will be there for you. Please don't think that you are alone", he said and kissed your forehead.

You closed your eyes feeling the warmth of his lips on your skin. But as the reality of your situation set in, a whirlwind of thoughts and doubts began to swirl through your head. How would you be able to live like this? What kind of future would you have now? The uncertainty was overwhelming, and you couldn't imagine a life without your leg.

You looked at jungkook through tear-filled eyes, searching for reassurance that everything would be okay. But deep down, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again, and the thought terrified you.

jungkook's heart ached. He wished he could take away all your pain and make everything okay again, but he knew he couldn't. All he could do was be there for you, supporting you and helping you through this difficult time.

3 weeks later :

You smiled as soon as you saw your boyfriend walking up to you. " You are early today ", you said. "I missed you", he replied and hugged you. " I missed you too ", you said.

" See i brought yourfavorite ice cream ", he said and gavethe box which you took excitedly. Hospital food is not for you and you were craving sweets which doctors aren't giving. You hurriedly open the box and frowned. You heard Jungkook laughing while looking at you innocently.

" Strawberry ice cream, seriously? ",You asked and he laughed even more. Yes, what happened? It's your favorite ",he said and you smacked his hands."You know i hate this flavor ", you said and glared at him. But smiled soon seeing him laughing. It pained your heart for a reason too. Fear of not able to see his smiling face again making your heart ache. Fear of what would happen after the things you are going to say now.

" Jungkook, i want to talk about something ", you said. jungkook halted in the middle of his laugh at the tone of your voice. It was cold and distant, completely unlike the soft, gentle voice he was used to hearing from you. He instantly knew that something was wrong. "Of course," he said, his expression now serious.

"What is it?" He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to speak. He could see the conflict and uncertainty in your eyes, and it worried him. Whatever it was that you wanted to talk about, it seemed like it was causing you distress.

You looked at him nervously yet with a cold face. " You should stop coming here now ", you said.

Jungkook looked at you confused  as you spoke, your words cold and distant. He had been spending so much time at the hospital with you, visiting you every day, hoping to bring you some comfort. But now, you were telling him to stop coming. "What do you mean?" he said, his voice soft yet tinged with confusion. "Why do you want me to stop visiting you?"

He studied your face, trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. But your expression remained stoic, betraying no emotion. It was as if you had emotionally distanced yourself from him in that moment, and the thought of losing you scared him more than he could put into words.

"I mean you should stop coming here to see me from now on. I lost my leg. I'm not in a right state. My mind is full of thoughts about my unsure future. And with those I can't be with you anymore ", you said.

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. You were pushing him away, telling him to leave you because of the pain and uncertainty you were feeling.

"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice trembling. "You can't be serious. I want to be here for you, I want to support you in this difficult time. Why are you pushing me away?"

" I can't make you suffer because of me.  You cant be with a cripple. You can't spend most of your life taking care of me. You are person with high ambitions. I don't want to be the problem. I can't do this anymore. Please just go. Seeing you in front of me is making everything harder for me. Just go please just go ", you said in a cold tone without giving a single glance to Jungkook.

jungkook's heart broke a little more with each word you spoke. He could see the pain and determination in your eyes, and he knew that you truly believed what you were saying. But he couldn't accept it. He loved you, and he wanted to be there for you, no matter what.

"Please, don't do this," he begged, his voice cracking "I don't care if I have to spend my whole life taking care of you. You could never be a problem for me," he said, his voice pleading. "I love you, regardless of what happened. I want to be there for you. Please, don't push me away. "

You took a deep breath and looked up at him, your face still expressionless. "I can't do this. I don't want to be with you anymore," you said, your voice steady and firm.

"Y-you don't mean that," he stuttered, his voice shaking with emotion. "You can't mean that. We've been through so much together. How can you suddenly decide to push me away?"

You looked at him with cold eyes full of determination. "I do mean it," you said, you voice barely above a whisper. "I need to focus on myself and my uncertain future. And I can't do that with you by my side. I need you to leave."

jungkook's heart ached with each word you spoke. He could hardly recognize the person in front of him, so cold and distant. He had never seen you like this before, and it was tearing him apart.

Present time :

" Then what you did dad ", little Amara asked curiously.

Jungkook took a deep breath, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips as he looked down at his curious daughter. His mind traveling back to that difficult time in his life as he answered his daughter's question.

" I left "

part 2

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

My byler headcanons

Both are HUGE lotr fans (hehe). Will more, but mike would fight you on it.

Both are pretty good at maths and are science nerds

Will has cowritten a dnd campaign with mike at least once. They argued over plot holes and minor details. Maybe to make it funnier they didn't tell dustin and lucas that will actually knew all the plot (cause he helped create it), just revealed towards the end that will the wise had been secretly a spy to the big bad all along (since the beginning, will had been leaving little clues. "Guys we shouldn't do that", *knows things it doesn't really make sense for him to know*, *some of his decisions ended up harming them, oops*). The gasps and feelings of betrayal were genuine.

More of the party than byler, but they all definitely went into the woods behind will's house with plastic swords and pretended to fight. Cmon they 100% did. Bonus if while wearing costumes. Maybe they even recorded themselves if they got ahold of a camera (if Jonathan had one at that point). I keep imagining the party as babies recording themselves. Will is the one carrying the camera (he's the most careful), you have mike saying "today is tuesday, third of June of 1980, and we are going on an adventure" or smth to the camera (which is pretty wobbly), etc. Mike is the one that kept the recordings in his basement. He doesn't watch them, but he can't bring himself to throw them out.

About lotr, again. Will likes Aragorn but he isn't like, obsessed, meanwhile Mike doesn't know if he wants to BE Aragorn or be WITH him.

Mike loves star wars. Will doesn't particularly care about it (he doesn't dislike it, it's more, he enjoys it, he finds it entertaining, but he also thinks it's forgettable).

Will is a film snob, Mike is a book snob.

"Smalltown boy when Mike gets vecna'd" "should I stay or should I go when Mike gets vecna'd" wrong. Sweet Child O' Mine as mike's song when he gets vecnad. It's so byler from mike's pov.

"Gawain is the best knight out of the round table" "I have never in my life heard such an incorrect opinion".

Eachother's moms absolutely love them.

They hung out at castle byers, a lot. Also mike’s basement.

Mike never apologized for the "it's not my fault you don't like girls", mostly cause 1) he didn't mean it like that, and didn't think will took it that way and 2) when his parents get mad (at each other or at his sisters and him) they never apologize afterwards, just ignore it. That's what mike's used to. Will kinda wishes he did apologise, but he also doesn't want to bring it up again. At least before they started dating. That doesn’t take away from the fact that he hurt him, but he know fully understands he didn’t mean it like that.

Mike is also a star trek fan, will has watched some episodes out of pure love, cause he finds it SO boring.

Mike has read SO many epic poems and medieval fantasy novels it's insane.

So many sleepovers as kids, specially when Lonnie was still around. Will slept at the wheeler's once a week at LEAST.

Notice how will barely rides his bike after s1? Mike rides, and will sits behind.

Will is so intrigued about mike's relationship with nancy, and so is mike about will's with jonathan. "You guys don't even act like brothers but like friends!!" "What do you mean you don't know what books Nancy reads? She doesn't give you recommendations and talks with you about them?"

Jonathan babysat mike, 100%. When his family had to go and he was younger, they called Jonathan to babysit and paid him like 10 dollars (they called Jonathan cause they knew he was a responsible kid, and he was also Joyce's son so way better than a stranger). Will has also 100% babysat holly. Same reasons as Jonathan, responsible and familiar,

Nancy is like, intimidated by Will, a little. Listen, he's her boyfriend's beloved brother so she really wants him to like her + she just can't figure him out. Between will's quiet nature and all that happened regarding the upside down and him that they still have no idea about (how did will survive so long? What happened to him there (he never talks about it)? How did he communicate with the lights? Why him?) he's just an enigma to her. Will on the other hand is pretty comfortable around her, he has known her most of his life and thinks she's pretty cool. When Nancy saw will knew how to use a gun she thought she found an opportunity to bond with him and began talking to him a little. Will was wobbly out of lack of practice, "keep your aim straighter and firmer" “...okay". Nancy's nervousness around Will was taken from this fic Imao.

Jonathan and Mike have a pretty stable relationship. No, Jonathan doesn't hate mike, he just looks at him and sees a little kid trying to act older that his age and hopes he stops soon. Mike trusts Jonathan so much, like, they could be in a life or death situation but as long as Jonathan is there he feels safer, Jonathan will handle it, there's nothing to worry about. Mike also hates Steve. When he found out Jonathan beat him up once (and won!) his respect for him multiplied four times.

Will learnt morse code after s1, because he was afraid he would get kidnapped again. If that was the case, his mom wouldn't need to write the alphabet on the wall, he would be able to properly communicate through the lights with morse code. Mike doesn't know this.

Will was NOT thrilled about living with el after s3 at first Imao. He grew to like her but the first weeks were rough. He didn't hate her, not at all, he just didn't really know her much and was jealous of her (and her relationship with Mike).

"What if they are talking about me right now?" Mike, about Will and El, after they moved to cali. They are not talking about him.

Max hangs out with Will in his room, Mike really doesn't get it.

Will likes cuddles, and Mike is super clingy.

Robin enjoys annoying Mike so much she finds it so funny. Mike reminds her a lot of Nancy, and he has got such a judgy stare, she loves to provoke him. She thinks he's a nice kid, a little nervous, with eyes she can sometimes recognize (since she wore them too). She asks Nancy about him, Nancy finds herself unable to answer specific questions due to lack of knowledge, and frowns and presses her lips together. Robin notices similar gestures between both siblings, and the same nail biting habit. He seems a bit sad, and Robin doesn't know what to do with that.

With Will she vibes, she feels a bit bad for him after learning about all that happened (Will can tell, he hates it) and he also reminds her a bit of herself, she was quieter in high school, more drawn to herself. Sure, she wasn't fighting monsters neither did she have more than 1 friend but still, something felt familiar (eventually she learnt another similitude they had, she began talking about girls and such around Will without fear. Will didn't know how to react at first, robin did it on purpose, to show him "see, l'm talking normally, you can aswell, I'm not saying anything wrong". Will likes her. She was energetic and funny and a bit strange, it felt weird to find someone else, and he could see something closed in her eves every once in a while, a secret, a locked door. Will decided they were more alike that he thought). They bonded over cinema and shared movie and music recs. She puts her arm around his shoulders a lot.

Horrible runners, both of them. They can run in life or death situations, but don't ask them to run in a race cause they'Il die after 3 steps.

All the party falls asleep on each other since forever, including mike and will.

No pet names, unless you include "dude"

They were each other's first kiss, and I really do believe that.

Will definitely makes fun of Mike for not smiling in photos.

Mike never calls Will William, but Will does call him Michael sometimes (he's the only out out of the party allowed to because Mike hates it, however Will told him years ago that he like the way Michael sounded like, so Mike relented)

As kids, their tables were next to the other's in class, if they weren't allowed to be in pairs, it slowly became a game of "how closer we can slowly get our tables to be before the teacher notices".

(Baby byler) I think that as far as mike's friends go, Will might be Ted's favorite. Sure, he makes subtle homophobic comments (you see Michael, see what happens) but like, Will is a quiet, clean kid who can take his cue to leave (unlike Dustin) and who, instead of making mike more agitated (he was definitely a kid with lots of energy), manages to somehow calm him down. Hell, he barely even notices he's home anymore, and that's if he is, sometimes they're out in the woods or god knows where. Finally some quiet.

[sillyandsensibleheart]

I am a writer.

Full stop.

I knew a lot about myself already, but until about a year ago, I did not know this critical aspect of myself. The most wonderful thing about this discovery, is that it needs no further qualification. I write, and therefore I AM a writer. A hard concept to grasp for someone who feels like an imposter in nearly everything they do.

Let me tell you how I got here:

Postpartum depression.

It is a strange thing. Hard to put into words if you haven't lived it, but so much changes when you have children. Even when you love them with all your heart, there is a part of you that has to be put aside for your children. I would do it a thousand times over , but it doesn't take away the grief and loneliness that comes along with it.

Those long, sleepless nights blended together as my son grew strong and happy, but still felt like such a shadow of who I was. Active, adventurous and always on the move. If you haven't had children, I can tell you that parenthood is slow-- and especially in the beginning. I had felt so trapped and stale. Bored. Colorless. Just a big, fat, bland mom.

Then, out of the blue a story hit me.

A fan fiction idea. I told the idea that I wasn't the right person. I wasn't a writer and that I didn't know the first thing about how to craft a story. But, it was persistent. This stupid little idea didn't care that I was in shambles. It just kept showing up, and telling me about itself, as if I had the time, energy or patience to hear it.

"you're the only person who knows me." it whispered, as I rocked my baby in the middle of those long sleepless nights.

So at last, tired and messy as I was, I began to write it.

Here and there, and on my phone at first as I was holding my fussing baby with my other hand-- but I wrote, nonetheless.

Some nine months later, Ive just crossed 100k words, and this idea is now 80% complete. I am prouder of this stupid idea than I can even express. In the end it was more than just an idea, it was that lost piece of me, trying desperately, to get out.

To be seen. To be me.

So, I'm just here to say-- you are always the right person to tell your story. It's not about how good it is, because theh truth is, we write for us because writing is us.

Anyway-- here's a summary of that story:

After accidentally overhearing a conversation between Elizabeth Bennet and Charolette Lucas at the Netherfield ball, Darcy is forced to admit that he has made an embarrassing misjudgment. Elizabeth Bennet detests him. The trouble is, she might be the very person he needs most to help his sister out of her depression. Darcy must overcome his pride to ask a woman who does not even LIKE him to befriend his lonely sister, while Elizabeth must open her heart to a young woman in need.

Darcy and Elizabeth learn to know each other in broken pieces through letters sent to a mutually beloved girl.

Elizabeth Bennett and Georgiana Darcy become 'pen pals'.

Link to that story:

PC: Kilmit Sonian

[glindyupland]

I just think it’s silly that so many people complain about Villain Amaya as “wasted potential” and that “we were robbed” like-

My pals, post canon fan fiction is right there. The desire to free her husband is right there. Either by touching an evil book while being too eager to remember the obsidian oil, or being possessed by contact (ie what she believes is true loves kiss) when trying to reason with him in the dungeon.

We don’t need a rewrite, we can have a continuation. Both can be true. Amaya is a complex character, she can handle it.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

"reblog for something lgbt to happen to you" at this point i'd be grateful if something straight happened to me

[slimyenemy]

i think it will be really cool if they don't hurt me despite not feeling anything that much for me

[asmodeusamaryllis]

G3nshin players never beating the not playing the game allegations

[interiorlulus]

I've managed to avoid going to see my maternal grandparents in France but at what cost (deep, profound shame).

[sukunasweetheart]

Sukuna, a middle aged man jaded by the harsh realities of his life. He steps outside for a smoke nearby a convenience store, completely bored out of his mind.

A lady is handing out flyers nearby, although nobody is bothering to look her way, including sukuna himself.

You approach the man who's getting irritated by the lighter that refuses to work in his hand.

"Hello there, sir. Would you be interested in taking up classes for arts and craft?" You offer the cute flyer up.

Sukuna scoffs. Is she serious?

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you could use a bit more colour in your life."

He's too exhausted at this point to get angry at a random woman on the street.

"...You're not too far off, i suppose," sukuna mutters, still trying to get the spark to stay on his lighter. "Even so, I'm not interested in the likes of arts and craft. Do i look like a child to you?"

You withdraw your offer of your flyer, and inspect him for a moment.

"Arts and craft can be enjoyed by anyone, regardless of age. But moving past that... you seem a bit down. If you'd like to confide in a stranger for a night, I'm happy to listen."

What a strange, persistent woman. Sukuna gives up on his lighter, and takes out the unlit cigarette in his mouth to think back for a moment. One thing does come to mind.

"I'm not feeling down. But i remembered something, now that i think about it..." he confesses, feeling weirdly compelled to tell you about it.

"Today is supposed to be my birthday."

Birthdays have never been special to him. Nobody celebrated his birth as a child, and in turn, he's never paid attention to the birthdays of others.

"Oh, happy birthday. Are you doing anything special for yourself today?"

"No. I've never cared for birthdays. And I'm getting too old for that anyway."

"Well, that won't do... Hold on for a second."

Puzzled, sukuna looks back at you but you've already gone inside the convenience store. Whatever you're up to now, couldn't possibly be more enticing than getting in a proper smoke right now. Sukuna begins to zone out.

He only snaps out of it when something mildly cold grazes past his cheek, leaving a ticklish and moist sensation on his skin as it disappears upon impact.

Bubbles. Bubbles are flying past him, and floating away into the sky.

For a moment, he gets mesmerised by the swirl of colours that are harboured in each one. Even just from the light of this dingy street, they fly up while holding a multitude of different colours inside them. Time seems to slow for a split second, and he doesn't understand why.

His gaze follows the trail to identify it's source. And unsurprisingly, it's you, standing behind him. You blow a couple more out, and then grin at him childishly. He finally looks at your face properly for the first time.

"Birthday bubbles. For the birthday man," you chuckle sheepishly, knowing that you probably look a bit silly right now. You put the bubble wand back into the small bottle of the soapy mixture, and screw it tightly.

"Here, you can have it. Next time you're feeling a bit antsy, why don't you try blowing some yourself? They're pretty, aren't they?"

You also hand him a different small item.

"And i also threw in a little something else, while i was at it."

He looks down, and sees that it's a new lighter. He slowly pulls his hand out of his pocket to take both of them from your hands.

"I hope you get to do something more special next year. Birthdays are supposed to be joyful, after all," you comment.

"Thanks for putting up with my nosiness. Farewell."

And then you leave him after a quick wave.

Sukuna stares wordlessly as you walk off, wondering what to name this ticklish feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

The small bottle in his palm reminds him of a moment in his childhood. Kids in the park bragging about their bubble wands that were gifted to them. the laughs that resounded as they all ran off to catch the fragile spheres as they blew away in the wind. The tiny feelings of envy in his heart.

The item he tucks away into his pocket is the lighter. And when nobody is watching, he blows a couple more bubbles into the night sky.

-

Every time he passes by that convenience store, the thought of you comes to his mind. A flashback of your smile in the back of his mind. Every so often, he comes to this particular store. Despite having closer options, he comes to this specific one.

At times, sukuna regrets not taking one of the flyers that you were handing out. He wouldn't have had to mope around a convenience store in hopes of running into you again.

Today is a rainy day, and this calls for a hot piping cup of instant ramen. He doesn't usually enjoy convenience store food, but he wants a reason to stay around inside for a bit longer.

He needs to wait five minutes for the noodles to soften. In this time, he stares out the glass frame of the store, and watches the various rows of people walking past with their umbrellas opened.

There appears to be one anomaly in the crowd, however. Running without shelter from the rain, clutching her bag as if it contains something important in there. Sukuna realises that it's you.

Forgetting about his instant ramen, sukuna grabs his umbrella and dashes out the door.

You're mildly panicking about being stuck behind the red light at the zebra crossing without anything to save you from the rain, but the sensation of the droplets hitting your body come to a stop all too suddenly.

You look up, and there's a black umbrella sheltering you, big and strong looking. You spin around and recognise the stranger with pink hair and sharp eyes. Seemingly out of breath.

He signals to the light that has now turned green behind you, and ushers you forward to cross the road before you can say anything to him.

Now safely on the other side of the road, you begin to converse with him.

"It's you! Hello. Thank you for sheltering me. How have you been?"

"... So-so. Nothing's changed since the last time we met."

"I see. You look better than last time, though." You get the feeling that his eyes have a little more light in them.

Sukuna doesn't really get what you mean, but he moves on.

"What’s in your bag that's so important for you to be protecting it like that?" He asks, effectively changing the topic.

"Oh, this? I literally just bought some brand new origami paper... i can't risk getting them wet and unusable. The children would be disappointed."

"Origami, huh? How original."

"Hey! That's not all... there's a lot of options i offer them. They voted on origami this time."

"You got a lot of people signed up?"

"Not really... but I'm sure it'll start picking up soon. Slowly, one at a time."

You smile up at him hopefully.

"...is the offer still open?"

You cock your head to the side slightly, confused. Sukuna grits his teeth, feeling a little bashful about having to ask more specifically.

"You know. Lessons for grown adults."

"Oh! Of course, anytime! Would you like to come sign up today?"

"Do you offer one-on-one sessions too?"

"Yes, I do."

"Alright. Let’s go."

Sukuna can't fathom the words that are coming out of his own mouth. But fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You've somehow intriged him, and he can't think of a better way to approach you.

You chatter his ears off along the way, and he nods along while his shoulder gets wet from the way he leans his umbrella closer to your side.

[edward-munson]

never have i ever

Summary: You're playing the game "Never have I ever" at Dustin's birthday party and it surprises you when Eddie reveals a secret of his personal life.

Warning: 18+ MDNI, masturbation, oral (m receiving)

Word count: 3.1k

You're only at this party because it's Dusin Henderson's 18th birthday. He thinks he's old enough to drink, so he makes sure all of his friends are drinking too. Except, he's only adept at drinking beer. Not like you, though. You like anything strong. You can drink beer, cocktails, tequila, anything alcoholic.

As you sip on your piña colada, one made especially by Jonathan, you watch as the younger boys play D&D at the bar. On the other side of the table, Eddie is smoking weed with his friends as they watch their friends playing. You try not to be obvious with your glances that are being directed at the metalhead, but you might be failing doing so because of the drinks you had.

Steve is trying to get your attention as he talks about his date, and Robin can't seem to listen to him because she's too busy checking Vickie out. They've been going on dates, but she's too invested and doesn't hide it. He's babbling and rambling, not hiding his excitement, and you feel bad you're not exactly listening to him.

The Hideout was rented just for Dustin's birthday, so you're allowed to listen to whatever you guys felt like. You and your friends are old enough to drink, and you're all taking care of the younger group in front of you. Will doesn't drink and Eleven isn't fond of it. Max is the one along with Mike who likes to try on cocktails and Jonathan makes sure he adds enough ounces of alcohol.

"Okay, you know what? If they're going to play a boring game, let's just play our own game!" Robin says as soon as Steve shuts his mouth

You both ask her what game it is and she seems excited about it. "Never have I ever"

Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something and you just snort.

It's not like it's a forbidden game, but it sure can be fun.

She gathers every adult, including Eddie, who clearly couldn't be bothered by the idea. His friends decided to stay and watch the youngsters playing. As you all sit around a bigger table, Robin and Nancy spread shot glasses to each one of you, placing a good amount of tequila on each glass.

You don't protest, you like the idea of playing something like that. And it's funny how some of them, like Eddie and Steve, look like they're afraid of doing it.

You nudge the curly haired man beside you and whisper "You seem pretty worried"

He nudges you back and mocks you, shaking his head softly "Nah, just not the biggest fan of these games"

"Okay! Listen. I'll start and the round goes on to the right. Don't bullshit us and don't be soft" Robin shouts from the other side of the table, preparing herself before starting it.

They're all telling off things based on their own experiences, until Argyle decides to be the greatest menace ever. He started saying specific stuff that weren't related to him, rather to find out if people have ever done anything. The tequila shots were smaller so you all wouldn't die from alcohol poisoning.

You started to feel giddy, your cheeks were burning red and every time Eddie would bump his arm against yours, you would feel squirmy in your seat.

"Never have I ever been given a blowjob" Jonathan said and the guys took their shots. Argyle wouldn't stop laughing at this point, but mostly because he was drunk and high on weed.

It took a few seconds for you all to notice the fact that Eddie didn't take his shot and all eyes were pointed at him. He was leaning against his chair with a bandana over his head, so he wouldn't feel hot from drinking. His t-shirt was wet from the drink he missed and spilled over it. From your point of view, he looked hot as fuck.

"What? Yeah, I've never been sucked before and I'm not ashamed. I've barely hooked up with girls before" He seemed unbothered from saying the truth and it took them by surprise.

At least Steve and Jonathan were. Argyle, not so much. They've been friends for a while and they've shared experiences before. Meaning they didn't have many, but the fact no one ever wanted to give Eddie a blowjob seemed kinda off to you somehow.

"Huh, it's their loss" You murmured but loud enough for him to hear you

"What's that?" He rested his elbow over the table and leaned his head against his hand, having your full attention.

Eddie was holding a smug on his face and his lips were curved upwards. He pretended he didn't listen to you, but he knows what he heard.

"Uh– I mean" You blew through your closed mouth, trying to disguise your temptation of complimenting him. "Ah, they're all just stupid for not doing that"

"Really?" He pushes, biting his inner lower lip as he still muses towards you.

As you cross your arms in front of you, Eddie laughs at the way you react to his teasing and sits back straight on his chair. The game doesn't take too long to end, especially when Nancy says she's feeling kind of sick, and Vickie is about to throw up on the table.

You all scatter around, getting up and collecting the shot glasses. You don't feel sick, but you sure feel funny and like you're about to float from the amount of tequila you just had.

As soon as you turn on your heels to go back to the table, Eddie is standing there in front of you, holding a bottle of water. He's still wearing the bandana and it makes him look gorgeous from how the lights are hitting him. Without his bangs, you can see him more clearly. How his eyes are blown from the weed he smoked, the way his eyebrows are perfectly shaped, just like the shape of his plump lips.

You don't think he wouldn't notice, but he tilted his head to the side and gave you a sided smile. The kind of smile you give someone when you're about to mess with them, when you want to taunt them.

"Why are you looking at me that way, sunshine? Something wrong with my face?"

He follows you as you start to walk towards the table and you shake your head, hiding your thoughts as you drink your water. Eddie doesn't even let you sit without pulling a chair for you. He sits next to you, facing you. He crosses his arms and slumps back.

When he does that, your eyes literally drop a few inches to watch how he just sits there with his legs spread open, almost an invitation to what you've been thinking about.

You almost choke on the water from drinking it too fast. He takes the bottle off your hand and closes it, keeping his previous demeanor.

"Okay, now you're just acting weird. What the hell happened?" He sounds a little concerned, but the fact he's sitting like that in front of you doesn't help it.

You shrug, taking a deep breath. You cross your legs and lick your lips playfully before opening your mouth to speak. This small action sends a shock wave through his own body but it lasts a fraction of time.

You pull your chair closer to his, your legs standing in the middle of his. Eddie shifts his eyes to your legs and the way you are looking at him.

"You wouldn't wanna know what it's like to get a blowjob, Eddie?" You try not to sound like you're enticing him, or even provoking him. But the context says otherwise.

He laughs nervously, diverting his eyes from you. He looks at the ceiling and sighs. You see him taking a deep breath, looking back at you.

"What is this conversation about, really? None of the girls I've gone out with would wanna suck a freak off. They just wanted to hook up because I'm sort of famous in town. And I've had sex like two times. So really, don't bother with the subject"

He played defensive, like he was offended. You didn't intend to sound as if you're joking and making fun of him for not having much sex.

"No– Eddie, I'm not trying to make fun of you. You're such a grumpy little man! Come here" You quickly get up and pull him by his hand, following to the back of the bar.

You knew the whole place. You've been at the bar a hundred times and he talked about the back of the bar where he and his band use as backstage. They had set up a few furniture including one couch.

One you pushed him to after you closed the door and locked it. He looked at you terrified but amused at the same time, because he had no idea what was happening.

You sat beside him, resting your arm on the back of the couch. His brows were furrowed and when you noticed how pretty his lips were you couldn't hold it back.

"We're friends, right? You trust me?" You ask, your voice a little shy and your tone a little lower.

He nodded and tilted his head, again. "Yeah, sunshine. If we weren't, you know I wouldn't let you fucking kidnap me and bring me here" He jokes.

It's the way he calls you sunshine. The way he looks tenderly at his friends and how he treats everyone. It's so fucking cute. It's not even the alcohol talking and you know that.

You also know sometimes he throws glances at you, but you know he wouldn't do shit about that. He's too afraid of committing, too afraid of being heartbroken. He just doesn't know what he's actually missing.

And then you laugh like you're embarrassed, your head is hanging low because you can't seem to face him right now. But he pinches your chin carefully, looking right at you. His fingertips aren't that soft and you know it's from playing guitar. They also smell like smoke.

"What is it?" He asks again, pleading chocolate brown eyes staring into your soul. You look back at him and move your face until you're just a few inches away from him. "Oh?"

At first, he seems confused and kind of lost. But it's only a matter of seconds until he's the one taking you in and kissing you softly. He tastes like tequila and cherry from the gum he was chewing. It's intoxicating, it's a mix of feelings for you. He's still holding your chin. He uses the other one as leverage and holds your neck. You're anxious to taste him, literally.

The euphoria hits you like a train wreck when he lets you pull his hair a bit. He tries not to gasp from the touch, and he instinctively bites a small bit of your lower lip. It sends you to a frenzy and your other hand flies up to his crotch. Obviously, he's hard. Not just from the touch, but from the kiss. From how you hold his hair.

Eddie never had a girl hold his hair like that, he barely had a girl that interested in him. And he likes the feeling of being desired, it's different. And knowing you, he feels like he can trust you.

So he lets you touch him. Both your mouths never leave, only adding more fuel to his fire. You notice his behavior and try to unzip his jeans without being concerned about breaking the kiss.

He helps you out lifting his hips so you can get rid of it, trying to focus on kissing him and touching him. You love the feeling of having someone this horny for you. You feel his hardness grow through the fabric and you can feel the dampness already.

"You're so hard for me, Eds" You whisper hovering your lips over Eddie's and he grunts in response.

Your little evil laugh makes him more turned on for you, and his first instinct is to pull your hair, but not with force. He pulls you back a little, enough for him to have a look at you, the way you stare back at him with lust in your eyes.

"You're so gorgeous" He mumbles, his eyes sparkly. When you grip his hard cock tight, he hisses at the touch and closes his eyes forcefully.

He's still holding your hair and when you do that again, he grips it tighter. He's playing your game. Only he's the one getting something out of it. At least today.

You hold his underwear and pull it down, watching as his dick springs free from the fabric. Red tip, already leaking and begging for more of your attention. Eddie doesn't let go of you, only enough for you to start sliding down the couch, kneeling in front of him. You look at him before looking at his cock, it's trimmed and it looks gorgeous. It's already begging for your attention.

The alcohol in your system seems to evaporate immediately. Eddie glances down at you with concerned eyes, like he's afraid you won't do it. But you glance up and nod, reassuring him you will do it, smiling just before you start giving him the pleasure he deserves.

You lick a stripe through his shaft, tasting him for the first time. He didn't know the feeling until then, and it made him pulse like he never did before. One hand holding your hair back and the other one gripping tightly on the edge of the couch.

Your tongue savors his precum until you reach the tip and give it a small kiss. You look at him again, he's trying to hold back his whimpers. You know it's hard for him to handle the touch as it is his first time. Usually something this provocative causes a man to last only a few minutes.

But you take your time, taking his cock inside your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. It's not your first time, so you don't gag anymore.

You bob your head up and down a few times, sucking him and the liquid coming off of him. You use one hand to grip his balls, and the other one you leave resting over his stomach. He seems to love it.

He watches you carefully, he looks at how your tongue roams up and down his length, reaching the tip again, swallowing thickly. You feel it pulsing every now and then, precum spreading all over it until you suck it in again.

"Jesus fuck" Eddie moans. He lets out a loud, unsteady breath. His hand is gripping your hair carefully and if you didn't know any better, he's just being gentle when you know he would pull it harder. He was almost melting from the feeling of your mouth. 

You take him back and forth, rolling your tongue around it. You lick his cock down and reach his balls, sucking it until your mouth is full and he struggles to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch it all.

You hold his shaft with your delicate hand and pump him, your mouth helping out with the job. You sank back down lower, taking every inch of him, looking up at him. Your lips slid perfectly around his skin and it made him even harder. He starts to buckle his hip when he glances at you, seeing lust in your eyes again.

Your eyes are blown from pleasure and Eddie wonders if you’re feeling the heat between your legs as well. He wants to know if your pussy is wet from doing all this with him and he can’t help but thrust against your mouth. He starts slowly, until you’re feeling comfortable having his entire length in the back of your throat. 

Eddie watches when you let him fuck your mouth mercilessly, feeling his tip hitting your throat. He can't hold back his grunts, letting his head fall back to the couch. His eyes are now closed and he's in a bliss of pleasure.

The quiet room is filled with the sound of his cock in your mouth, Eddie moaning huskily and you whimpering from your own pleasure. No one cares you're both there, no one even knows you're there. He holds your head and hits his length in a perfect spot that makes him shiver.

He stops his thrusts because he wants you to finish for him. You grip the base of his cock and grip it tightly, letting the blood rush to the tip, and you suck him hard. You hollow your cheeks and suck him hard enough for him to feel lightheaded.

“Godfuckingdamn” Eddie pleads.

It's how it makes his heartbeat fasten quickly and his cock is almost exploding from the pleasure. You know he's going to cum because his legs start to falter and shake. His hand is gripping your hair tighter than before and he's buckling his hips upwards.

It comes with the loudest grunt he lets out. He fills in your mouth and the warm liquid washes over your throat as you swallow all of it. His dick pulses incessantly and you don't let go of him for a second.

Eddie feels kind of drained, but in a very good way. He's still on a high, but he feels relieved. His entire body is shaking, his legs are weak and his hands fall on top of the couch. You take the last bit of his cum and let go of him.

You think it's cute to see his cheeks flushed, painted in red. He's breathing heavily and you can't quite describe how hot he looks right now. His dick is still a little hardened but less than before. You get yourself up and help him get his pants done and sit back on the couch.

Eddie looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's seen. And it's not just because of what happened. He likes the thought of kissing you, of having you blowing him. He kissed you without any hesitation, tasting a bit of himself in your mouth.

"That was mind-blowing" He heaves, resting his forehead against yours and you laugh softly.

"You wanna go back to the party?" You ask, getting up from the couch, ready to open the door. But he pulls you back and holds your hand.

He shakes his head, showing off a little bit of shyness in his features. "I wanna take you home and kindly fuck you"

It makes you laugh at how much he can still manage to be such a gentleman when saying something dirty. But you agree to that and you both leave, driving to his apartment.

[barnacles34]

Professional Hazard (And Blue Tongues)

Karina x Male Reader

9k words

18+ smut

'I expected you to have...'

'Grey hair? Glasses thick as tank armor?' You lean back. 'Let me guess—ancient and decrepit?'

'Something like that.' She toys with her iced americano, ice cubes clinking.

'Get that more than you'd think.'

'Can't imagine why.'

'Sure you can't.'

She straightens in her chair. 'Well? Are you going to ask your questions or what?'

'Did you have something specific in mind?'

'I thought you'd at least come prepared.' The sharp edge in her voice softens, adapting. 'After that email you sent.'

'I am prepared.'

'Do you know who I am?'

'I know you're Karina. I know you agreed to fund my little Italian vacation.' You keep your voice flat, unimpressed.

She laughs, short and sharp. 'They really sent someone who knows nothing.'

'Biographers aren't exactly growing on trees these days. Most of them are busy dying off.' [1]

'That's comforting.'

'About as comforting as your enthusiastic response to my email.'

'Ah.' She smirks. 'My monument to hubris?'

'Your words, not mine.'

'Christ, you're not exactly sunshine and roses, are you?'

'If only you knew.'

'Oh, I think I do.' She leans forward. 'People like me—we're your bread and butter. Desperate enough to take the abuse just to get that book written.'

'Quick study.'

'Experience, darling.' She draws out the last word like stretched taffy.

'If immortality's what you're after, we're off to a rocky start.'

'Not even grateful for the Italian holiday?'

You meet her eyes. 'Bribery's nothing new. Don't expect it to polish your image.'

'Tough nut to crack, aren't you?'

'I have what I need.'

'Meaning?'

'Let me put this delicately: my last subject bought me a year at New York's finest.' [2]

'Fantastic.' She rattles her ice cubes harder.

'You know what I think?' She sets down her drink with deliberate care.

'Enlighten me.'

'I think you enjoy this. The whole "unimpressed biographer" act.'

You pull out your notebook, unhurried. 'That'd make a great chapter one. "Local girl psychoanalyzes writer, lives to regret it."'

'There it is again.' Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. 'Tell me, do your subjects usually last long enough for chapter two?'

'The interesting ones do.'

'And the boring ones?'

You flip open to a blank page. 'They get a lovely rejection letter.'

'Which I didn't.'

'Yet.'

She leans back, studying you. The late afternoon sun catches the edge of her glass, throwing prismatic shapes across the table. 'You really don't care that I could walk away right now.'

'The door's right there.' You click your pen. 'But we both know you won't.'

'Because?'

'Because you didn't spend three months negotiating with my publisher just to storm off over hurt feelings.'

'Maybe I just like wasting time.'

'Maybe.' You meet her gaze. 'But people who like wasting time don't usually have a dozen designer brand sponsorships.'

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or respect. 'So you did do your homework.'

'I always do.' You position your pen over the blank page. 'Now, shall we begin with the real questions?'

'Shoot.' She shifts in her chair, the late afternoon sun warming the cafe corner we've claimed.

'Tell me about your sister.'

Her eyebrows lift slightly. 'Not starting with the obvious questions?'

'Would you prefer those?'

'No.' She smiles, genuine this time. 'She's a nurse. Like our mom.'

'Close?'

'Very. She's the only person who still calls me Jimin.' She stirs her americano. 'Probably the only person who can get away with it, too.'

'Why's that?'

'Because she knew me when I was just the quiet kid who'd rather read in corners than talk to anyone. Before all of...' She waves her hand vaguely. 'This.'

'Still prefer corners?'

'Sometimes.' She considers the question. 'There's this tiny bookstore in Seongnam. When I go home, I still visit. They have this perfect spot by the window.'

'What do you read?'

'Whatever catches my eye. Last week it was about sharks.'

You raise an eyebrow. 'Sharks?'

'Don't look so surprised.' She laughs. 'They're fascinating. Everyone thinks they know them, but they don't, not really.'

'Speaking from experience?'

She takes a long sip of her drink instead of answering.

'You don't have to do that, you know.' You set your pen down.

'Do what?'

'Deflect. Turn everything into a metaphor.'

She meets your eyes for a long moment. 'Force of habit.'

'Bad one.'

'Says the person who's been matching my deflections word for word.' A half-smile plays at her lips. 'We're quite the pair, aren't we?'

'Difference is, I'm paid to be difficult.'

'And I was raised to be.' The words slip out before she can catch them. Her fingers tighten around her glass.

You wait.

'You're good at this,' she says quietly.

'At what?'

'Making silence comfortable.' She looks out the window. 'Most people try to fill it.'

'Most people aren't trying to understand.'

She turns back to you, something shifting in her expression. 'Is that what you're trying to do? Understand?'

'Would that be so terrible?'

'No,' she says.

'Progress.' You pick up your pen again. 'Though I've just realized something deeply troubling.'

'What's that?'

'Your americano's been empty for ten minutes, and you're still pretending to drink it.'

She glances at her glass, caught. 'Method acting.'

'Ah yes, the classic "I'm too invested in this conversation to pause for a refill" performance.' You wave to catch the barista's eye. 'Oscar-worthy.'

'Says the person who hasn't touched their...' She leans forward to peek at your cup. 'What even is that?'

'Green tea.'

'Pretentious.'

'Says the person who ordered an iced americano in winter.'

'It's barely spring.'

'Case in point.'

The barista arrives with fresh drinks. Karina raises an eyebrow at your cup. 'Still green tea?'

'I'm consistent.'

'Boring.'

'Strategic.' You take a deliberate sip. 'Can't blame caffeine jitters for whatever honesty slips out.'

'Sneaky.'

'Professional.'

'Same thing.' She stirs her new drink, ice cubes clinking. 'So what's next in your strategic interrogation?'

'Thought we agreed to drop the deflection thing.'

'Old habits. Ten seconds at a time.'

'That's oddly specific.'

'It's how I learned to swim.' At your questioning look, she continues, 'Ten seconds of courage. Then you can panic all you want.'

'Does that work?'

'Got me here, didn't it?' She gestures between you two. 'Letting a stranger with a notebook and suspiciously consistent beverage choices pick apart my life.'

'You could always run.'

'To where? Croatia?' She laughs at your surprised expression. 'What? I have dreams.'

'Of Croatia specifically?'

'Of anywhere that doesn't know my name.'

'That's rather poetic for someone who just called me pretentious.'

'I contain multitudes.' She mock-bows in her seat.

'Walt Whitman now?'

'See? You're not the only one who can be insufferably well-read.'

You make a show of writing something down. 

You flip to a fresh page. 'Tell me about Croatia.'

'Nothing to tell. Just a place.'

'There are plenty of places that don't know your name. Why that one?'

She traces the rim of her glass again, a habit you've started to recognize as her thinking gesture. 'Have you ever seen those old coastal towns? The ones with narrow streets and buildings that look like they're having conversations with each other?'

'Been to a few.'

'I want to get lost in one.' She looks up. 'Properly lost. No GPS, no itinerary. Just... walking until my feet decide to stop.'

'Most people want to be found.'

'Most people haven't spent years being findable.' The sharpness in her voice surprises both of you. She softens it with a smile. 'Sorry. That sounded more dramatic than intended.'

'Don't apologize. It's the first time you've stopped performing since we sat down.'

'I haven't been—' She stops. Laughs. 'Okay. Point taken.'

'Progress. Again.'

'You're keeping score?'

'Always.' You tap your notebook. 'It's kind of the whole point.'

'And how am I doing?'

'In being honest or deflecting?'

'Both.'

'You're averaging about fifty-fifty.'

'Generous scoring.'

'Strategic encouragement.'

'You're good at that.' She stretches slightly. 'Making people think they're in control of the conversation.'

'Are you not?'

'Please. We both know you've been steering this ship since you sat down.' She pauses. 'Though I will say, you're the first interviewer who hasn't asked about my routine yet.'

'Your routine?'

'You know. "What time do you wake up? What's your skincare regimen? How many hours do you practice?" That whole song and dance.'

'Would you like me to ask?'

'God no.' She grins. 'But I'm curious why you haven't.'

'Because routines are what people do. I'm more interested in who they are.'

'And who am I?'

'Still figuring that out. But I know you crack your knuckles when you're nervous.'

She stops mid-crack, caught. 'Observant.'

'Professional hazard.' You lean forward. 'Tell me something real. Not about routines or schedules or practices.'

'Like what?'

'Like what you think about at three AM when you can't sleep.'

She's quiet for a long moment. 'Sometimes I forget what my natural speaking voice sounds like.'

'What do you mean?'

'You spend so many years modulating everything—your voice, your laugh, your reactions—until one day...' She shrugs. 'One day you catch yourself using your "public" voice to order coffee at 3 AM in an empty convenience store, and you realize you can't remember what you used to sound like.'

'And that bothers you.'

'Wouldn't it bother you? Losing something that fundamental without even noticing it was gone?'

'Is that why we're here? Trying to find it again?'

'Maybe.' She smiles, but it's different now. Unpolished. 'Or maybe I'm just tired of having "public" and "private" versions of everything.'

'Including your voice.'

'Including my entire existence.'

'Right.' You snap your notebook shut. 'We're getting gelato.'

—

[1] The suspicious rate at which biographers are "dying off" has become something of an industry joke. Three prominent biographers mysteriously retired after attempting to write about a certain K-pop company's CEO. Totally not suspicious.

[2] The Plaza Hotel, to be specific. Said subject was a tech billionaire whose autobiography mysteriously never made it to print. The hotel suite, however, maintains legendary status among New York's housekeeping staff for its impressive collection of empty green tea bottles and rejection letters.

—

She blinks. 'What?'

'We're walking.' You stand, gathering your things. 'Unless you have somewhere to be?'

'Are you actually asking, or is this another strategic move?'

'Both. Neither. Whatever. Does it matter if there's gelato involved?'

A genuine laugh escapes her. 'Fair point.'

The early evening air hits your faces as you step outside. She pulls on a cap—more habit than disguise.

'Left or right?' you ask.

'You're the one who lives here.'

'Technically, I've been here three days.'

'And you already know where to get gelato?'

'First thing I do in any city. Professional secret.'

'Ah yes, the biographer's handbook. Chapter One: locate ice cream immediately.'

'Chapter Two: never reveal your sources.' You turn left. 'Unless they're wearing a questionably large cap and hiding from their own voice.'

'Low blow.' But she's grinning. 'Also, my cap is perfectly sized.'

'For what? Smuggling library books?'

'That's... oddly specific.'

'Says the person who just quoted Walt Whitman in a cafe.'

You find the gelato place tucked between a bookstore and a vintage shop. The owner, an elderly Italian woman, lights up at your approach.

'Due?' she asks.

'Sì,' you reply, then turn to Karina. 'What's your poison?'

She studies the flavors intently. 'What's the most unusual one?'

'Professional or personal answer?'

'There's a difference?'

'Professional would be something elegant. Personal...' You point to a vivid blue flavor. 'That one tastes like your childhood imaginary friend made a pact with a Smurf.'

She doesn't hesitate. 'Two scoops of that, please.'

'Really?'

'What?' She raises an eyebrow. 'Scared of a little blue tongue?'

'More scared of what my editor will say when the interview notes are stained cerulean.'

Ten minutes later, you're both leaning against a stone wall, gelato dripping in the warm evening air. Her tongue is, indeed, impressively blue.

'Yah! Why are you taking a picture?”

'Your tongue. I need photographic evidence for my editor.'

She complains, ‘self-respecting people would’ve walked a long time ago.’

‘And let me guess-’

‘Correct. Take a picture if you want.’

'Pulitzer worthy.' You take another bite of your considerably more dignified pistachio. 'So tell me about the sharks.'

'You're still on that?'

'You brought up marine biology in a cafe and then mysteriously changed the subject. I'm invested now.'

'There's nothing mysterious about it.' She licks a drop of blue from her knuckle. 'I just think they're neat.'

'That's the worst deflection yet.'

'Fine.' She pushes off the wall, starting to walk. 'When I was younger, I used to think they were lonely.'

You fall into step beside her. 'Sharks?'

'Mm. Always swimming, never stopping. Everyone afraid of them.' She shrugs. 'Stupid kid logic.'

'And now?'

'Now I think they're just... misunderstood.' She grins. 'That was terrible, wasn't it? Like a bad movie line.'

'Terrible. But honest.'

'You and your honesty fetish.'

'Says the person who just admitted to emotionally relating to sharks.'

She snorts, nearly dropping her cone. 'When you put it that way—'

'Oh, I'm definitely putting it that way. It's going in the book.'

'Absolutely not.'

'Chapter title: "The Shark Whisperer”. I can see it already'

She tries to hip-check you, but you dodge, protecting your gelato. 'I'm revoking your creative license.'

'Too late. The mental image of baby Jimin crying over shark documentaries is seared into my brain.'

'I did not cry over—' She stops. 'Okay, maybe once. But it was a very sad documentary.' [1]

The sun is setting now, painting the cobblestones gold. You pass a street musician playing something soft and acoustic.

'Your sister know about the sharks?'

'Of course. She bought me the books.' Her smile turns fond. 'Still does, actually. Sends them to me randomly.'

'Recent ones?'

'Last week.' She finishes her cone. 'She has... interesting timing.'

'Interesting timing?'

'Mm.' She wipes her hands on a napkin. 'Right after I told her about the interview. She sent me one about great whites. Said something about facing fears.'

'Subtle.'

'About as subtle as your interview techniques.' She eyes your notebook, still tucked away. 'Not writing anymore?'

'Memory's better when I'm walking.' You tap your temple. 'Also, harder to write about blue tongues while walking.'

'Still blue?'

'Devastatingly so.'

She sticks her tongue out at a passing window, checking her reflection. 'Oh god, it's worse than I thought.'

'Crisis?'

'Please. I once had to perform with my hair half-green because of a dye mishap. This?' She gestures to her mouth. 'This is nothing.'

'Half-green?'

'Not going in the book.'

'Already mentally drafting the chapter.'

She groans. 'I'm starting to regret this whole walking thing.'

'Because of the blackmail material or the exercise?'

'Both. Neither.' She pauses by a small fountain. 'It's just... nice.'

'Nice?'

'Yeah.' She sits on the fountain's edge. 'No schedule. No plan. Just... walking and talking and eating questionably colored gelato with a stranger who probably thinks I'm having a quarter-life crisis.'

'Are you?'

'Having a crisis or eating gelato?'

'Now who's deflecting?' 

And she pauses again, caught.

She dips her fingers in the fountain water, watching the ripples. 'Maybe I just wanted one normal evening. One conversation that wasn't prepackaged and pre-approved.'

'Mission accomplished, I'd say. Your tongue is literally blue.'

That startles a laugh out of her. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'

'It's going to be a running metaphor throughout the book. Deep, meaningful parallels between blue gelato and the human condition.'

'You're terrible at your job.'

'I'm excellent at my job. I got you to walk around Rome with blue teeth.'

'Is that the measure of success?'

'For this chapter? Absolutely.'

The street lamps are starting to flicker on, and the air has that peculiar Roman evening warmth that begs for a drink.

'Know any good bars?' she asks, as if reading your mind.

'Thought you'd never ask[2]. Fair warning though—my Italian's terrible.'

'Better or worse than your interview skills?'

'Much worse. But I can order Aperol Spritz in seventeen different ways.'

'Useful life skill.'

'More useful than relating to sharks.'

She shoves your shoulder lightly. 'One more shark joke and I'm leaving.'

'No, you're not.'

'No, I'm not.' She grins. 'Lead the way, worst Italian speaker.'

You find a tiny place tucked away from the main streets. The kind tourists don't know about, with mismatched chairs and a bartender who looks old enough to have served Caesar himself.

'Due aperol spritz, per favore.' You ask.

The bartender raises an eyebrow. 'Americano? Il tuo italiano è buono!' (your Italian was… apparently… good.)

'Peggio,' you say. 'Giornalista' 

(‘Worse. Journalist.’)

He laughs, already reaching for glasses. Karina slides onto a barstool, looking around with genuine curiosity.

‘He seems pretty impressed by your Italian.’

‘Oh trust me—he wasn’t. He just wanted to be nice. That’s all. The inflections are quite easy to catch.’

‘Alright, whatever you say. Giornalista—.'

You grin at her cute prod.

'How'd you find this place?' She asks; needless to say, she likes it here.

'Got lost my first night here––five years ago. It was either come in or keep pretending I knew where my hotel was.'

'And?'

'Woke up knowing exactly where my hotel was. And how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian.'

She laughs. 'That bad?'

'Let's just say there's a reason I stick to green tea now.'

The drinks arrive, vivid orange against the dark wood of the bar.

'To blue tongues,' you raise your glass.

'And bad Italian,' she clinks hers against it.

—

[1] The documentary in question was "Blue Planet II." Her sister still has the receipt for three boxes of tissues and a plush shark from the aquarium gift shop. The plush shark now sits in her studio, wearing a tiny version of her debut outfit. Her company has tried to mass-produce it twice. She's vetoed it both times.

[2] You were never this humble about your Italian until you talked to an Italian nonna. "Qui giace la dignità di un giornalista" (Here lies a journalist's dignity).

—

'Speaking of bad decisions—'

'We weren't.'

'We are now. Tell me about the green hair incident.'

'Absolutely not.' She takes another sip of her spritz. 'Some secrets I'm taking to my grave.'

'Come on. Half-green hair? There's got to be a story there.'

'There is. A great one. You're still not hearing it.'

'I'll trade you.'

'Oh?' She turns on her stool to face you fully. 'What could you possibly have that's worth my green hair story?'

'Remember when I said I learned to say sorry in Italian?'

'The plot thickens.'

'Let's just say it involved a fountain, three angry nuns, and a very patient carabinieri.'

She nearly chokes on her drink. 'You're making that up.'

'Want to bet your green hair story on it?'

'You know what?' She signals the bartender for another round. 'Fine. But if you're lying, you're buying drinks for the rest of the night.'

'Deal.'

'And no taking notes.'

'Now that's just cruel.'

'Professional hazard,' she mimics your earlier tone, then grins. 'Okay, storyteller. Dazzle me.'

The bartender sets down fresh drinks, and you lean in conspiratorially. 'So picture this: my first night in Rome, about five years ago...'

'Wait.' She holds up a hand. 'We need to establish stakes. If this story doesn't involve all three elements—fountain, nuns, and police—you're not only buying drinks, you're telling me where you actually learned to say sorry in Italian.'

'Counter-offer. If my story checks out, I get the green hair story plus whatever happened at that music show in Busan.'

Her eyes narrow. 'What music show in Busan?'

'The one you just reacted to.'

'That's... that's actually impressive.'

'Five years of professional nosiness at work. Deal?'

She clinks her glass against yours. 'Deal. Now stop stalling.'

'Right. So. Five years ago. I'd just finished an interview with this ancient countess at the bar. I mean, it’s the bar. Who else gets to interview a countess at a bar? That’s like crazy Bourdain-level shit right there.’

She nods along. 'Of course you did.'

'Anyway, she invited me to this wine cellar...'

'Oh no.'

'Oh yes. And mind you, I was already quite drunk. And she was very, very insistent about hospitality...'

Twenty minutes and much laughter later, you finish: '...and that's why you should never trust Google Translate to help you apologize to Italian law enforcement.'

She's wiping tears from her eyes. 'The part with the cat—'

'Hand to god. Still have the scars.'

'Okay.' She catches her breath. 'Okay, you win. That was worth it.'

'Time to pay up. Green hair. Spill.'

'Can I have one more drink first?'

'For courage?'

'So I can blame it on the drink.' She waves at the bartender. 'I still can't believe you showed those nuns your interview notes to prove you weren't a street performer.'

'Desperate times.'

'Speaking of desperate...' She takes a fortifying sip of her fresh spritz. 'Ever tried to fix green hair with grape juice?'

'No.'

'Don't.'

'There has to be more to this story than grape juice.'

'Oh, there's so much more.' She settles into her seat. 'Picture this: it's two hours before a live broadcast. I'm sitting in the makeup chair, feeling pretty good about life. You know, like that particular moment where your face just… shines. Then my stylist walks in, takes one look at my hair, and just... screams.'

'Screams?'

'Full horror movie scream. Turns out the hair dye we used was... let's say "not exactly approved by management."'

'Let me guess. DIY job?'

'Worse. My sister's friend's cousin who "totally went to beauty school."'

'Oh no.' You snort, taking a hefty drink of the remaining spritz.

'Oh yes. So there I am, one side of my head this bizarre shade of swamp-thing green, and everyone's running around like it's the end of the world.'

'Which is when someone suggested grape juice?'

'Actually, that was my idea.' She grimaces. 'I'd read somewhere that grape juice could neutralize green tones. What they failed to mention was that this works for swimming pools, not hair.' [1]

'So what happened?'

'Picture a very expensive wig, three cans of dry shampoo, and me trying to explain to the camera director why I couldn't turn my head to the left.'

'Did it work?'

'Define "work."' She takes another sip. 'If by "work" you mean "did I make it through the broadcast without anyone seeing the grape-juice-tinged disaster," then yes. If by "work" you mean "did I maintain any dignity," then absolutely not.'

'The fans never found out?'

'Oh, they did. Someone leaked a backstage photo three months later.' She grins. 'By then I'd managed to fix it. Mostly.'

'Mostly?'

'My sister still has a strand of green hair she saved. Threatens to post it whenever I don't answer her calls.'

'Effective.'

'Terrifying.' She raises her glass. 'Your turn again. What's the worst interview you've ever done?'

'Besides this one?'

She kicks your chair. 'I'm delightful and you know it.'

'You're something, all right.'

Three drinks in, and the bar's emptied enough that her laugh echoes a little too loudly. She covers her mouth, but it's too late – the old bartender shoots them an amused look.

'Sorry,' she stage-whispers.

'For what? The laugh or the fact that it just shattered three ancient Roman wine glasses?'

'Shut up.' She kicks your chair again. 'I don't always laugh like that.'

'Let me guess – there's a public laugh and a private laugh?'

'There's a whole taxonomy.' She sits up straighter, counting on her fingers. 'Interview laugh, variety show laugh, fan meeting laugh, oh-that's-not-actually-funny-but-you're-my-sunbae laugh—'

'Please tell me you're joking.'

'I wish.' She slumps forward, head on her arms. 'I once had to attend a laughing seminar.'

'A what now?'

'A laughing seminar. Professional instruction on the art of the public giggle.' Her voice is muffled against her sleeve. 'There was a PowerPoint and everything.'

'You're making this up.'

She lifts her head. 'I spent three hours learning about laugh-adjacent breathing techniques while a woman named Mrs. Kim hit a triangle every time someone laughed "inappropriately."'

You stare at her. She stares back.

'That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard,' you say finally.

'I know.' She dissolves into another too-loud laugh, this one definitely not seminar-approved. 'God, I can still hear that triangle.'

'Is that why you're here?'

'Getting drunk with a biographer in Rome? No, that's just poor life choices.'

'Speaking honest truths to a stranger?'

'Oh.' She straightens up, but there's still something loose in her smile. 'Maybe. Or maybe I just really needed to tell someone about Mrs. Kim and her triangle of terror.'

'Triangle of terror.' You shake your head. 'That's going in the book.'

'Along with the blue tongue and green hair? You're really painting a picture here.'

'It's called character development.'

'It's called character assassination.' She signals for water. 'What else are you putting in there?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.'

'Actually, yes. That's literally why I'm asking.'

'Fine.' You pretend to flip through your mental notes. 'Chapter One: Sharks and Empathy—'

'Oh my god.'

'Chapter Two: The Grape Juice Incident—'

'I'm starting to regret everything.'

'Chapter Three: Laugh Taxonomies by Aespa’s Karina—'

'I hate you.'

'Chapter Four: Why Romans Don't Trust Her With Fountains Anymore—'

'That was you! That was literally your story!'

'Was it? Everything's getting a bit fuzzy.' You tap your temple. 'Must be all that professional memory I was bragging about earlier.'

She throws an olive at you. The bartender clears his throat.

'Sorry,' you both say in unison, then look at each other and start laughing again.

'You know what's really funny?' she says, once you've both contained yourselves.

'Mrs. Kim's triangle?'

'Besides that.' She accepts the water from the bartender. 'This is probably the worst interview you've ever done.'

'Oh, definitely.'

'And yet...'

'And yet?'

'It's the most honest one I've given.' She pauses. 'God, that sounded way less cheesy in my head. Must be the spritz talking.'

'Blame it on the altitude.'

'We're at sea level.'

'Blame it on the sea level.'

'You're ridiculous.' She's grinning though. 'Is this how all your interviews go?'

'Usually there's less gelato. More gravitas.'

'Gravitas is overrated.'

'Says the woman who attended a laughing seminar.'

'Hey, I'll have you know my triangle-approved giggle is very dignified.'

'Prove it.'

She sits up straighter, arranges her features into something serene, and lets out the most artificial laugh you've ever heard. It's so pristine it's almost disturbing.

'That was horrifying.'

'That was three hours of professional training.'

'I'm concerned about your profession.'

'Join the club.' She relaxes back into her natural posture. 'We have meetings every Tuesday. Bring your own triangle.'

The bartender slides over the check with a knowing look. Last call came and went without either of you noticing.

'Well,' you say, reaching for your wallet. 'I suppose this is—'

'Wait.' She puts her hand on your arm. 'I have a confession.'

'Another one? The green hair wasn't enough?'

'I read your book.'

'Which one?'

'The one about the ballet dancer who quit to become a motorcycle mechanic.'

'Ah.' You sit back. 'And?'

'And I maybe, possibly, completely changed my mind about this whole interview when I read it.'

'Because?'

'Because...' She fidgets with her empty glass. 'You made her sound so... human.'

'As opposed to?'

'A story. A headline.' She traces a pattern on the bar top. 'Most people would've written about the scandal, the career she "threw away." But you wrote about how she names each motorcycle she fixes. How she still dances in her garage at midnight.'

'Ah. That.'

'That.' She looks up. 'Is that why you haven't asked me about any of it?'

'Any of what?'

'Don't play dumb. The headlines. The speculation. The—'

'The triangle-approved responses you've probably rehearsed?'

She laughs, caught. 'Something like that.'

'Here's the thing about headlines.' You start gathering your things. 'They're usually more interesting than the truth.'

'And what's the truth?'

'That sometimes people just want to eat blue gelato and tell embarrassing stories in a bar and talk a biographer’s ears off.'

She kicks your chair again, barely noticeable. 'Even if those stories end up in a book?'

'Especially then.' You stand, offering her jacket. 'Though I might need you to sign a waiver about the grape juice incident.'

'I knew it! You are using it!'

'Chapter title: "The Perils of Amateur Chemistry: A Cautionary Tale."'

She shrugs on her jacket, shaking her head. 'You're impossible. That AI flair was so intentional'

'Says the woman who legitimately attended a laughing seminar.'

'I'm never living that down, am I?'

'Not as long as I have a functioning memory and a publishing contract.'

The Roman night is warm as you both step out of the bar. She stumbles slightly on the cobblestones.

You offer a hand which she quickly grabs.

'Don't you dare put that in the book,' she warns.

'Put what? The graceful interpretation of contemporary dance you just performed?'

'These streets are rigged.' She steadies herself. 'Also, your hotel's this way.'

'How do you know where my hotel is?' You’re not exactly one to remember locations, probably the reason you were able to gain such a repository of ridiculous stories.

'Because it's my hotel.' She grins at your expression. 'What? You think you're the only one who does research?'

'I'm concerned about your stalking tendencies.'

'Says the person who somehow knew about the Busan incident.'

'Professional hazard.'

'You really need new catchphrases.'

The walk is quiet, comfortable. Rome at night feels like a different city—all golden lights and shadow play. A cat watches you pass from its perch on a window sill.

'Don't even think about it,' she says.

'About what?'

'Making some poetic comparison between me and that cat.'

'Please. I'm a much better writer than that.'

'Sure you are, shark whisperer.'

You reach the hotel entrance. She pauses.

'Well,' she says. 'This has been...'

'Professionally catastrophic?'

'I was going to say enlightening.'

'That too.'

The hotel lobby is all marble and soft lighting. Your footsteps echo slightly.

'I have a balcony,' she says suddenly. 'And a really pretentious coffee machine I can't figure out.'

'Is this a cry for help with appliances?' 

'This is...' She fidgets with her room key. 'This is me not wanting the interview to end yet.'

'The interview ended somewhere between blue gelato and the triangle story.'

'Then what's this?'

‘Believe or not, some people just like having fun on their Italian vacation.’

‘Haha. Very funny.’

'This is...' You pretend to consider. 'Two people who might be friends if one of them wasn't writing a book about the other.'

'Complicated.'

'Professional hazard.'

'There's that phrase again.' She presses the elevator button. 'Come on. I'll teach you how to laugh properly.'

'With or without the triangle?'

She steps into the elevator. 'Depends on how good you are at making coffee.'

'Now who's the impossible one?'

The doors start to close. She holds them.

'Coming?'

You join her in the elevator. 'For the record, I'm excellent at coffee.'

'For the record,' she mimics your tone, 'that's going in the book.'

Her room is on the top floor, with a view that makes you understand why people write poetry about Rome.

'So,' she says, fighting with the coffee machine. 'This button makes it angry, and this one makes it hiss.'

'Move over, amateur.' You reach around her to press a combination of buttons. The machine purrs to life.

'Show off.' But she's smiling as she heads for the balcony. 'Bring your coffee wizardry out here when it's ready.'

The balcony is small, just enough room for two chairs and all of Rome spread out below. She's curled up in one chair, shoes off, looking more real than she has all day.

'Your professional opinion,' she says as you hand her a cup. 'Is this going to be a good book?'

'Depends.'

'On?'

'On whether you let me keep the shark metaphors.'

She laughs into her coffee. 'You're never letting that go.'

'Never.' You take the other chair. 'Though I might be willing to negotiate.'

'Terms?'

'Tell me something nobody knows. Something that won't make the book.'

She's quiet for a moment, looking out at the city lights. 'I sing in the shower.'

'Everybody knows that.'

'No, I mean...' She turns to face you. 'I sing the old songs. The ones I used to practice when I was just some kid in Bundang with a dream too big for my voice.'

'And?'

'And sometimes I still feel like her. That kid. Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Wow.' You let out a low whistle. 'That was incredibly profound.'

She groans, covering her face. 'I know. I'm sorry. That was straight out of a drama script.'

'I was thinking more indie movie. You know, the kind where people have deep conversations on balconies in Rome at—' you check your watch, '—one in the morning.'

'Oh god, we're living a cliché.'

'Complete with coffee and two chairs overlooking Rome.'

'Quick,' she straightens up, 'say something unprofound. Save us from ourselves.'

'My tongue is still kind of blue.'

She peeks at you over her coffee cup. 'Mine too.'

'Better?'

'Much better.' She slouches back in her chair. 'Though now I'm thinking about how this would look in your book. "Two idiots with blue tongues have existential crisis on expensive balcony."'

'Don't forget the part where one of them somehow charmed a coffee machine.'

'And the other one used to sing in her shower.'

'Still,' you correct. 'Present tense.'

'Still,' she admits. 'But if you put that in your book, I'll have to tell everyone about your fountain incident.'

'Mutually assured destruction. I like it.'

She yawns, then looks embarrassed. 'Sorry. It's not the company, it's—'

'The five Aperol Spritzes?'

'That. And the emotional toll of remembering Mrs. Kim's triangle.'

'Tragic backstory,' you nod solemnly. 'Very character-building.'

'Speaking of character-building...' She sets down her empty cup, turns to face you fully. 'This is usually the part in your books where something significant happens.'

'Is it?'

'Mm. Chapter twelve. Always a turning point.'

'You really did read my books.'

'I told you that already.' She's closer now, somehow. 'What I didn't mention was that I figured out your pattern.'

'My pattern?'

'The way you write moments like this.' Her voice is soft. 'When everything gets quiet, and the city's just background noise, and someone's about to do something...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say brave.'

'Brave is just inadvisable with better PR.'

She laughs, barely a whisper. 'You're deflecting again.'

'Professional—'

'If you say "hazard" right now,' she cuts in, 'I'm going to throw you off this balcony.'

'That would be...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say "terrible for my book sales."'

She's definitely closer now. 'Your book sales are about to be the least of your problems.'

'Because you're going to kiss me or throw me off the balcony?'

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Well,' you murmur, 'for what it's worth, one of those options would make a much better chapter twelve.'

She closes the distance between you, smiling against your lips. 'Professional hazard.'

You and Karina shared an instant spark that neither of you had experienced. Ever. The moment that first tease left your mouth, it was over.

—

[1] The sentiment of grape juice being able to eliminate green tones turned out to be completely unfounded. Despite this, wine sommeliers around the world have complained about Koreans with their distinct accent asking about grape juice’s ability to change colors.

—

The kiss tastes like coffee and Aperol and something sweet—probably the remnants of that ridiculous blue gelato. It's soft and quiet and perfect, the kind of moment that would sound made up in a book.

She pulls back slightly. 'Your editor's going to hate this.'

'Definitely.' You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 'Completely unprofessional.'

'Thoroughly inadvisable.'

'Absolutely perfect for chapter twelve.'

She kisses you again, and Rome keeps existing below, indifferent to your small moment of magic. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimes twice.

'You know,' she whispers, 'this is usually where you'd write something profound about the city of love.'

'That's Paris.'

'Now who's deflecting?'

'Still you. But I'm starting not to mind.'

She laughs, soft and real—definitely not triangle-approved—and rests her forehead against yours, your breaths intermixing, plenty of intimate eye contact. 'Is this going in the book?'

'What do you think?'

'I think...' Her fingers find yours. 'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'Even after I charmed your coffee machine? That's cold.'

She makes a face. 'You're really bringing up coffee machine prowess right after—'

'Right after you thoroughly compromised my journalistic integrity? Yes.'

'Your journalistic integrity was compromised the moment you let me eat blue gelato.'

'My journalistic integrity was compromised the moment I saw you.' You run your thumb across her knuckles.

Her eye contact wavers and her voice falters, ‘Gosh, you’re such a player.’

‘Flirting has never come so easily before.’ You whisper against her mouth.

'Oh really?'

'Obviously.'

'Which was?'

'Stare at that blue tongue some more.’'

She shoves you lightly. 'You're terrible.'

'And yet.'

'And yet.' She settles on your lap, the forehead to forehead more natural now. 'So what happens now?'

'Well, traditionally, this is where I'd write something about dawn breaking over the eternal city—'

'Please don't.'

'—with golden light catching on ancient stones—'

'I'm begging you to stop.'

'—as two souls find each other under the Roman sky—'

She claps a hand over your mouth. 'I will literally pay you to not finish that sentence.'

You kiss her palm before she pulls it away. 'Isn't that technically bribery?'

'Add it to the list. Right after "compromised journalistic integrity" and "suspicious coffee machine expertise."'

'Speaking of compromising situations...' You glance at your watch. 'It's almost three AM.'

'Worried about your reputation?'

'Worried about your triangle-approved schedule.'

'Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.' She stands, stretching. 'Want to order terrible room service and you can tell me about all the other journalists you've scandalized?'

'That's a very short list. Very enticing regardless.’ 

'Good.' She holds out her hand.

The night air has turned cooler, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere below. Her fingers trace the collar of your shirt, hesitant but deliberate.

'What happened to room service?' you murmur.

'It can wait.' Her eyes meet yours, playful but wanting. 'I'm conducting my own interview first.'

This kiss is different from the first. Slower, more certain. The city hums below, a distant lullaby of late-night cars and echoing footsteps. When she sighs into the kiss, it's the softest sound you've ever heard. When she falters against your forceful touches, it’s the softest you’ve ever felt a woman.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against yours. Her heartbeat is quick under your palm.

'Better than chapter twelve?' she whispers.

You catch her lips again in answer, feeling her smile. The wind stirs her hair, sending strands brushing against your cheek. Everything smells like jasmine and coffee and her perfume—something subtle and expensive that you'll probably spend the rest of your life over-romanticizing.

Because that’s what Karina deserves.

Rome stretches out endless and ancient around you, but all you can focus on is how perfectly she fits against you, how real she feels away from cameras and crowds.

Your lips find hers in the dark, soft and certain now. Her fingers trail up your neck, threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There's an art to the way she kisses—deliberate yet desperate, like she's trying to memorize the moment. Your hands settle at her waist, and she makes a small sound that you know you'll remember forever.

Her lips part against yours, deepening the kiss until you're both breathless. The balcony railing presses into your back—when did that happen?—and her body is warm against yours, fitting perfectly in all the spaces between.

Her teeth graze your bottom lip, teasing. You respond by trailing kisses along her jaw, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. When you find that sensitive spot just below her ear, her sharp intake of breath makes you smile against her skin.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her lips are slightly swollen, her careful composure beautifully undone––hair spread everywhere, but just so that she looks ethereal rather than messy. You brush your thumb across her lower lip, and she catches it with her teeth, playful even now.

‘Still planning to put this in chapter twelve?’ she whispers, breathless.

Your answer gets lost somewhere between her lips and… her lips.

Her laugh vibrates against your lips when you finally break apart. ‘We should probably—’

‘Go inside?’ Your lips find the curve of her neck again.

‘I was going to say breathe.’ But her head tilts back, giving you better access. Her pulse flutters under your kiss like a trapped bird. ‘Though inside works too.’

You pull back just enough to look at her. Hair mussed, eyes bright, that perfect composure completely undone. She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the city lights catching in her eyes and her professional smile nowhere to be found.

‘What?’ she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Just thinking.’

‘About?’

‘How this definitely isn't going in the book.’

Her smile turns mischievous. ‘No?’ Her fingers trace patterns on your chest. ‘Not even a little mention of how you completely forgot about journalistic integrity the moment I—’

‘Then chapter 12 would entirely consist of me betraying my profession in order to catch your lips with my teeth.’

‘Wow. You’re bad. Like, real bad.’

‘You have no idea.’

You cut her off with another kiss, swallowing her laugh. Her hands slide up your chest, around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. The world narrows to just this: her lips on yours, her body pressed against you, the soft sounds she makes when you run your fingers down her spine.

‘Inside,’ she murmurs against your mouth. ‘Before we really give Rome something to talk about.’

You let her lead you through the balcony doors, both of you stumbling slightly, unwilling to break contact. She tastes like promises now, like stories yet to be written. Her hands are everywhere—your hair, your chest, your face – like she's trying to read you by touch alone.

‘Wait,’ you manage, as her lips find that spot below your ear that makes thinking difficult. ‘What about—’

‘If you mention room service right now,’ she warns, ‘I'm going back to my original plan of throwing you off the balcony.’

‘I was going to say 'what about your triangle-approved image?'’

She pulls back, eyes dancing. ‘Oh, that?’ Her lips brush yours, teasing. ‘I think we thoroughly compromised that at the first meeting.’

"Professional hazard?"

"Shut up," she whispers, and kisses you again.

She sighs into your mouth, a soft, vulnerable sound that makes your heart stutter.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. You walk her backward until she's pressed against the wall, her body arching into yours.

You trail kisses down her neck, learning her— the spot beneath her jaw that makes her gasp, the curve where neck meets shoulder that makes her fingers tighten in your hair. Her pulse races under your lips, a rapid drumbeat that matches your own. When you find a particularly sensitive spot, her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound you've ever heard.

She tugs you back up to her mouth, kissing you like she's trying to tell you something words can't capture. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. One of her legs hooks around yours, pulling you even closer, and you groan into her mouth.

Her hands frame your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as she kisses you deeper, slower, like she's trying to memorize every second. You respond in kind, pouring everything you can't say into the kiss—how beautiful she is like this, how real, how perfectly she fits against you.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. You rest your forehead against hers, sharing the same air, neither of you willing to move away.

"Still thinking about the book?" she murmurs, voice husky.

You answer by catching her lower lip between your teeth, gentle but playful, and feel her smile against your mouth.

Her smile against your mouth turns into a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a no."

‘Take it as whatever you want.’ Your lips find her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. ‘I stopped thinking about the book long ago.’

She hums contentedly, her fingers tracing patterns on the nape of your neck. ‘Good.’ Her other hand is still tangled in your shirt, keeping you close. ‘Because I have a confession.’

‘Another one?’

Instead of answering, she kisses you again, slow and deep. Her tongue traces your lower lip, and you respond by pressing her further into the wall, swallowing the small sound she makes. One of her legs is still hooked around yours, and when she shifts slightly, the new angle makes you both gasp.

‘That wasn't a confession,’ you murmur against her lips.

‘No?’ Her teeth graze your earlobe. ‘I thought I was being pretty clear.’

Your hands slide to her waist, steadying her. She's intoxicating like this, all careful control abandoned, her public persona nowhere to be found.

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, and feel her shiver at the sound of her real name.

Her response is to pull you closer, kissing you like she's trying to say everything without words. Her lips are soft but certain against yours, and you lose yourself in the feeling—the warmth of her body, the subtle scent of her perfume.

The city continues its nighttime symphony outside, but in here, the only sound is your shared breathing and the soft, desperate noises she makes when you find that sensitive spot on her neck again.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. In the dim light, her gaze is soft, unguarded. Her thumb traces your lower lip.

‘What?’ you ask, voice rough.

‘I'm trying to decide something.’

"Whether to throw me off the balcony? Because I thought we moved past—"

She cuts you off with another kiss. Her hands cup your face, holding you there as she explores your mouth with a thoroughness that makes you dizzy. You respond by feeling her firm and perky ass.

‘No—,’ she moans when you break apart for air. ‘I'm trying to decide if this is real.’

Instead of answering, you trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. Her head falls back against the wall, giving you better access. When you reach her collarbone, she makes a sound that's half-sigh, half-moan.

‘Feels real enough,’ you murmur against her skin.

Her laugh is breathy, unsteady. ‘I meant—’ She gasps as you find a particularly sensitive spot. ‘I meant this. Us. This whole night.’

You lift your head to look at her. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her carefully styled hair a mess from your fingers. She's never looked more beautiful.

‘If you think I did all of this for the fun of it, you’re clearly missing something.’

‘A gear in the head?’

‘Definitely—’

‘Gosh, how do I allow this sort of petulance?’

‘Because it’s me.’

‘You’re a player.’

‘Only for you.’ You catch her lips, even more wanting—and she forfeits it all. 

You pick her up, mussing up her perfect outfit, mussing up her perfect lips. And you finally throw her against the bed.

‘You’re really roughing up Prada’s global ambassador.’

‘And ambassador to a dozen other brands worth billions—couldn’t care less.’’ 

She smirks, and her arms open, waiting, pliant, obedient.

You rip off your buttoned shirt, tear off your pants; now, there’s truly no way of going back.

‘Wow. That scar is a lot larger than I imagined.’ She’s referring back to the scar that you received during that drunk haze of a night.

‘It was dark. Might’ve even been a lion.’ 

‘Mm. Heroic. Come here.’

Now, who could ever resist that?

You rip off her clothes, each layer even more decadent than the other. And then, she was there. bra barely containing her breasts, and a layer of dampness along her sexy panties.

‘That was expensive, by the way.’

‘I’ve got a payment plan on course.’

‘Mm. Enlighten me.’

You pull her panties to the side.

She’s dripping wet, nectar spooling right on her pink core. A glorious sheen that makes you stare far longer than you should’ve. She’s red-faced at this point, and her forearms cover most of her sight, and yet, she doesn’t move, doesn’t retreat. 

The first lick you place, just a brush against her engorged clit, crumbles every self-regulated triangle-approved behavior she has. Two pants turn fifty, one lick crumbles everything. Her hips coax you in ways gymnasts can’t even replicate, and of course, you oblige.

Soft licks, teases around her outer lips, swollen from all the anticipation and arousal; tonguing at her inner lips, just at the crux of her clit, gets her screaming in ways her deep voice would never register; and above all, she’s orgasming, squirting, losing every pretense in favor of her built up lust. 

‘Oh~fuck—’

Her fingers find purchase in your hair, and she softly pulls you in—rides your face like it was all that she ever desired: her eternal wish.

‘Ohmygod! Imcumming!’ Her voice turns mousy, and her pupils go back in pure pleasure, coupled with hip movements thought impossible: this was the greatest pleasure of her life.

You grab her chin, squeeze softly, her cheeks molding to your grasp, and you press a soft kiss right on her kiss-bruised lips. You let her taste herself on your tongue.

‘Good. Right?’

And she nods. A complete personality switch from the playfulness she displayed earlier. Delicate.

Her hands land on your boxers as she melted into your kiss. Once you felt her palm your cock, you groaned right in her ear. She starts softly, stroking. But her strokes grow more all-encompassing as you press harder into the kiss.

‘Fuck. You’re so good for me.’

She mewls back, on the gradient slide of unadulterated pleasure.

Softly, you release your shaft from the boxer. And you press your cock right on her core. Feeling the wet heat, the sticky nectar that pooled to a mindbreaking degree. 

‘It goes without saying.’

‘That I’m head over heels for you?’

You grin, ‘Well, that too, but you’re hopeless.’

‘Maybe if we weren’t so compatible.’

You grab a breast, palming it, ‘Well that, that too, goes without saying.’

She smiles, so warmly, every trace of everything else melted off her face––the sort of smile you’d never forget, and the sort of smile you’d want to wake up to… forever.

Finally, you press into her, and her wet heat envelops you, enough to make you groan, enough to make her moan like there’s no greater pleasure––because really, there’s nothing else.

Her pussy clings onto you, a wet suction that is immeasurably soft and yet, a vacuum-seal-like tightness that gets you groaning after every thrust.

Her arms cling to you, and her eyebrows knit, her small face full of emotion—all of it processing how good you fuck her.

‘Oh god. Would it be bad that I want you to declare to the world that you own me?”

‘Chapter 12—’

She cuts you off, ‘Something along the lines of: “Chapter 12: Karina is my fuckslut”’ 

‘I don’t tolerate Karina disrespect.’ You say, truthfully.

‘Even if it’s by myself?’

‘Especially for that case, sweetheart.’

‘Oh… you’re too good.’

‘You’re blind.’

Most popular idol in the world, and… she’s hopelessly down bad for you.

‘If I’m blind. Then you don’t have eyes—complete darkness.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I’m your biggest fan.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I love you.’

‘You have a way with words, Karina.’ You reply, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, thrusting into her harder, sharing breaths.

‘You’ve inspired me.’

And you lock lips with her, the thrusts were becoming a blur, and her moans music to your ears—it was all just… heaven.

There was no technique. Nothing too purposeful. It was all just pure affection, pure love guiding all your actions. And the fact that she’s cumming again was no coincidence.

‘Oh. My. Fucking. God!’ Her head goes back deep into the pillow and you follow suit. Pressing soft kisses that covered every square centimeter of her beauty, kisses that made her giggle even in her most orgasmic moment of her life. 

‘If I knew anything that felt like this… I’d be doing it constantly.’

‘Well—’

‘That’s right,’ Karina gives a soft peck, ‘I have you now.’ 

You could feel her heartbeat, her skin precipitate, and her cunt pulse—it’s just heaven at this point. 

‘Are you trying to convince me to follow you?’

‘2 years, finest in New York.’

‘Deal. Though you overbid a little.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Means anything you want, dear.’

The soft slick of her cunt made it nearly frictionless, just pure pleasure for both parties. Her hips gave way every time, an identity of its own, retreating when you thrust too hard, giving in when softer.’

‘Is this like a sugar mommy situation?’

‘Two words I never expected you to say.’ You both share a laugh.

‘I mean that’s what it is right?’

‘A power imbalance? Please. I can get you to buy a New York penthouse for me at this point.’

‘Well. You’re right. But—’

You bring your cock to the hilt inside of her, whilst stealing her lips for a deep kiss. She moans and mewls and gasps—music to your ears. You change positions. You bring her legs to your shoulders, and you begin kissing along her ankle while thrusting inside of her.

This time, you can see the full view. How her breasts bounce against the thrusts, how her slick has completely covered your entire length at this point, and how beautifully her face is framed between it all. 

Her mouth’s agape, moaning, giggling intermittently with the jokes shared through eye contact. You bite softly at her ankle then down her legs, to her calves, then releasing her legs altogether to kiss her again.

She fits perfectly against you, small and delicate but the perfect puzzle piece under you. She’s absorbent, aware of your needs, placing soft kisses along the ridges of your eyebrows, rubbing away the day’s fatigue along your jaw and temple. 

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘I didn’t hear.’

You press against her, feeling her breasts spool against your chest, bring your thrust to the hilt, the wetness of her loins pressed against yours, all of them vividly apparent. ‘I love your beauty. I love your humor. I love how clever you are. I love how authentic you are. And I could continue on and on but I’m about to cum.’

Karina sniffled, ‘God, I was about to cry and then you say that.’ She softly smacks your shoulder, ‘just cum inside me and let’s cuddle.’

You oblige, the thrusts turn into a haze of pure pleasure, a desperate moment chasing the local maxima, and finally, you burst inside of her. Cum spooled, all inside her, and she moans so gracefully, staring at you with all the affection in the world.

‘We can worry about this tomorrow.’ She palmed your jaw.

‘Of course.’ You fall onto her, cuddling her.

Both of you are a mess, gross, bodily fluids spread everywhere, and yet, the both of you fell into a deep slumber.

A/N: I'd like to apologize for switching up styles so much (But if you enjoyed this dialogue-heavy work, then lmk!)

[yoyomomiko]

I love your writing so much aaaa (⁠ﾉﾟ⁠0ﾟ⁠)⁠ﾉ

I need the monster trio's reaction to reader calling them "husband", could be an accident or intentional I just need it pls!!!! ( T﹏T )

pairings: monster trio x female reader

cw: reader is referred to as "wife", mention of suffocating/drowning in sanji's part, not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

wc: 1.3k+

— (a/n): tysm!! <33 i like writing for one piece characters so I love it when I get more requests for them >.< also, so sorry if this feels boring or short!! :(( -> m.list

— LUFFY

Luffy loves it when you introduce him to new people, but he's usually too distracted to pay attention. Until you call him your husband.

The moment the word leaves your mouth, his face lights up.

He repeats it INSTANTLY, grinning ear to ear. "Husband? That's me, right? You mean me?"

If you try to play it off and say it was a mistake, he ignores your protests and laughs. If he likes it, he likes it. And you're gonna keep calling him that, no matter what!!

He immediately starts calling you "wife" in return, but in the most casual way, like it's completely normal.

He doesn't fully understand what marriage means in a traditional sense, but to him, being your husband means you're his person.

If the crew hears about it, they all would have different reactions. Zoro snorts, Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, and Sanji almost faints in disbelief.

Luffy, however, is completely unbothered.

If you tell him later that you only said it as a slip up, he just smiles and says "But you could mean it, right?"

He doesn't let it go. He starts using it as an excuse to do things for you. "Husbands have to share their food."

*Cue him stealing from your plate instead*

He loves how you blush when he casually refers to himself as your husband mid conversation.

If you ever genuinely called him that again, he'd get the biggest grin ever and he won't stop talking about it for hours.

He doesn't care about official ceremonies or rings. If you called him your husband once, that's enough for him.

——— ☆

You were introducing the crew to a kind old shopkeeper on an island, someone who had been chatting with you warmly for the past few minutes.

"Oh, and this is my husband, Luffy." You added casually, not even realizing it until the words were already out. You meant captain, not husband. At least that's what you wanted to believe.

Luffy blinked, tilting his head to the side, before a wide grin formed on his lips. "Yeah, that's me, I'm her husband!"

Wait, what? You froze, stiffened, locked in place. Did he seriously just agree?

The shopkeeper chuckled, a warm smile glued to their lips. "Well, aren't you two adorable? How long have you been married for?"

You opened your mouth to correct them, but Luffy beat you to it. "Long enough!" He answered confidently, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You looked at him, eyes wide, stunned. He just grinned at you, completely unbothered. You sighed, deciding to let it go. For now.

— ZORO

Zoro is not the type to get flustered easily, but calling him your husband? Yeah, that'll do it.

He'd be calm on the outside, but on the inside, he's replaying that moment over and over again.

If you called him that in front of strangers, like introducing him as your husband to avoid weirdos, he'd immediately go along with it.

He doesn't see the need to correct you. If you called him that, then fine. That's what he is now.

If someone asked when you got married, he'll just say "None of your business." and move on.

He secretly enjoys watching you get flustered after realizing what you said, trying to cover it up and say it was just a small mistake.

"Didn't know you were that eager to make it official."

If Sanji overheard, it would be war. "YOU?! HOW DARE YOU–" "Shut up, cook. She said it herself."

He says "cook" as if it's a slur.

If you apologized later for the slip up, he would just simply shrug, saying that it's just some words, but the slight redness on his ears would say otherwise.

He wouldn't bring it up much, but if someone else called him your boyfriend or anything else, he'd correct them. "Husband." No explanation.

Zoro starts to lowkey like the title, but he would NEVER admit it.

He doesn't joke about things like this. If you seriously wanted to be with him in that way, he'd take it 100% seriously.

If you actually bring up the idea of marriage later, he's going to instantly agree.

He starts calling you "wife" just to mess with you!!

——— ☆

You were traveling through a town when an unfamiliar man started hitting on you. He was persistent, and you were quickly running out of patience.

Then, without thinking, you gestured toward Zoro. "Sorry, I'm here with my husband." You sighed as the man's gaze followed the direction you were pointing at.

You immediately regretted it. Zoro turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. The man scowled but backed off, muttering an apology before walking away.

You exhaled in relief, until you felt Zoro's gaze on you.

"Husband, huh?" He muttered, amused.

Your face burned, heart beat quickening. "I just said that to get rid of him."

The corners of Zoro's lips tugged upwards, forming a smirk. "Didn't mind it." He kept walking like nothing happened, leaving you flustered.

— SANJI

Sanji freezes completely the second you call him your husband.

For a split second, he actually imagined it. Being your husband. Starting a family. Then his brain shut down.

If you were introducing him to someone that way, he'd try to act normal, but would fail miserably. "Y-Yes, that's right, I'm her– her– her husband, yes–"

His heart would be racing.

If you called him that to avoid someone flirting with you, he'd immediately play along, but also fall deeply in love with you all over again.

If you told him later it was just a slip up, a small and meaningless mistake, he would dramatically explain the feelings he had in that very second. "For a moment, I lived in paradise."

He would start calling you "my wife" at every opportunity. "Oh, my darling wife, allow me to–" "Sanji, stop."

If someone else flirted with you after that, he's quick to place himself in the middle of you and the other person. "I'm her husband, thanks."

I swear bro this man is SO sassy.

Sanji would start daydreaming about an actual wedding. He also gets more protective than usual, standing a little closer, guiding you with a hand on your back.

If you genuinely meant it, he'd be the happiest man alive.

He swears to be the best husband in the world, treat you amazingly, kiss the ground you walk on.

Sanji will never, ever forget the moment you called him that. The moment you called him your husband. Those words remain imprinted in his mind, locked in a special place.

——— ☆

You were in a crowded restaurant, and the waiter was getting a little bit too flirty for your liking. So, without thinking, you immediately decided to shut him down, but not directly. "My husband will have the same order as me."

Sanji knocked over his glass of water, almost choking as he coughed severely. You turned to see him frozen, eyes wide, face completely red. You groaned, pinching your nose bridge. Here we go...

"Say it again, love." Sanji literally sparkled, practically glowing. His eyes held a childish shine, which you couldn't help but describe as adorable.

You sighed. "It was just–"

"Say it again."

You buried your face in your hands, already feeling your heart beat increasing. Gosh, why did he have to be so handsome?

"Sanji, stop." You mumbled, resting your chin in your palm, elbow propped up on the table.

"My darling wife, please–"

"Sanji I swear that if you don't stop this, I will hold you down underwater and watch you suffocate."

"I wouldn't mind that one bit. Dying by your hands is an honor, sweetheart." He winked, smiling as he leaned in closer, giving you a soft kiss on the lips.

He drove you insane. But in the best way possible.

★yoyomiko ★miko

[nezuscribe]

an idea I have in mind because I think too much about arranged Gojo.

at some point, when they're already happy and in love, they meet her sisters again. Maybe they are hosting some party or his mother invited them to the seaside house like in the past. Reader is in much a better place now personally. What’s more, she’s in a better position in the hierarchy than she was before. She's a sweetheart and a kind person. So she doesn’t care about any of that, she just wants to live her quiet, happy life with Gojo. Gojo, however, is a different story... he's heard and saw enough of how her sisters treated her and he's a petty man. A very petty man. For the duration of the visit, Gojo makes it his sole mission to flaunt their happiness. He insists on buying her the finest dresses and jewelry, making sure she’s never seen wearing the same outfit twice. Every day, he presents her with another gift, just to remind everyone of how she's adorned now. He sticks to her side at all times, while the other women are left alone when their boring husbands goes hunting or something like that. And he doesn't stop to show, verbally and physically, how he loves and admires her. Maybe, just to make his point even clearer, he asks for their rooms to be on the same floor. So they'll get a 24/7 show of the great treatment she gets.

so when i was writting the arrangment i wanted to add some scenes with readers family but it didn't work out so i think this is a great opportunity to expand on that

and totally. the thing abt reader that i hope people take away is that she's had to be stronghearted to survive in the conditions she's been brought up in, but because of that she just wants to live peacefully and quietly. she's elated that she gets a caring husband on top of it, but she just goes to the beat of her own drum and if people can't then she doesn't really care

but when this little get-together is planned at the gojo summer home, something customary and necessary, both reader and gojo dread it. reader because she doesn't like her sisters and father's wife and gojo because he hates your sisters and your father's wife

so gojo shows you off whenever he can. the two of you haven't had sex yet and he's fine with that, he's trying to find the best moment anyway, but he's so touchy it's insane. his arm is either around your waist, in yours, or sometimes around your neck if he wants to show you something from where he's standing

you're wearing the highest fashion, the best jewelry, and expensive oils. your sisters gawk and groan, but what else can they do? their husbands are old and ugly and don't give a rats ass about them, and you couldn't be more content

and this one time when all the younger people are around the lake gojo brings you onto his lap to open up the seat for one of your other friends, letting you curl up into his strong chest as he wraps a blanket over you. and your sisters watch in pure jealousy as you giggle at some of the things he tells you, watch as he blushes unabashedly when you kiss his forehead

arranged!gojo just loves you too much and there's nothing wrong with that

[inkskinned]

maybe if you had been made right, you would be better at being alone. if you'd assembled yourself out of the particulate, coagulating into amber and diamond - you'd be lovely and desirable. instead of pewter and hungry and anxious.

when she doesn't text you back, you should be normal about that. you should shrug and move on and get back to your beautiful life and your wonderful dog. when you wake up shaking, don't call her, don't beg for her attendance. if someone says i love you, aren't you supposed to feel warm and held and gentle. what is wrong with you that your first instinct is to reject: no, you don't, not really.

what is wrong with you. asking for help from your friends and loved ones is supposed to be a moment of connection and vulnerability. instead you spend hours preparing and weeks recovering. you've done all the reading and you know you are supposed to accept-love-as-it-is presented.

but still the internal questions, litany of the prey animal. do you still love me. am i still attractive. do you care about my interests. am i boring you. are you becoming distant. are you going to leave me. do you like me or are you just managing. am i telling you too much. am i bothering you. do you want me there. am i embarrassing you.

the problem is that your prayers have been right before. you loved someone and they hurt you and now the words sluice against the floorboards no matter how tightly you lock the door. you go to therapy and try to trust and try to be kind and try to assume the best. that everyone is honest and loyal. that you can be happy and alone and miss her but still feel easy, at-home.

it feels like waving a flag in front of a sinking ship. you hold up the scripture and research, preaching: i can do this. i am not going to let my insecurities and fears ruin another relationship.

all of the drowning passengers have your face. they try to say i told you so. i told you this is what ends up happening. their voices are swallowed by the water and the deep below.

[puck-luck]

Hi, girly. I hope I find you fine.

I'd like to make a request with Quinn. Could you write something where reader is feeling down, like after a day of dealing with friends/family drama and she is just drained, plus they are at the lake house and yk all the boys are there but she doesn't feel like having dinner or hanging out with them, she just wants to cuddle and recharge and Q just excuses himself to be with her and hopefully makes her feel better.

Thank you so much 💓

warnings: cockwarming. that's IT. other than that, it's just domestic bliss.

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 1,229

note: thank you @skylershines for requesting this! sorry it took me a while to finish :,) this ask wasn't inherently sexual, but since i am a smut writer, i had to throw in a sexual element or two. i am not THE fluff girl on tumblr dot com LOL but love you girly

The boys are downstairs making a ruckus about something. You’re starting to wonder if they ever tire themselves out, or if they’re always full of energy like this. The day has been long and chock-full of activities and you’re… rather exhausted.

Maybe it’s because of all the sun you soaked up on the boat that’s making you sleepy. Maybe it’s the swimming you did or the wine with the big, filling, home-cooked meal that Quinn made. Maybe it’s from the flight from Vancouver to Michigan two days ago that’s making you so tired. Maybe it’s the knowledge that you’re working from home– Quinn’s home– tomorrow and you can’t dedicate all your time to the fun happenings in the vacation home.

All in all, you don’t know what the root of your exhaustion is, but you know that there’s no way you want to leave this bed again today. You’re due for a good rot. You’ve got a book in hand and you’re all tucked in beneath the covers and the fact that it’s only 7:30pm doesn’t matter to you one bit. The sun hasn’t even started to set, but here you are, ready for bed.

Between the lines in your book, you can piece together what the boys are talking about downstairs. Trevor wants a bonfire. Jack and Luke want to go wakesurfing. Alex doesn’t care, but he wants someone to make a decision. Cole wants to stay in and play ping pong. You’re secretly hoping that the fact that you can’t really hear your boyfriend arguing with his brothers and friends means that he’ll be coming upstairs to join you soon.

It isn’t long before you hear feetsteps padding up the stairs and making their way towards the bedroom you share with Quinn. You continue reading, paying no mind to the man entering the room, but there’s a hint of a smile on your face. 

“Hey,” Quinn greets in a low, relaxed tone. He kisses the top of your head, hovering by your side of the bed. “The boys want to do something. Are you up for it?”

Not really. “What do they want to do?” you ask, not sure if they’d come to an agreement by the time Quinn joined you upstairs. You don’t really want to join the boys, but you don’t want to seem like a spoilsport during your first trip to the lakehouse. Being a recluse won’t get you any favors, no matter how much Quinn likes you. You might be able to go downstairs and sit by a bonfire or watch from the couch while the boys play ping pong. Sitting on the boat wouldn’t be that bad, but you’d have to change out of your pajamas (a cute little slip that you packed just for Quinn). You also know that “one hour on the boat” never actually means one hour on the boat. It always stretches into two or three. So, really, you’d rather stay in.

“Thinking about going out on the boat,” Quinn replies, because you’re really not that lucky when it comes down to it.

Again, you’re faced with a dilemma: you can go with them and feel tired and cranky or you can stay here and feel like you’re not being a good girlfriend by joining the group. There’s not really a good option. At least in this bed, you’ll be warm.

“I kind of just want to stay in bed, if that’s okay,” you tell Quinn with a small shrug. “But I don’t want them to think that I’m boring or anything. I’m just tired.”

Quinn lets out a laugh. “They don’t think you’re boring. Are you okay, though? I know your ‘just tired’ can mean something else sometimes.”

He’s so sweet. You’ve been with Quinn less than a year, but he’s still managed to note your idiosyncrasies and moods perfectly. “I’m okay, sweet boy.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

A wave of affection passes through you. “Do what you want, Q. You choose. I won’t say no to cuddling you all night, but don’t stay on my account.”

“Just let me tell the guys to go without me,” Quinn replies. He leans down and meets your lips. “Then I’ll be back.”

He departs, but his return is quick. He brings his own book and gets into his pajamas– nothing but his boxer shorts– before joining you under the covers. Quinn throws an arm over your shoulders and opens his book, settling in.

You read together in silence for a little while. You start to get bored and allow yourself two more chapters– after checking to see just how long those chapters were, six and eight pages respectively– before you close your book and set it on the nightstand. You slide down the bed a bit, wrapping your arm around Quinn’s waist and squishing your cheek against his chest. 

Quinn rubs your arm. “Sleepy, babe?” he asks.

You hum, turning your face into his bare skin and planting a kiss there. “You’re warm.”

Quinn breathes out a laugh. He pulls you closer; you’re practically on his lap now. You might as well finish the job and get comfortable, so you straddle Quinn and bury your face in his neck, kissing the skin there. Quinn brings his hand to your back and runs his fingers up and down the expanse of it in soothing motions. 

It tickles at first, making you squirm. After a minute or so, you relax into the touch– and a few minutes after that, you find yourself grinding down against Quinn’s rapidly-filling cock.

“Quinn,” you murmur in his ear. You pull back and meet his eyes, trying to convey what you want with just a look. 

You don’t want much. You’re still tired and drained from the day, completely washed out from the swimming and boating and sunbathing you’d been thinking of earlier. All you want is to have Quinn close.

“Yeah,” he replies with a nod. He sets his book aside and encourages you to kneel up just enough that he can slide the waistband of his boxers down and free his cock. 

Greedily, you try to grind against his shaft as soon as it’s free, but Quinn halts you with a soft touch from his free hand. 

He fists the base of his cock and pulls the crotch of your panties to the side, using the pads of his deft fingers to spread your folds. His eyes are hooded and loving as his tip breaches your hole, and he starts to smile when you sink down and settle against him. 

“Oh,” you breathe out once you take him fully, clenching down and loosening your grip on his cock a few times before melting into Quinn. 

“Sweet girl,” Quinn praises in the tone that’s just for you. He plants his hands on your hips and kisses your lips.

Neither of you make an effort to move. In fact, you find yourself growing very drowsy in Quinn’s comforting arms. His distinct, tender touch has your head lulling forward, falling against his shoulder. Quinn breathes deeply and you follow, matching him. The smell of his bodywash fills your nose and you close your eyes, taking another breath.

It’s not inherently sexual, having Quinn’s cock inside you and his lips on your skin. It is, however, exactly what you needed after such an exhausting day.