#the middle scene . . makes me wanna jump off a building

[spoiler-alert-andabunchofnumbers]

Anyone else start as a fanfic writer then started writing your own original ideas, and the best way to do it is to write your drafts like fanfiction of your own work? Like that's the only way I get stuff done.

I write a story with the characters I like, write an arc with facts about the world and characters as it becomes relevant, no real point to the scenes except me having fun with a scene I happen to be enjoying. I take a character I wanna have fun with, say "Go do that important thing so we have a plot while you show off how cool you are", then add random ideas that sound generic but fun to act as story beats. They went to a town, they got beat up by monsters, they discovered a super power, they make friends.

I take breaks between writing the story to obsess over other stuff, then come back when I have an epiphany in the shower a month later and quickly resolve the current arc in order to jump them into the next one. Like, there's still continuity, they mention "Hey we just went through something, wanna talk about your feelings?" "Not really man, wanna go on a quest for that Macguffin and uncover our deep-seated issues that way?" "Sure!" But the story follows a barely-connected story beat with side characters and new world building for the new adventure. And then this happens over and over.

Then I come back, one day.

I'm 600 pages into this Sysphian writing style of starting arcs that have barely any organization yet undeniable continuity and I think to myself, "Man, what if I just start the whole thing over now that I know where the story KINDA goes." So I start writing my second draft...like it's a fanfic of my original draft. I can do whatever the hell I want with these quirky facts about the characters, maybe translate one hobby into a backstory, take this tragic fact about the backstory and make it into an actual trait that defines how they react to situations, take these two characters that would TOTALLY get along and make them friends, I can take a character who should be getting introduced way later and just introduce them now!

And then it's...it's good? It's something I would genuinely read without cringing at??

It's got foreshadowing and interpersonal conflict and secret passions and even more secret traumas and it's humorous and the introduction of characters or quests actually seem to...make sense??? Like oh shit there's actually a REASON we want this thing, it's not a Macguffin anymore! Oh crap these two characters who were later revealed to be related can have a really interesting dynamic if I introduce them like they know from the beginning they're related instead of dropping it like the most casual thing ever in an arc 300 pages later??? These two characters are prominent figures so they would likely get along but have SO much sass between their one braincell. Ya know, this guy would be a really great guy for them to talk to in order to solve that weakness they have, but they wouldn't fix it because they don't get along. OH MY GOD I COULD SHIP THESE TWO AND IT WOULD BE PERFECT -

And what I get is a story where a lot of things have changed, mainly plot-wise, but the bare bones of the former story is still there. I think "Would this character know anything about this topic?" and then think "Well I made them an inventor with a backstory like this, so maybe they wouldn't know it directly, but they'd know a famous story about it" or "Yeah, that knowledge works with their backstory. Actually, if I take that thing I can expand it into this whole other thing. Wait, that means they would definitely know this other character. Oh, they would NOT get along with this character, how can I get THEM in the same room?"

Bonus, because my draft is so long, I feel the natural urge to be like "I wanna write the most exciting scene RIGHT NOW, how do I skip over all the fluff to get to the stuff I wanna WORK with" and so I've written a way more interesting hook that feels more natural jumping into the middle of their lives. I don't have to have the long-winded backstory from birth to the present, but now I can have them reference their backstory as more of a mystery to the characters they just meet - who are learning at the same time as the audience. I can think about how this character perceives that backstory and chooses to describe it, how another who was related might see it differently, and make it unclear who had the more accurate recounting since, ya know, I didn't actually write it beat for beat in this version!

The characters sometimes evolve into something completely different from my original telling - and I have NO IDEA how but I'll take it man! I had a shy and nice character get introduced as a more mysterious but knowledgeable and competent character because I had finally figured his personality out later on. He's still a tragic and kind person, but now he's being introduced to someone who doesn't know him and I get to see how yo he would be so much cooler if THIS was the side of him we saw FIRST. This is how he acts to strangers, rather than bearing his heart and true personality on the first go around because in the first draft I just wanted to get to the part where we're already going with his true version.

This is just how I write fanfiction. This character had this thing about them, but what if it was introduced like THIS?!

Basically I'm an AU OC writer at heart. Ask me to pull a story outta my ass and you'll get the equivalent of burnt toast, but ask me to write a fanfic of my own characters and I am a Master Chef in my natural habitat making a buffet. Why does my brain work like this? Am I the only one that does this?

[tiramisuucakeee]

7. I’M YOUR HERO

( sunflower, yang jungwon )

warnings: prowler doing prowler stuff, fight scene.

when does a spider-man really become spider-man? when he gets bit by a radioactive spider, jumps off of buildings, saves the city from the green goblin, when he gets the girl, fights alongside the avengers or loses someone dear to him.

all the spider-man’s in the multiverse had gone through something quite similar. but the thing they all shared, was that when gwen stacy falls for spider-man, it never ends well.

and with the reports of the green goblin making his appearance again in the city, even when jungwon had warned him to lay off, it meant nothing good.

“hey won,” you answered the call, sitting down on a bench near the kids playground at the park. “what’s up?”

jungwon was frantically sitting down at his desk back home in his suit, surveilling over the hacked cameras and police calls he checked every night, trying to track down norman osborn.

“hi, i’m just checking up on you, i saw the news about more reports on that green guy,” he listened closely to the other line.

“oh, yeah, i’m fine, i’m at the park right now babysitting a little kid,” your eyes were fixed on the middle schooler, not wanting to lose him from your sight.

“babysitting? that’s new,” jungwon laughed, turning around in his chair, leaving the cameras and calls out of his mind.

“well, he’s the son from one of my parent’s friends, officer davis, he’s a cop, he’s out working in finding that green guy you mentioned, and with almost everyone panicking about it, he couldn’t make it home early, so i’m watching him. apparently, his uncle, who always watched him, is busy too, so that left me.”

“really? do you need any help? i’m really good with kids,” jungwon said, wanting to make an excuse to see you, but you didn’t accept.

“i’m fine won, besides, you told me you were busy working studying for your chemistry test,” you reminded him.

“oh, right,” jungwon paused, remembering his lie.

“so, i’m gonna leave you now. please study for your test okay? i’m fine, there hasn’t been any reports around here.”

“wait- but i wanna talk to you some more.” jungwon pouted.

“i could call you later though, it’s late and i have to go to the station to leave miles, his time with me is up.” you laughed, and called over the kid, who swung upside down on the monkey bar.

“okay, please stay safe, just call me if anything happens,” he whispered.

“i will, trust me, okay? see ya’ won” and the line cut off.

jungwon groaned, throwing his phone over to his bed, cursing at himself for distracting the vigilante stuff he had going on. but it was okay, he wouldn’t let what happened to uncle ben happen again, he couldn’t.

his eyes scanned the police cars on his screen, as a call fell into one of the radios, making him jump to put on his earphones, to listen in.

“requesting backup! at hangang street near the station! someone is attacking civilians, it’s not the green goblin, he’s someone else, told us his name is the prowler,”

“this is officer davis, we are sending backup to your location, prepare to open fire if necessary,”

jungwon’s heart almost stopped, he swore he was as livid as ever. the green goblin wasn’t out, someone else was, and he had to go quick before it turned into a catastrophe.

he grabbed his mask, pulling it over his head, and opened his window, jumping out of it into the night, though, something troubled him.

what did you say the kids’ father’s name was?

!

“miles morales! stop running, this goddamn instant! you’re gonna fall!” you shouted as you chased after the boy, watching him dart left into another street, nearly tripping over his untied basketball shoes.

he skidded to a halt and glanced back at you, his face flushed with embarrassment. "everyone always tells me what to do. i just want to do my own thing, besides, the shoe thing, it’s a statement,” he muttered, clearly frustrated with himself for almost eating pavement.

you laughed, crouching down to tie his shoelaces. “you’re too young to do your own thing, but i do promise you can pick the place we go to the next time i have to watch you, alright?”

“yeah…” he murmured, and looked down to kick some rocks.

the city streets were filled with chaos, distant sounds of screams cutting through the air as sirens wailed in the background. you straightened up after tying miles's shoes, your heart still racing, though not from his near fall. something felt off. a chill swept over you as you both paused, looking around. it was too quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that made you feel like the world was holding its breath.

"we need to get to the station," you said, glancing at miles. "now."

miles gave a quick nod, and the two of you started walking briskly, but something was wrong. in the distance, the sound of a struggle reached your ears - metal clashing against metal.

just as you rounded the corner, you saw someone. the terrifying figure, cloaked in shadows, was slashing through the street, attacking civilians. his heavy boots stomped on the ground, sending debris flying. you instinctively grabbed miles's arm, pulling him back into the shadows of the alleyway. "stay down," you whispered, but it was too late.

officer davis, miles’s father, along with a few reinforcements, rushed onto the scene, weapons drawn. but they were no match for the prowler’s brutal speed and strength. he moved like a ghost, disarming the officers with a flick of his wrist, sending one of them crashing into a nearby car.

“dad…”

you looked at miles, fear flickering across his face, and you could see the urge to rush in, to do something. but you couldn’t let him.

"miles, stay back," you said, gripping his arm harder. "he's dangerous." but miles didn’t listen. he was already darting forward, moving to help his father in panic, but you pulled him back. "no! you can’t-"

just then, the prowler noticed you, his eyes locking on you like a predator zeroing in on prey. without hesitation as he couldn’t hurt miles, he lunged toward you, his claws outstretched.

"y/n!" miles shouted, but it was too late. in a desperate attempt to protect him, you shoved miles out of the way, taking the blow instead. the prowler's claws ripped across your side, and you cried out, stumbling back, pain exploding through your body.

"no!" miles screamed, his voice thick with panic as he tried to rush toward you. his hands were shaking, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. but before he could even reach you, there was a blur - spider-man - dropping from above, landing in a crouch between you and the prowler.

the air seemed to crackle with tension as jungwon’s voice cut through the chaos. “get away from her!” his tone was fierce, guttural, full of raw emotion. in one swift, powerful move, he collided with the prowler, sending the masked villain stumbling backward. the force of their collision echoed through the street, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of hope.

you stood there, dazed, blood seeping from the gash in your side. the pain was sharp, but you barely registered it as you watched the fight unfold before you. your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and the world seemed too quick around you. spider-man moved like lightning, a blur of motion as he and the prowler clashed, fists and claws meeting in a brutal exchange. the sound of their strikes was deafening, each blow like a crack of thunder.

the prowler was fast, but spider-man was faster, his movements precise, deliberate. he dodged the prowler’s strikes, retaliating with forceful, controlled blows. every punch he landed pushed the prowler back, but the villain was relentless. his rage was palpable, his eyes wild behind the mask, as if he fed off the fight. the two were like predators, locked in an unyielding struggle, but you could see the weariness in both of them as the fight dragged on. the prowler’s attacks grew more frenzied, while spider-man’s strikes began to slow, exhaustion creeping into his movements.

“this isn’t over,” the prowler hissed, his voice low and venomous, as he took a step back, glaring at him through the darkness. “no. this isn’t the end, there’s something bigger coming, and neither will the so-called heroes or you will be able to do anything about it.”

spider-man’s breathing was heavy, his body moving with a pained fluidity as he stood his ground. “you’re not going anywhere,” he growled, his voice tight with fury and frustration. his posture was steady, but even through his mask, you could see the exhaustion in his shoulders, in the way he clenched his fists. his eyes - there was something in them, a fierce protectiveness that made your heart twist, there was something so familiar about it.

the prowler’s eyes flicked to you for a moment, lingering on the blood that stained your shirt, the pain etched on your face. a cruel smile spread across his face as he chuckled low, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “you’re all weak,” he sneered, before vanishing into the shadows, his laugh echoing into the night.

silence fell for a moment, the chaos fading into the background, the adrenaline pumping through your veins slowly starting to wear off. your legs felt unsteady, and you almost collapsed right there, but spider-man was already moving toward you.

"you okay?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with an intensity you could hear even with the mask.

his hand hovered over your side, uncertain, but desperate to help. you could see the way his fingers trembled slightly as he reached out, like he was afraid to touch you too roughly, afraid of causing you more pain. his jaw was clenched, his expression taut, like he was blaming himself for not getting here sooner.

you winced, trying to stand tall, but the pain was sharp, burning through your side. “i’m fine,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, breath coming in uneven bursts. “i just... where’s officer davis? i need to get miles home.” you looked at the boy who was crying from guilt.

miles was still there, frozen in place, eyes glossy and horrified as he looked at you, at the blood, at the danger you’d just been in. his hands trembled as he stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper. “y/n, you’re hurt...”

“i’m alright, miles,” you said, though the words came out weaker than you intended. you swallowed, your throat dry. “we need to get you to your father... he’s probably really worried-”

before you could say anything else, he stepped closer. his eyes searched your face, his concern deep and genuine. his hand settled gently on your shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. the tenderness in his expression nearly broke you. "let me help," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with emotion. there was something in the way spider-man said it - something fragile in his tone, like he was terrified of losing you.

you looked up at him, his covered eyes burning, and for a moment, you let yourself fall into the comfort of his presence. you didn’t know why, but something in his voice - the rawness of it, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with the kind of worry that made your chest tighten. you glanced up at him, and even though you didn’t know why this masked hero seemed so familiar, the emotion in his eyes made something deep inside you be tranquil.

and the decision had been made. he had to get miles to his father, and then he’d figure out the rest with you.

“alright buddy, let’s get you to your dad,” spider-man said, his voice muffled beneath the mask. he was speaking to miles, but his eyes kept darting to you, like he couldn’t tear himself away. “go on,” he urged, his tone gentle but firm.

miles hesitated for a moment, still shaken. he wanted to say something - thank you, or maybe ask if you were going to be okay - but he was too scared to speak the words. his wide eyes kept flicking to you, to your injury, but the fear in his expression made it clear he was scared to show it.

spider-man placed a hand on miles's shoulder, pushing him forward toward the patrol car where officer davis had been trying to plan the next step. you watched as the boy started to run, his movements hesitant, but determined. he turned around just once, giving you a glance over his shoulder.

"y/n... you gonna be okay?" his voice cracked slightly, barely above a whisper.

“i’m fine, miles,” you whispered, your voice strained but calm. “go. your dad’s waiting.”

miles gave you one last, uncertain look before disappearing into the shadows. you could hear the faint chatting of the two in the distance, the low hum of your heartbeat. and then, you were left alone with spider-man.

there was an aching silence between you, but you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his worry heavy in the air. he didn’t move immediately, like he was wrestling with something inside himself. the flicker of regret that danced in his posture.

“i’m sorry i didn’t get here sooner, i suck as a hero” he said, his voice tight, barely a whisper beneath his mask. “i should’ve-”

“hey, stop,” you interrupted softly, as he helped you walk so you could lean against a wall to rest. his body stiffened under your touch, his spider eyes locking with yours. the was something broken in the way the expression looked at you, like he was trying to carry the weight of your injury on his own shoulders. “you’re here now,” you said. “and this is the second time you’ve saved my life, i couldn’t be more thankful.”

he swallowed, nodding, but there was a lingering storm in his gaze, a quiet fury at himself for letting this happen. It wasn’t about you being hurt - it was about his own fear of losing you, of failing you when you needed him most. what would be of spider-man if he couldn’t even save the girl he was head over heels for, the girl he could give his own life for.

jungwon didn’t feel worthy of the suit.

“i- i need to get you to a hospital, now,” he said, his voice barely audible. he took a step toward you again, but his hand stayed hovering just inches from yours, like he wasn’t sure if he could touch you without causing more harm. the conflict was there, raw in his expression.

“no, it doesn’t hurt,” you said, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. the pain in your side was growing sharper now, a relentless pulse with every breath, but you didn’t want him to see how bad it was. you didn’t want him to see how much pain you were in - how scared you felt. not when the friendly neighborhood spider-man was already blaming himself, just because you couldn’t get out of trouble. “i just... i need you to help me get home. please.”

his spider eyes softened at your words, and for a moment, you saw the relief flicker in his gaze. he leaned forward slightly, reaching out to gently place his hand on your waist, carefully avoiding the wound. his touch was tender but firm, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he wasn’t steady enough.

“i’m not leaving you like this,” he said quietly, his voice edged with determination. “not tonight, not ever, what kind of hero would i be?”

you met his gaze, feeling the weight of what had just happened pressing on both of you. you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand on your own, the pain in your side threatening to buckle your knees. but he was there, steady and strong, his arm wrapping around you to support your weight. you let yourself lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder for just a moment. “you’re my hero, and i’m sure half of the city could say the same.”

and that was all that you remembered, before the pain took over your body, and your eyes closed.

!

the soft hum of the hospital room was the first thing you became aware of when you woke up. your body ached, and the familiar throb from your side reminded you of the fight, the villain, and how spider-man had been there for second time, holding you together.

as you slowly opened your eyes, the blurry shapes of the sterile hospital room became clearer. the scent of antiseptic mixed with something fresher, more comforting, and you turned your head to see what it was.

a sunflower sat in a small vase on the bedside table, its bright yellow petals vibrant against the white of the hospital room. next to it were a pack of girl scout chocolate chip cookies, their familiar bright green box leaning against the vase. you smiled softly, even in your pain, knowing exactly who had brought those.

and then you spotted the small piece of paper, folded neatly beside the cookies. your heart tightened as you carefully picked it up and read.

hey, y/n,

i’m really sorry for what happened last night. i know it must’ve been scary, but i’m glad you’re okay. you’re strong, that’s why i look up to you and my uncle aaron.

thanks for watching out for me. i’ll see you soon. — miles

your fingers lingered on the paper for a moment, and you couldn't help but smile. miles had always been so thoughtful, even if he often felt like a burden with his reckless energy. you could almost hear his voice in your head as you read the note, his words full of sincerity.

before you could dwell on it too long, the door to your room creaked open, and you looked up to see your doctor walking in, a clipboard in hand. behind him, jungwon stepped in, his presence filling the doorway.

“good morning,” the doctor said, smiling kindly. “how are we feeling today?”

you shifted a little, testing your side. the pain was more manageable now, though still there, lingering beneath the surface. "i’m... better. a lot better," you murmured, smiling at the doctor, then glancing toward jungwon, who was watching you intently, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

jungwon’s eyes met yours, his expression softening when he saw that you were awake and speaking. he stepped closer, his concern still very much present. “hey,” he said quietly, his voice low. “how are you feeling? your parents called me this morning, i’m sorry i wasn’t there for you.”

you gave him a small smile, even though you could still feel the weight of the night before. “i’m okay,” you replied, trying to sound lighter than you felt. “don’t worry, there’s nothing we could’ve done about it.”

the doctor, sensing the moment, excused himself with a quiet, “i’ll check in on you again in a bit,” and slipped out of the room, leaving you and jungwon alone.

as soon as the door clicked shut, jungwon moved to sit in the chair beside your bed. his hand hesitated over the armrest before settling there, and he looked at you with something almost painfully vulnerable in his eyes. “i just-,” he said, his voice rough, as if he had replayed the moment over in his head a thousand times.

you shook your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “it’s okay, you didn’t know, the guy just came out of nowhere, but police was there, and spider-man was too,” you replied softly. “so i’m alright, it’s all that matters.”

but he didn’t seem convinced. he leaned forward slightly, his voice even quieter now. “you should’ve called me, i could’ve... i should’ve gotten there before the prowler hurt you-” he tried not to give into the idea of revealing himself.

you reached out, your hand resting over his, holding it lightly. “i can’t imagine what i would’ve done if you got hurt instead of me,” you said, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “but you’re here now.”

jungwon’s expression softened, and his gaze flickered to the sunflower and the note. he stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. “i thought you might like those for breakfast,” jungwon said quietly.

“good thing i’m really, really, really hungry,” you spoke, taking a cookie from the pack and biting into it. you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t say anything else for a moment, just savoring the familiar taste. “you want one?,” you offered.

“don’t worry about me, those are all yours,” he chuckled. “i knew you’d be hungry.”

you smiled, warmth spreading in your chest. “thank you, jungwon,” you whispered. “you’re my hero.”

TAGS: @jiiyen @yjwxfxr

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[normal-internet-user]

Can you write a Story with fm&Leo ?

A First Meeting Situation with him.. and April is a girlfrind of y/n .

Also with fluff / sfw ?

😍💙😁😘

NICE TO MEET YOU

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

Summary: After spending the day with April, the two of you end up in a dangerous situation on your way home, where you are rescued by our leader in blue!

Warnings: Swearing, and very mild depictions of violence

Requested: @tkappi 💕

Female Reader!

Very crackish, but it was like 4 in the morning and I was loopy and giggly, enjoy!

.........................................

You laughed lightly at the joke April told. It was girls' night, something the two of you hadn't done in a while, April had a lot of "personal stuff" going on, so alot of the time she had to bail.

The two of you walked down the dark sidewalk away from the cinema, you had gone to see a new horror movie that had a lot of hype around it, and now the two of you were making fun of the bad acting.

"What about when she started crying in that one scene? You could so tell she was faking it, almost like she wasn't even trying."

April nodded, taking another sip from the soda she'd bought, "I know, it seems like horror films are just getting worse and worse."

You moved your hand in a 'so, so' gesture, "Eh, there are accouple good ones, but old slasher films just seem better, ya know?"

"I couldn't agree more, (Name)."

The two of you continued the trek towards your shared apartment complex. You lived in the same building, but weren't actual roomates, just neighbors. You'd gotten pretty close the day you moved in, and the rest was history.

April stopped just infront of an alley, and looked back at her confused, "Something wrong?" you asked.

"Hm? Oh, no, lets go this way though. It's a short cut."

You looked down the alley nervously, "Uhm, April, we're in a pretty dodgey part of town. Maybe we shouldn't go walking down dark alleys in the middle of the night."

April laughed, "Don't worry, nothings gonna happen. Even if something does, I have some... friends who'll be more than happy to help out."

"Thats reassuring." you muttered.

The two of you entered the alley, the other end in clear view, "You realize this is how people die in horror movies right?"

"Oh, shush. It's fine, I promise!"

It was not fine.

It was not fucking fine.

Two fucking ninjas jumped infront of you two, you glanced back to see two behind as well.

"I fucking told you so." you muttered,

"Not the time, (Name)!"

You shrugged, looking around for something to use as a weapon. Nothing, great.

One of the ninjas infront of you drew a sword from the sheath off their back and pointed it directly at April, "April O'neil, we have orders to bring you to Karai. Do not resist and it will be easier for everyone."

You looked in between April and the ninja, "April, who the hell did you piss off?"

"Just stay behind me, (Name)."

You scoffed, "Hey, I dunno if you noticed, but there's ninjas behind us too."

"Shit." she mumbled, April raise her hands in a gesture of surrender, "You guys really don't wanna do this. You know, because of my four friends?"

The ninja let out a whistle and the other three began to approach the pair of you. April reached for her watch and began to rapidly press a button on the side, "Hurry up, hurry up, come on you guys..." she started to mumble.

Your eyes began to search for a weapon once again. Your eyes stopped on the metal lid of a trash can, you snatched it up, and held it at the ready.

You felt a hand grab your shoulder, and with all your might you swung the lid around smacking the assailent in the face.

"Ouch! Calm down miss! I'm here to help you, I'm April's friend!"

"OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY!"

You dropped the trash lid, and began to fret over the bruise growing on his cheek. The turtle looked between you and April, completely flabberghasted at how little you had reacted to him being a giant fucking turtle.

"H-hold that thought please." He said, side stepping you to take care of the other two foot ninjas.

You looked at April, "That's one of your friends?"

April nodded, looking at you strangly, "Yeah. You are taking this really well."

"What? Oh, yeah, well, a giant spaceship thing did appear in the sky afew years ago, so. Your friend being a giant turtle ninja is like, the least strange thing I've seen."

The turtle began to approach you and April once again, sheathing his blades as he did so, "You ladies ok?" he asked.

You nodded, "Uh- yeah, thank you- what's your name?"

"Oh, right. I'm Leonardo. But please, call me Leo, miss...?"

"(Name). I'm (Name). Oh, sorry about your face- that's my bad."

"No, no don't worry about it. Really. You have good reaction time."

"Oh, thank you-"

April cut you off, "Sorry to cut the indroductions short but, Foot Clan?"

Leo nodded, clearing his throat, "Right, did they say anything about why they were here?"

"Just that they had orders to take April to some bitch named Karai." you shrugged.

April snorted at your choice of words, and Leo looked mildly amused, "Hm. Well Maybe it's best I walk you ladies home."

"Good idea." April replied,

And so the three of you set off down the empty streets heading to your apartment complex. After arriving, Leo swore you to secrecy about this incident, then bid you an April a goodnight.

April offered you to sleep over at her's that night, and you agreed. The two of you sat in her kitchen siping coffee and discussing the previous events.

"So, what are your first impressions of Leo?" April asked as she sipped her coffee.

You shrugged, "Honestly? He's kinda hot."

April choked on her coffee, before looking at you and laughing out loud, "What? That's what you took away from that?"

"Hey, don't judge. He is. But on a more serious note, he seems nice. I'd like to get to know him more."

"I'm sure you would." April teased, smirking at you.

You smacked her arm lightly as you blushed, "Shut up."

.........................................

There we go! Sorry for the long wait, @tkappi ! I really like this one.

I took a more chaotic rom-com route for this one, but to be fair, I started at like 4 in thr morning so...

[izzylicious]

Kinktober Day 8: Eijirou Kirishima X AFAB! Cheating Reader

Warnings: Viewer discretion highly advised! Smut, cheating reader, fingering, vaginal penetration.

Your boyfriend Katsuki is on a business trip for his agency. So you invited his best friend Eijirou over for a movie to cure your boredom. You’re both huddled under a fuzzy blanket on the couch.

You can’t help but steal glances over at him throughout the movie. A heated scene between the main characters comes on screen and you rub your legs together, trying to keep your composure. You really don’t need to be jumping your boyfriend’s best friend right now.

You and Eijirou lock eyes and before you know it you’re in his lap kissing him. His rough hands grab your thighs and squeeze them gently. You part his lips with your tongue, forcing your way into his mouth.

“You sure we should be doing this?”

“We probably shouldn’t, but we’re going to. Besides, Katsuki’s an asshole anyway.”

Eijirou’s red eyes crinkle as he laughs. You can’t contain yourself any longer. You pull your shirt from your body, breasts bouncing free. Eijirou caresses them and you grind on him through the thin fabric of your shirts.

Nothing is left to the imagination as you can feel his fat bulge poking at you. You roughly yank his shirt over his head and admire his muscular body. You leave kiss after kiss on his collarbone and he breathes heavily. You grind on him and he pulls back.

Eijirou whispers, “Gotta make sure you’re ready. Don’t wanna hurt you. Don’t mean to brag, babe, but I’m pretty big.”

You rip your shorts off as Eijirou has you sucking his fingers. After his fingers are coated in your juices, he trails his middle finger from your opening to your clit. He rubs tight circles on your clit and you mewl as you kiss him desperately. Eijirou slips his finger inside of you and you whine at the lack of clitoral stimulation.

He pumps his finger inside of you before using his thumb to continue rubbing your clit. You moan loudly, bucking your hips to meet him. Eijirou adds a second thick finger and soon after a third, making your mouth fall open in a silent moan. You clench around his fingers and before you know it’s you’re exploding right on them. He slips his fingers from you and takes a moment to lick and suck the juices from them.

You cry out, disappointed at the sudden empty feeling. But you’re forgetting all about that when Eijirou removes the rest of his clothing and his big fat cock bounces against his stomach. As if in a trance, you can’t help but to climb on top of him and grind against him. You’re practically drooling as you grab his huge dick in your hand and rub it against your heat.

Once he’s covered in your juices, you line his head up with your entrance. You slowly push down on him, pained moans escaping at the stretching sensation. The head is just now inside you and you’re impaling yourself further on him. Now that you’ve taken just half of him, you find a bulge proudly on your belly.

“You’re so tight for me. And you’re taking me real good too. Like you were meant for me.”

At his praise you shove the rest of his length inside yourself, moaning loudly. You roll your hips, smirking as he gasps. He squeezes the fat of your ass, helping you rise and fall.

You’re twitching and feeling another orgasm build inside of you. You bounce harder, desperately chasing your second orgasm. You watch the bulge move with every thrust, his cock disappearing inside of you. You squeeze him hard as your orgasm takes hold of you. You feel him swelling and stiffening inside you before he paints your walls with his sticky essence.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! I thought it was so fun to write. Not gonna lie. If I were in MHA, I’d be all over every one of those guys. So this story hits me personally. lol ~Izzylicious

[notanettelmao]

The Tell pt. 1

Also on AO3

(A Teen Wolf Rewrite)

Fandoms: Teen Wolf, Supernatural Warnings: usual TW and SPN stuff Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x reader Words: 1,8k

<back // next>>

Tags: @venomsvl  @celestair  

If you wanna be tagged let me know!

Y/N was with Derek when he heard about the attack at the video store. He took off in the direction of the store, leaving her behind. She swore, looked around, and started running after him. 

When she finally got there, he and Scott were climbing the rusty ladder on the side of the building. Y/N rolled her eyes and climbed after them. Scott said hi to her while Derek stared at her as if he wasn't expecting her to follow him. He then turned to Scott.

"Starting to get it?" He asked, leaning over the edge to look down in a way that didn't make him visible to the people on the ground under them. Scott did the same.

"I get that he is killing people. I don't get why." Scott mumbled. Y/N walked a few steps toward the edge to take a look at the scene. 

"I mean, we don't go out in the middle of the night murdering everyone, do we?" Y/N turned to look at Scott. 

"Werewolves are predators. Not killers." She said. Derek agreed, not looking away from the people on the street.

"Then why is he a killer?" Scott asked looking at his friend and then at the older werewolf.

"That's what we are going to find out. Y/N, how does this look like from the perspective of a hunter?" Derek turned towards her. The youngest Winchester took a deep breath and stepped away from the edge of the roof.

"It must have been a rogue omega. He killed Laura to get the alpha power, which we already knew. We know that he wants to build a pack, and that's why he bit Scott. But something isn't right here. Why didn't he bite anyone else? I'll need to do some research on my own, maybe I will take Stiles with me because he can get us the police reports. I need to know if there were organs missing or if he is just killing for the fun of it." Y/N looked at her phone, texting Stiles to meet her a few blocks away from the video store.

"You do that. I'm gonna take Scott to the house for a bit. I'll see you later," Derek waved a hand her way and then ran off the roof, Scott following him. Y/N groaned when she realized she will have to climb the ladder down

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

The youngest Winchester got to the meeting point at the same time as Stiles parked his jeep on the side of the road. She quickly jumped into the passenger seat and told him to drive to his house. She needed his whiteboard for this.

"So, what are we going to do now?" Stiles asked as they got into his room. He sat on his bed and watched Y/N pace around the room picking different stuff up and then wiping his whiteboard so she had a clean space to work with. She ignored his question and wrote 'THE ALPHA' in capital letters in the middle of it, then drew lines around it and started writing everything they knew already.

"I need you to look in your dad's files to see if there were any bodies found dead with their heart missing in the towns around Beacon Hills." Y/N turned to look at Stiles who was reading the words on the board, looking really interested. 

"You think it could be the bad kind? The one you told me about?" He was suddenly up, looking worried. Y/N swallowed and nodded. 

"I have a bad feeling. And I need another wolf to talk to about it. Not Derek. And not Scott, Scott hasn't been a werewolf for long." She ran her fingers through her hair. 

"I guess we have one more Hale we can visit." He said quietly. Y/N nodded. 

"I'll go see him. I need you to go look through the folders. Look for the missing hearts and anything that could be a clue." She quickly dropped the parker on Stiles' table and turned to walk out, but stopped in between the door.

"I don't have a car." She turned back to look at Stiles. He let out a laugh and then motioned for her to follow him.

"Come on, I'll take you there."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Peter lived on the side of Beacon Hills where Lydia did. The rich part of town. He moved into his house right when he was let out of the hospital after his miraculous recovery. Y/N actually helped him and Derek to pick the place and get him used to being around people again. No one really recognized Peter in town, which saved them a lot of explaining about how the hell he was walking and talking after spending six years in a coma.

Y/N thanked Stiles for the ride and closed the car door. She watched him drive away and then let herself in through the gate. She walked up the stone steps towards the front door and knocked. She didn't have to wait long before Peter opened it, frowning. When he saw her he smirked.

"Ah, Winchester. What can I do for you?" He asked, moving to the side so she could walk in. 

"Hi, Peter. Nice to see you too. Are you doing better?" She lifted an eyebrow at him and took off her shoes. She put them on the shoe rack in the huge hallway. 

"Did you come over only to ask me how I was doing or do you actually need something?" He led her towards the kitchen. 

"Oh, I just wanted to talk." She sat on one of the chairs at the kitchen island and put her phone in front of her.

"Talk? About what? And where is my nephew? Does he still refuse to buy a normal living space and tortures himself by sleeping in the burned-down house?" He pulled out two cups and started the coffee maker. 

"Derek is currently at the old house with Scott. And yes, he still lives there. He is way too stubborn to listen to us. Even though it would be safer for him to move somewhere else now that Kate is in town. That woman is a whole new level of crazy. But that's not why I'm here. I need to talk to you about werewolves. And about how they go rogue." Peter turned to look at her. 

"Why don't you ask your uncle about it?" He asked and placed one of the full coffee cups in front of her. 

"My uncle was in an accident a few days back. I don't really want to bother him now, as I am sure he and my brothers have a lot of stuff to do because the Leviathans are getting all around the USA." 

"Yes, I remember you telling me about him being shot. What do you need to know?" Peter sat down on one of the chairs on the other side of the island.  

"How does a wolf go rogue?" Y/N asked. 

"Depend on the situation. You can be kicked out of the pack, and then if no other pack wants you in, you lose it. You start going more and more feral. That's how omegas are made, but omegas are usually born wolves that go feral. The bitten omegas are more..." Peter stopped talking, thinking about how to say it correctly.

"They're the worst kind, right? The ones that feed on the hearts of humans?" Y/N asked quietly. Peter nodded.

"Yes, they are the worst. I don't know how, but they actually became weak to silver. Us born wolves aren't." 

"I know. It is a myth connected to the Argents as they are the oldest line of hunters ever." Y/N agreed. She then pulled her father's journal from the bag she had brought with her. 

"Can you look over this to see if there are correct facts?" She pushed the journal towards Peter, who took it in his hands carefully.

"It was my father's and my brothers left it with me just in case I needed it. And I know you know a lot of stuff about the supernatural as you yourself are supernatural. Also, Derek told me you used to have a lot of different bestiaries and other books before..." Y/N didn't finish the sentence when she noticed the pained look on his face. 

"Why are you asking me all this? You think the alpha is a bitten wolf?" Peter asked. The girl nodded. 

"If it was a born wolf someone would know something. There are not that many of you anymore and my brothers keep tabs on all of the packs with born wolves. They would know if one of them went rogue." Y/N explained.

"Did you tell any of this to Derek?" 

"No, are you crazy? You know him. He would go right after the guy and get himself killed in the process." She took a sip of her coffee and watched Peter as he agreed.

"If you are right, and you probably are... We are going to need all the help we can get. Derek is not as strong by himself, your friend Scott still doesn't really know how to have control over his shift, and the sheriff's kid is a skinny human who talks too much. Even with the help of your angel friend, my wolf is not healed fully yet. You are probably the strongest of us right now with your hunter training." Y/N knew what Peter wanted her to do. 

"I can't call them here Peter. They have a lot of stuff going on, I told you the Leviathans are everywhere-" 

"Y/N, you are creating a pack around yourself. The alpha is going to see you as a threat." Peter said as if it was nothing. Y/N froze in her seat.

"I'm creating a pack around myself? How is that possible? I'm not an alpha, not even a werewolf." The youngest Winchester looked so confused Peter had to laugh.

"It is possible. You have to have the right amount of Spark to pull it off. You are a Winchester. You and your brothers stopped multiple apocalypses. The angels watched over you. You went against multiple gods and came out alive. There is no one else that could do all that."

"So what, I'm an alpha, but not really?" Y/N cringed as she said that. It sounded ridiculous.

"Something like that." Peter shrugged and got up from his chair with her journal in his hands.

"If you'll need me I'll be in the library." With that, he walked away.

"Okay, hold up. You can't just drop that and walk away! Peter!" Y/N yelled as she watched his back disappear up the stairs. 

"You son of a bitch." She let out a sigh and put her empty cup in the sink. Her phone buzzed at the same time. She quickly picked it up and looked at the new text. 'There are at least 4 cases where bodies were missing hearts' was all it said. 

"Shit." She let out as she grabbed all of her stuff and ran out of the door. 

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 8

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. PSA!! I re-worked the last scene in the previous chapter! (It's just different dialogue and a lot of it was cut to fix the pacing.)

Anyway. Very excited to share this chapter! :)

We spend all day scavenging.

Apparently some people want to start heading to Fort Benning, but Rick wants to stock up before we even think about it. We can't really drive across half the state when we don't even got toilet paper, after all; let alone food or gas.

He leads us from town to town, stopping at random shops, houses, and doctor's offices along the way, in search of supplies. Everybody stays behind in the cars, keeping watch, while the men drag themselves into building after building, coming back more empty-handed each time. I can tell it's starting to weigh on Rick. The last thing anyone ate was that potato salad, and our water bottles are all pretty much empty. We're hungry, tired; miserable — A group made up of growling stomachs and parched mouths.

Ahead of us on the road, Rick honks once and sticks his arm out the driver's window, pointing to a small supermarket he wants to loot.

He takes a left turn, and we all follow him into the parking lot, ready to rinse and repeat.

Everybody parks in front of the store.

My Dad shuts the engine off.

"I'll be back in a bit." He gruffly tells me, pocketing the keys. "Be good. Don't go nowhere unless it's with Dale."

"Okay, Dad."

"And if a walker comes up to the truck, what're you gonna do?"

I sigh. "Scream real loud."

We've been having this exact exchange all day, every time he leaves. We don't talk about nothin' else.

We're not really on good terms, but we're not really arguing, neither.

I think we're at a truce.

That's what happens when two people really want to fight but are deciding not to.

He slowly nods.

Then he grabs his crossbow, hops out, and slams the door behind him.

I watch him re-group with the other men, and they walk off together for the fifteenth time today. It's a pretty dismal routine.

I pass the time waiting for them to come back by reading my book. Dad found it for me back at the book shop. I've been reading it all day. It's about a scruffy cartoon dog named Hairy Maclary, and back home, I used to have almost the entire collection. I think it's why he picked this one. Reading it gives me a familiar comfort that he can't give me right now. It even makes me forget about how hungry I am after a while.

Beside me on the middle seat, there's a pile of other things my Dad's scavenged so far.

On the bottom is an ocean-themed blanket, two pillows, and an armful of clothes that he found in a stranger's house. When we sifted through them, I found a pair of socks that fit me. I slipped them on underneath my new boots. I also found some black jean-shorts and a big, green shirt with a purple frog on it. Frogs are pretty cool. I shimmied them both on to replace my pyjamas. Dad found himself a new pair of steel-toe boots, grey jeans, and a button-up that he ripped the sleeves off. We kept the rest of the clothes as spares.

There's also a half-empty box of bullets, a hammer, craft scissors, and one battery, which took him all morning to accumulate.

My tummy gurgles as I turn the page.

Nobody's found any food yet.

If we could eat batteries or bullets, we wouldn't be so hungry right now, but that's not how it works.

Sighing, I continue re-reading Hairy Maclary for the fifth time today, savouring it by painstakingly studying each picture.

It wastes about ten minutes.

"Whatchu readin'?"

I jump.

Whipping my head to the right, I see Shane walking toward the truck. Oh, God. He just might be the last person I wanna talk to right now.

He reaches the open window and casually crosses his arms over it, but his cheerful demeanour doesn't rub off on me. I try to scoot backward, but the pile of clothes quickly gets in the way. He's standing way too close to me. If he leaned forward just a little, the brim of his cap would touch the side of my head. I don't like that. His military dog tag twinkles innocently in the sunlight. Walsh, it winks at me.

Randomly, I become aware of the fact that there's nobody else around. Something about that isn't right.

"What are you doin'?" I ask.

Don't he know my Dad will shoot him for talkin' to me?

"Oh, you know." He shrugs, smiling. "Thought I'd clock out for a bit, maybe take a lil' break. Nothin' crazy."

Uh... sure.

I don't think Rick would let anybody take a quick break. Not in the sorry state we're in right now. No way. I think he's out here in secret.

He nods toward my book. "So? Whatchu readin'?"

Silence.

"Looks good." He jokes. "I'm a lil' jealous, actually. Maybe once you're done, I'll have to borrow it off ya, huh?"

More silence.

I fold the book in my lap, shielding it from his eyes. I wish I could do the same to my entire body. I don't wanna be doin' this right now. It's like being in the CDC again, that awkward stand-off cloaked in darkness — Only this time, we're in broad daylight.

He clears his throat.

"Your, uh—? Your Dad find that for you?"

"I—"

This is makin' me mad, now. Don't he remember how angry my Dad got before? Does he wanna get shot?

He might be acting stupid, but I won't make the same mistake twice.

Shane is not my friend. Shane is a bastard cop, and I hate him, 'cause I hate bastard cops. I really, really hate bastard cops. Looking at him makes me angry. It makes me even angrier than lookin' at Rick made me, and Rick killed my Uncle Merle, but Shane — Shane ruined everything. He's the reason the car rides are silent now. He's the reason my Dad doesn't feel like the same person no more. He's the reason I couldn't just get belted and be done with it. He just had to walk in. Bastard cop.

He's supposed to save people, but I don't feel very saved.

I just feel angry.

"I ain't talkin' to you." I muster up the dirtiest, nastiest glare I got. "You're a cop. A bastard cop."

His eyes widen.

He wasn't expecting that.

"I'm—" His brows shoot up, and he lifts one hand in surrender. "Harley, I'm just a friend. I'm just here talkin' to you as a friend, okay?"

"You ain't my friend."

"Well, I like to think that you're my friend. And... friends worry 'bout each other, don't they?"

He's worried about me?

I see where this is going.

I don't wanna talk about what happened at the CDC.

"You ain't," I sneer, "My friend. How many times I gotta tell ya?"

I pretend to go back to reading my book, 'cause I want him to go away — just like I wanted him to go away when we were in the CDC. When he talks to me like this, Shane makes me feel like a wobbly tower of cards, ready to fall. He makes me feel like everything I ever knew was just a fairytale, or a straight up lie, like Santa Claus and the Easter bunny. He makes me feel like I'm someone worth feeling sorry for; someone who needs saving.

Well, I don't need saving. He's just gonna have to go save someone else if he wants to do it so bad.

I've been staring at the same word for a whole minute, puffing angrily out my nostrils. I hold the book so tightly that the pages start to crinkle under my thumbs, stretching thin, thin, thin, until they're about to rip under the pressure.

Leave me alone, I wanna scream in his face.

"Can I ask you a question, Harley?" 

I take a deep breath, glowering up at him through my bangs.

He glowers right back.

"Is your Daddy your friend?"

"Wh—?"

The page rips.

"'Cause I can tell you what friends don't do." He raises his brows, leaning closer. "I can tell you that friends don't pin ya down 'till you're crying, Harley. I can tell you friends don't shout; don't make ya feel scared. They don't whip ya with belts, Harley. Is that what you think friends do?"

I struggle to speak. I feel like I'm being accused of somethin' I didn't even do.

"I don't kn—"

"Yes, you do. Lemme ask you again." Shane cuts me off. "Your Dad. Is he your friend?"

Yes, is my immediate thought, and I'm— I'm angry again, 'cause this is exactly what I'm talkin' about when I say Shane makes me feel like everything is a confusing trick. I don't like this question. I don't like that he's even asking it. Yes, my Dad is my friend.

I'm overwhelmed with the sudden urge to defend everything he's ever done.

I open my mouth to answ—

"No." He answers for me — Sharp, like a scolding. "No, Harley. He is not your friend."

"Yeah, he is." I'm shocked. "He is my friend."

I love him. If Shane thinks he can just walk over here and start bad-mouthing my Dad, then he's wrong, 'cause it's not gonna work.

"No. He's not." Shane scolds again, but I refuse to listen to him. I'm reminded of my old teachers again. Whenever I was flunking a simple math question, they'd get angry at me, but they couldn't show it 'cause that's not very nice, so they'd settle for sighing and speaking to me very slowly, instead. That's what Shane does. "I know you think he's your friend. I know you think you love him. I'm not saying you don't, sweetheart, okay? I'm not saying that. I'm saying sometimes friends hurt us, Harley, and we need to have a good, hard think about whether or not we want 'em to keep hurtin' us."

"Well—? I—?"

I realize I don't have anything to say. I have a good, hard think about what he means, instead. A friend? A friend hurting me? I think he means my Dad. Yeah. My Dad's my friend and he hurts me, sometimes. It not that hard to understand. At least it wasn't, not until Shane came along and started lookin' at my Dad like he was some type of monster. The dead people, they're monsters, but not my Dad. I swear it's that simple.

"I don't wanna talk about this." I grumble, glaring down at Hairy Maclary as he chases a butterfly.

"Well, I think we gotta, Harley." Shane insists. "This is important. I'm tryna to help you here."

"I don't need your help."

"Why's that?" He asks patiently.

"Because I don't care 'bout any of that stuff." I'm hating all of this. "I ain't scared'a him."

"You see, I don't believe that." He squints. "I don't think you believe that, either."

I am not afraid. I just have to believe this.

"Yeah, I do." I argue.

"Harley—"

"Yeah, I do."

He gets frustrated, gripping the windowsill.

"'Dad, I'm scared'." He quotes. "That's what you said. That's what you said to him, Harley."

Oh. He heard that. Of course he heard that.

"Well, y-yeah, 'cause I was scared of the dark." I dismiss. "It didn't mean anything. Who cares?"

"You're scared—? You're scared of the dark? You're scared of the dark. Okay. Okay." He takes a step back, rubbing his hands down his face, collecting himself. He laughs but he's not finding anything about this funny. He grabs the window again, harder this time. "You really think I don't remember how you ran off in'a them woods and we all had to high-tail it after you, that night camp got over-run? How it was pitch-black, and you didn't even hesitate? You're not scared of the dark, Harley. Don't lie to me. I don't want my friends to lie to me."

"You're ain't my friend." I groan. "Sophia is my friend. Glenn is my friend. My Dad is my friend. Not you."

"You know what?" Shane gives the door a shake. "Why is that, I wonder? Why am I not your friend, but he is?"

Finally, a question that isn't confusing.

"Because he's my Dad, that's why."

I expect Shane to answer straight away, but he doesn't. He just stands there, raising his brows higher and higher with each second that passes. I frown at him, waiting for him to do something. Eventually, he just shrugs. "That's it?" He sasses me. "That's all you got?"

Well... Yeah.

He's my Dad. Is that not enough?

"He protects me." I'm quick to add. "He makes sure I'm safe. He cares about me. He does up my buttons."

"Anybody can do that." He scoffs. "I can do that."

"No. No, you can't."

"Gimme one good reason why."

"'Cause you're a—"

"And don't gimme any more of that bastard cop nonsense, 'cause I don't wanna hear it. Gimme something real." He makes a fist and beats his knuckles against his breast pocket. "Somethin' from in here. Somethin' from the heart, Harley. Somethin' you haven't heard anybody else say first."

Stumped for words, I try wracking my brain. He's a bastard cop. No, I can't say that.

"Come on." Shane pressures me. "Somethin'. Gimme somethin'."

I go through all the reasons I shouldn't want Shane as a friend.

He's mean? No, Shane isn't mean. I had fun catching frogs with him, and he was even gonna build me a tyre swing before we got forced out of the quarry. He constantly puts himself in danger to provide for the group. He looked after Carl and Lori when Rick couldn't. No. He's not mean, but my Dad doesn't want me to be friends with him. My Dad's word is law. That's a good reason. Yeah. I'll say that.

"It's not allowed." I tell him. "That's why."

"What does that mean?" Shane scoffs. "Do you even know, or is this just him speaking again?"

Oh. It is. I'm just recycling things I've heard before.

Why am I doin' that?

Whatever. I'll think of something else.

"Uh—" I struggle. "You-? You're—?"

I can't come up with anything.

Shane shrugs. "You don't have anythin' else for me?"

"You're—"

A bastard cop.

It all comes down to those three same words.

"You're-You're-You're—" Shane mocks me. "Come on, girl. Think."

I give up.

"I can't, okay?" I finally snap, and in one big huff of anger, I throw my book at his chest. He was right. I can't think of any reason why I should hate him. Not even one. All my thoughts are my Dad's thoughts, and when I try to create new ones, it's just a twisted mess of words and ideas that have never even come outta my own mouth before, only in through my ears. It's just a trick. It's impossible. "You win, okay? There's no reason for me to hate you. S'that what you wanna hear?"

"Finally." He chuckles, picking my book up off the ground. "Good. Good girl. That's what I'm talkin' about."

He holds it out to me.

I snatch it off him.

"I don't hate you." I grouch. "Never did. You win."

"Nah, I think you won." Shane rests his hip against the door with his arms crossed. "You learnt somethin' new just now."

"What?"

He looks like he's proud of me when he says, "How to think for yourself."

How to think for yourself.

What does that mean?

My Dad never taught me how to do that, I don't think. He's taught me everything else I know, like how to skin fish, use a compass, and do up my laces, but he hasn't taught me this. Shane taught me this. I guess I've graduated from learning how to catch frogs. This is a little trickier, but I think I understand. Thinking for myself is like a game — Say something Dad has never told me to say. I don't think I'm very good at it.

I must look a little unsure, 'cause he reassures me, "This is good. This is the first step of somethin' really good for you, okay?"

"Really?" I ask.

Shane seems to know a lot about this.

"Really." He smiles. "Now does this mean you're gonna drop that whole I-hate-your-guts act?"

"Oh. Um..."

I really want to hate Shane. It makes everything so much easier. If we're not friends, then that means I don't have to listen to him talk about what happened at the CDC, and I never wanna talk about that again. But I said it myself, just now. There is no good reason to hate him. He ain't mean, he ain't bad at protecting people, and he definitely doesn't hate me back. He wants to be my friend.

If I don't accept, I'll just be making myself look like an idiot.

I guess he tricked me into becoming friends. I don't know how he did that, but it worked.

"Fine. I'll be your friend." I give in, smiling lightly. It feels a little like admitting defeat, but also like breaking free of something I was stuck in. I don't like hating people. If Dad didn't do it first, I don't think would have ever hated Shane. "But on one condition."

I hold up a finger, putting on a serious face.

Shane smiles, "Shoot."

He's looking at me like no matter what I say right now, he's already gotten what he wants.

"My Dad can't know."

This is very important. I might not hate Shane, even if I am still annoyed with him, but my Dad hates him. He also hated Ronnie, and Ronnie ended up in a grassy ditch in the woods behind our house, with his face beaten to a lumpy, sticky pulp. I don't want that to happen to Shane.

"You know, you're a very smart girl, Harley." Shane lowers his voice. "That's right. Your Dad can't know."

I nervously pick at the skin on my lip. "I've never kept a secret from my Dad before."

"That's alright." Shane soothes. "That's good. That means you're a good person. I'm a good person, too. But this here is our secret now, okay?"

"So, we're friends now? You promise not to tell?"

"That's right." He says. "I promise. You know why?"

"Why?"

"'Cause I won't ever do anythin' to put you in danger, Harley. I want you to remember that."

He puts his hand on my shoulder.

I won't let anything happen to you.

That's somethin' Dads say to kids. That's something my Dad's said to me. But Shane's not my Dad. He's not anybody's Dad.

When we first arrived at the quarry, I remember thinking that Shane and Lori were Carl's parents. Whenever the other kids wanted to play with Carl, they would always go ask permission from them, just like they'd ask permission from Carol if they wanted to play with Sophia. They'd also hover around him all day, making sure he wasn't getting into trouble, and put him in time-out when he was.

Only parents are allowed to do those things. 

I think Shane also thought he was Carl's Dad, 'cause when Rick returned and he wasn't allowed to do those things anymore, he seemed sad.

"Like... how you protected Carl?" I guess.

He gives me a squeeze before letting go.

"Yeah. A little like that."

"But why? Why do you wanna be friends so bad?"

He thinks about it for a minute.

Eventually, he settles on an answer.

"Because we both know it wasn't the dark you were afraid of, sweetheart." He tells me, sighing. "That's why."

I look down at my boots, embarrassed.

It wasn't the dark I was scared of. It was my Dad.

I guess Shane figured it out faster than I thought he would.

I hate that I can't lie to Shane like I can lie to myself. He must've been real good at interrogating people.

"Earlier, you asked me why I'm out here — Why I'm talking to you." Shane says now. I look up at him. "I'm doing it because no one else will. Not Rick. Not Lori. Not Glenn. Not Sophia. Not even your Dad. None of your other friends can help you the way I can, Harley, because they didn't see what happened in that room. They don't know, but I do. And that's very special to me, okay? It's special to me because it means I can help you. And I needed to make sure you were my friend before that can happen."

I start to frown. I do not want his help. That wasn't part of the deal.

Shane gives me a serious look, like he can tell what I want to say. "I know you don't want my help. I know you're angry. You're confused, and I get that. That's okay. But you need to understand that as your friend, I want what's best for you. And what's best for you, right now, is for you to realize that there is someone here who knows what you're going through. Someone who... just wants to help. Someone who's on your side."

I don't know how he plans on helping me. I don't wanna know, either. Cops puts people in jail. There's no jail anymore, but there is rope, and there are places to tie people up — Like shopping cart bays. Jim. I remember how he thrashed. I remember his screaming. I don't want Shane to get beaten, but I also don't want my Dad to get left. I have to choose one. I'm sick of choosing, but I have to. I know who I'm gonna pick.

"Shane, I know we're friends now, but my Dad is my number one friend." I really hope he understands. "Please don't do nothin'. Please don't help."

This makes Shane angry.

He licks his teeth; works his jaw.

I can tell he's already tryna puzzle out how he's gonna trick me into agreeing to this next.

"Please." I ask nicely. "We can still be friends. We can color together. I don't have my crayons no more, but I think Rick found some pencils, before. We can use those. I'll let you do my hair, too, if you want. We can even play tag. Just please don't take my Dad away."

When my Dad got taken away for killing Ronnie, I was sad almost every single day until he came back.

"I need him." I tell Shane. "I love him. Please don't help."

He just keeps giving me that angry look.

I recognize this look, I realize.

It's the look he gave my Dad at the CDC.

Blood-lust.

I realize I'm begging for the wrong thing.

Shane's not gonna take my Dad away.

He's gonna kill him, just like I thought. That's how he thinks he's gonna help.

"Wait." I frown. "I didn't mea—"

"What is going on here?"

I snap my mouth shut.

I look out the window. It's Dale, near the RV. He quirks one hairy eyebrow at us. I glance at Shane. I watch as he slowly re-directs that murderous look onto Dale, and I worry that something bad is going to happen. His veins pop out from his forearms as he grips the window.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Dale asks, disgusted. "Don't you realize what Daryl would do to you if he saw this?"

Shane's jaw muscle ticks.

"It's okay." I quickly intervene, holding up my book. "He was just askin' about my book."

It's true, he was.

At least, he was at first.

Dale ignores me.

"I'm sure he won't appreciate you sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, I can tell you that much for free."

Wow. He's pretty brave for sticking up to Shane like that.

"Welp. I wasn't askin', Dale." Shane laughs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head. He seems to think Dale's nothing more than a pesky little bug that he doesn't wanna deal with. He drops his hand. "You know what? I ain't doin' this. I got more important places to be."

He pushes himself off the truck.

"Nice shirt, kiddo." He mutters.

We watch him walk all the way back to the supermarket, one hand on his gun.

That didn't go so well.

As soon as Shane is back inside, Dale turns his suspicious eye on me. "What did he say to you?"

He wants to kill my Dad because he cares about me.

"Um. Nothin'."

"Are you sure?"

Aw, man. I don't like lying to Dale. He's so nice.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Okay," He lilts. "As long as it's not anything me or your Dad should know about."

Oh, God.

"Nope."

I put on my most convincing smile, like I'm posing for a picture.

He eyeballs me for what feels like forever, trying to decide if he believes me or not. I don't think he does. I know I should tell him the truth, but I can't. If Dale tells my Dad that Shane wants to kill him, he's gonna ask how he knows. He's gonna have to tell him that I was talking to Shane, and that just means I'm gonna get belted again. I'm tryna forget all about that, not have it happen all over again.

Besides, Dad already knows Shane wants to kill him, and he's not gonna do anything to put our new friendship at risk, anyway.

It's fine for now.

After a while, Dale gets sick of studying me, and he nods.

"Well, how about you come read your book in the RV? It's getting pretty hot out here."

He's not wrong. It's hot today.

"Oh, did you got that fan working?" I ask hopefully.

Like I said, we've found just about everything except for food — Even a new table fan, thanks to T-Dog.

"Sure did." Dale smiles. "It's working like a charm. Come check it out."

I hop out of the truck and into the soupy, summer heat.

"Can you read my book to me?"

He ruffles my hair. "Sure thing."

"You gotta do a funny voice for Scarface Claw. He's the evil cat."

He laughs.

Dale's a little different than Shane.

He doesn't have to ask to be my friend.

An hour later, the RV door opens.

I lift my head, the cool breeze from the fan fluttering across my face. I watch Rick stumble inside. He's drenched in so much sweat that it looks like he just took a long, hot bath in his clothes. He steals a rag from the drying rack and smothers his face in it. The little fan whirrs politely.

"Any luck out there?" Dale shakes out his newspaper, peering at Rick over his spectacles.

Rick tweaks the faucet on, shoves his head underneath it, and licks up the five little drips that come trickling out, moaning.

Gross.

"Doesn't look like you struck gold in the water department." Dale deadpans. "Any food, at least?"

Rick slides onto the floor, panting heavily.

When he peeks one eye open to glance at me, I belatedly turn the fan towards him, and he sighs in bliss.

"I just need a minute."

I'm literally fanning Rick off. I'm not sure if that's funny or not.

The RV door opens again.

My Dad walks in with Morales, both of them glistening like cuts of oily pork. Dad dumps his crossbow against the wall and crouches in front of the table. He turns his face this way and that against the breeze of the fan, ruffling out his wet hair. He gives my knee two pat, pats, to thank me. I smile just the littlest bit. Morales slumps on the kitchen, huffing and puffing.

Dale laughs at this weirdly entertaining sight. "So? Talk to me, here. What'd we find?"

Rick nudges my Dad out the way to feel the fan better.

"Scoured everythin'," He gulps, wiping his dripping brow. "Top to bottom, left to right. Hell, we even broke open the damn registers, but nothin'. Not even a chocolate coin. Cans were busted all over the floor. Rats were shittin' in the rice. Glenn almost got bit. Shane disappeared for a while; said he got cornered in the break room. Full-scale disaster, is what I'm tryna say."

Shane disappeared, alright, I think, glancing at Dale to try gauge his thoughts.

He just shakes his head.

"I take it we're not considering rat-casserole, yet?" He asks.

"Nah. Trust me, we would'a." My Dad scoffs. "But the dead ones were already chewin' on 'em."

Ew.

I think I'd rather eat frog legs.

Morales gestures My turn now, so I pivot the fan onto him next.

"I don't see how we're gonna make it to Fort Benning the way things are," Rick says. "But we can't keep doin' this."

"What's the plan, then?"

"We do what Shane suggested." He shrugs, looking around for objections. There aren't any, so he makes a cutting gesture with his open palm. "We power our way through to Fort Benning — Straight shot. We wipe our assess with leaves. We eat whatever game Daryl can find. We boil river water. We sleep in the cars. I'on care. I'm not risking our lives for this anymore. It's not worth it."

"Fan's pretty worth it." Morales sighs wistfully.

Dad side-eyes him, as if to say, You serious?

"And when we run out of gas?" Dale chimes in again. "RV's only gonna make it three more days, tops. And I don't even want to look at the radiator hose. It's hanging on by a thread, and barely, at that."

"We siphon." Rick simply says. "We drive and we don't stop unless it's to siphon or sleep. That's how it's gotta be from now on."

Drive, siphon, sleep.

Drive, siphon, sleep.

It don't sound fun or nothin', but it sure beats scavenge, scavenge, die.

"As for the hose," Rick rubs his sweaty, stubbly chin, before pointing at my Dad. "You're sittin' next to a mechanic. Daryl can do check-ups every few miles, and if somethin' really goes side-ways, we can just pull one from another car. There's a solution to every problem. Problems, I can handle. Full-scale disasters — Not so much. That's why I'm choosin' this. I believe we can do it."

This group is strong. It's like a glue that won't let up.

"As long as we don't gotta make more jerky." I mumble.

One by one, they all chuckle.

It's been a long day.

"Alright... Let's get a move on, then." Rick shakes his head tiredly as he stands back up again, against all odds, his smile a beacon.

The sun clips through the window like a golden floodlight, slowly sinking; slowly burning.

"We're runnin' outta daylight."

The fan continues to whirr like a happy kitten.

Author's Note.

Shane... the master manipulator!

That was one jam-packed conversation I had to get down, ahaha.

And Rick... I just love clowning on him every now and then. He's so corny and fun. The last scene in this chapter might be my favorite in the entire story so far, it's just so random and simple.

Please let me know what you thought about this chapter!!!

Sending love! :)

[kiittyfrey]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 (pre-apocalypse Daryl)

vamp! daryl dixon X re-encarnated lover! reader

𓉸ྀིsummary: you & your friends decide to go check out a not so abandoned manor, your friends were murdered but as for you..the only thing being murdered was that punani

𓉸ྀིsetting: Halloween night, early-mid eighties

𓉸ྀིwarnings: descriptions of violence, overstimulation, smut, breeding kink, degrading, p in v, fingering, (f)receiving & kissing.

𓉸ྀིa/n: his full vamp form is just like the lost boys & if this doesn’t flop I’ll definitely right more vamp daryl.♡

The cold late night air brushed past your already short costume causing a chill to go down your spine.

“I don’t think we should be here guys, what if we get caught.”you said wearily, your friend Cassie had invited you out to a Halloween party with her, her two friends Gemma & Barb and not to mention her boyfriend, Tyler.

they thought exploring an abandoned house would be more fun then the party so here you guys were, in the middle of no where.

“Oh don’t be such a scaredy cat, this looks like it’s been abandoned for years.”Cassie said, putting her arm around you and giving a tight squeeze.

“Yeah, why don’t you loosen up a little.” said Tyler as he tried handing you one of the many beers he carried.

giving him a disgusted side eye you quickly followed after them climbing over the vine covered wall.

Walking past the many wilted rose bushes as you made your way towards the heavy looking front doors.

The large houses walls were covered in the same vines, the windows seemed to be covered up and the many crows that seemed to flew away from the old building sent another chill down your spine.

“I really don’t think-“ you were suddenly cut off as a monstrous figure jumped out from the shadows tearing into tylers neck.

His blood splattered everywhere staining yours and Gemma’s faces.

you guys’s terrified screams quickly prompted you guys to push through the thick doors but once you got inside they swung shut, inevitably locking you all in.

“What the fuck was that?!” screamed barb, her and Gemma clung to each other as you looked around at the old ripped paintings that adorned the wall.

“It looked like some kind of overgrown wolf.” You murmured too focused on the face of the ripped painting in front of you

“Well I don’t wanna wait and find out I’m getting out of here.” said gemma as she was already running off some where into the darkness.

“wait..wait for me gem!” yelled barb as she scurried after her.

Cassie sat with her knees to her face as she stared dreamily at the floor, her cat makeup smudged from her crocodile tears.

“she’s right but for all we know that think could still be out there.” Holding your hand out to her you quickly help her up you two make your way through the eerily quiet house.

You and cassie had found stumbled upon a large living room with a velvety fabric couch, a fire place and many, many bookshelves.

Cassie immediately fell out onto the couch tired from all the crying she had done, You on the other hand started scanning the many rows of books.

Grabbing the one that stuck out the most to you, you started flipping through the many pages on animals.

‘Could this thing be some kind of wolf or bear?’you thought to yourself as you looked over the many animal pictures.

Letting an annoyed sigh you throw the book down, cradling your face in your hands you slowly start drifting off.

Well almost, the sound of terrified screams rang throughout the house causing Cassie to fall face first off the couch and you to practically jump five feet off the ground.

You both look at each other and quickly make your way towards the noise, coming to an abrupt holt to the sight of gemma and barbs mangled bodies being devoured.

A cold sweat covered your body as you slowly tried backing away from the scene unlike Cassie who let out an audible yelp at the sight of her friends half eaten body.

The thing quickly snapped its head towards you two causing you to grab her and b-line it through the many twists and turns of the never ending hallways.

The sound of fast, heavy footsteps right behind you two just had you scrambling faster to find a way out.

Stumbling back into the living room slamming the door locked as you quickly try to find any open windows or any way you guys could get out while Cassie just sat right back on the couch seemingly in a daze.

Tears ran down her face as she rocked herself back and forth “come on help me, don’t just sit there!” You yelled.

Grabbing one of the comweb covered chairs you use it to try to break the window but just as you finally get it to break the door burst open hitting the wall causing a loud bang to ring out.

“Cassie come on!” You yell, still trying to save this girl.

But unfortunately it got to her first, she fought back trying to scratch the monsters face as best as she could, her once fresh French tips were now chipped and covered in dirt, blood and who knows what.

jumping onto the beasts back you wrap your arms around its neck trying to get it to let go of the blonde haired girl.

Pulling at the monsters..hair? you pull as hard as you can, the moonlight now enveloped the once dark room.

The dim light now gave you a better look at the thing, well it didn’t look like a wild animal or even some kind of mutated beast. It was a man with slightly shaggy dark hair, his eyes a glowing yellow/red and his face contorted into a snarl showing off his sharp row of fangs.

All of these random memories started flashing through your mind, memories of the very man that was seemingly about to eat you alive.

You were quickly snapped out of it to you being thrown off of him causing you to hit you head against the side table blacking you out instantly.

waking up to the warm feeling of you being covered by a surprisingly soft blanket and the feeling of something pulling in your hair.

Snapping your eyes open you sit up too fast causing an intense headache to split through your head making you immediately lay back down to the sight of a small black cat, it’s green eyes staring right back into your (e/c) ones.

“how’d…you find me.” Said a gravely southern voice from the corner of the dimly lit room was the same man that had attacked you.

Scrambling to push yourself farther up against the headboard trying to put any kind of space between you two, you pulled the nearby pillow into your embrace trying to somehow use it as a shield.

moving closer to you his tall muscular figure had your stomach doing backflips, his long bangs covered his once glowing eyes were now a pretty shade of blue.

“Please, please let me go I..I won’t tell anyone I promise-“ a hearty almost giggle slipped from his lips as tears ran down your face.

“oh no, no ya can’t leave,” he said with a smile as he walked closer.

“I’ve been lookin’ f’ya f’centuries angel,” He said, his face a look of longing and relief, His hand cradled your face scanning over every inch of your face.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go now, don’t you remember me,” he said sadly, the look quickly washed away as he started pulling something out of his pocket.

It was a shiny necklace with a ruby red in the middle, he held the necklace up in front of you like a hypnotherapist.

“R’member this darlin’ it’s the necklace I gave ya the night we got married. ‘Married-‘ you thought but were briefly cut off by many more memories filling your head.

the next thing you knew you were under his skinny but built frame as he peppered kisses all over your neck and wherever else he could.

His hands and mouth worked at every dip and curve of your body, as he worked his way lower he hooks his finger onto your panties, slowly dragging them down and throwing them to god knows where.

Settling between your thighs he could help but nuzzle his face into your dripping core, breathing in your intoxicating sent.

“God, everytime I get a whiff of ya make my head spin.” He said, licking his lips as he dived into slick folds.

“Please don’t stop Dar,” you whimpered as he sucked up your juices like a vacuum

Encouraged by your eagerness, he dives in with renewed enthusiasm, his tongue delving even deeper into your core.

He laps at your folds, savoring the taste of you, before focusing on your clit. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her buck against his mouth.

“Mmm, ya taste even bett’r than I ‘magined,” he rumbles, the vibrations adding to the pleasure he's giving her. Daryl continues his assault, alternating between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, determined to drive you wild.

As he works you closer to the edge, he slides a finger inside you, curling it to hit that spot that made you see stars.

Your thighs trembling around his head as you near your climax. He doubles his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as he pumps his fingers faster and harder, wanting nothing more than to push you over the brink.

“Tha's it, baby,” he encourages, his voice muffled but still audible. “Let go f’a me. Come on my tongue like a good girl.”

You cry out as the coil in your belly snaps, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense pleasure. Daryl continues to lap at your puffy pussy, riding out your high and prolonging the ecstasy for as long as possible.

Only when you start to come down does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he gazes up at you with pure male satisfaction. Beautiful, he praises, his voice hoarse with want.

Daryl’s lips trail hot kisses along your neck as he presses his hard length against you, the heat of your bodies mingling together. He rocks his hips, grinding against you in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

A primal growl escapes his throat as his control snapping like a twig under the weight of his desire. With a swift motion, he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your over worked slick folds.

Looking into your eyes, Daryl searches for any sign of hesitation or doubt. When he finds none, he surges forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

“Oh fuck, yes,” he groans, his voice torn between pleasure and relief. “So perfect, so tight...”

Daryl sets a relentless pace, each stroke driving him deeper into your welcoming heat. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your ragged panting and the creak of the bed frame.

“J-Jesus, yes, don’t stop” you cried out in complete ecstasy.

He drives into you with renewed vigor, spurred on by your cries of pleasure. He could feel your aching cunt tightening around him, your walls fluttering as you teeter on the brink of release.

“Tha’s it, baby, “ he growls, his voice low and rough with lust. “Cum on m’cock like a good girl.”

Daryl reaches between your guys sweat-slicked bodies, finding your swollen clit. He rubs tight circles around the sensitive bud, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his own orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave. He spills himself deep within you, filling your overstimulates womb with his seed as you ride out the aftershocks together.

Daryl holds you close, feeling the tremors that run through your body as you came down from your high. He strokes your hair soothingly, whispering words of comfort and praise into your ear.

“Tha’ was beautiful, baby,” he coos, his voice warm with affection. You looked stunning, lost in the pleasure. “m’so proud of ya.”

[dollypopup]

Listen, I'm not going to go back and forth with you in the replies, @elovessomanythings, 1 because I can talk for days, and 2, because 3 replies in a row is a conversation, so let's converse.

Because I could not disagree with you more

"I do not read him as a villain. Villain of this story has always been Shonda and her completely fake sensitivity. As for your reading into C, you list so many events you've fictionalized based on a scene which funny enough was placed so we can look into Anthony's mindset and scars to understand why he makes such unreasonable, stubborn decisions. Betraying his own feelings and two other women along the way. They served their purpose. 1/2 2/2 Last season had far more better writing in terms of building leading man as a fully fleshed character. Not gonna get into the storyline. Shondaland is so hungry for soap opera angsts and toxic archetypes of the genre. In each and every turn writers choose to stir the pot, to provoke the audience than putting effort into refreshing ideas, memorable conversations. Each season has a monologue that goes viral and that's that. Deliberately shallow. I come across w a reddit post. Someone read and typed what Colin had written in his diary from a scene that showed it. A few lines of sentences are more poignant than 2 seasons plus 4 episode he has appeared. Why Pen doesn't read that but yet another sexcapade? Treating your own show "it went viral bc of Duke's nudity and +18 scenes so let's add a bunch of that" is insulting to the writers room if not anyone else. 🤷🏾‍♀️"

Frankly? I think you do not want to understand Colin as a character. And I don't understand why you feel the need to do so on my post, but fine, I'll bite. I've been loving Colin as a character since his season 1 days, and after over 40 fics and countless metas, you're far from the last person who has a bad faith take on him that I've had a conversation with. So, since you wanna walk with me, let's walk.

Could you please inform me as to the fictionalized events I've listed? Because everything is either from book canon or directly from the show itself. But if you just want to go with the show, the reality is that whilst the show has not given Colin explicit POV, (either 1: they didn't have the time to, or 2 (considerably more clever): to keep us from it as an audience because the entire point of Colin's character is that so much of it is a facade) you can still understand him as a character from Luke Newton's fantastic performance and the writing itself. It is very evident that he keeps so much himself locked away from others, and it has to do with his background. Sure, we don't have the explicit proof of his trauma via flashback. . .but we don't really need to.

It doesn't take a big jump to realize that a 12 year old boy who lost his father and then got sent off to school near immediately after doing so would be putting on personas to make his family, mired in grief, and those around him more tolerant of him. It isn't a huge stretch to realize that Colin is a middle child in a family of 8 and is always lost in the shuffle, so he's a bit of a loner in his own house, and that in being so, he'd do what he must to gain favor externally. It makes a lot of sense that when his mother fell into deep depression after losing her husband, and his brothers took on the lion's share of the familial responsibilities, Colin was lost in the fray and felt useless and lost.

We see that outwardly, he's happy Colin, charming Colin, Colin with a quip, Colin being helpful. We also see that inwardly, he's Colin crying on his bed. Colin grieving alone. Colin without a reply. Colin ignored for his interests so he stops discussing his interests. Colin saying 'yes. . .remarkable. . .as in, I seem to have many remarks about it'. We have seen his insecurities in small ways built to big ways throughout the entirety of his existence in the show, and yes, they're subtle, which is why Season 3 focusing so explicitly on his perspective is beautiful and I was LIVING for it. But since you want to throw Anthony and Season 2 into the loop, I think it's vital to bring up the fact that all you're saying about Anthony? and Season 2? That it "had far more better writing in terms of building leading man as a fully fleshed character"?

Yeah. That was an ENTIRE season to get the characterization and arc across. Colin has had 4 episodes. Sure, Colin has been in the cast for two seasons, but he wasn't really a secondary lead like Anthony was, where in Season 1 his role is more akin to Eloise's in Season 3: he has a lot of connections and a lot of POV because of it. But Colin largely exists on the outskirts until this season, and he doesn't get much in terms of focus of his struggles and concerns, only how others percieve him, and so what we know of him, we must glean through analysis of previous seasons and context of such, or through the direct POV of this one.

Yes, this show has soap opera archetypes. . .it's a drama based on a historical romance written in the 2000s. That's why we as the audience do meta analysis, that's why we dig into the characters. You accused me of overreading in the replies, but digging into characters and backstories and kernels of storyline and fleshing them out, that's half the joy of media consumption. I read deeply into him because I adore him and I see how phenomenal of a character he is, and I stand by the fact that his story is incredibly important to see on screen.

And of course Colin is going to have more fleshing out! He's only had 4 episodes of direct POV! And in those 4 episodes, less time than almost any of the main cast has had, we have seen so much of him. Colin has proven himself to be kind and generous and sensitive. His relationship to sex and sexuality is important to his storyline, and so yes, the journal entry in which he states he would like to be less needy and insecure but still hold true to the vulnerability that makes him who he is will be elaborated on more fully, but they had Penelope read how he experiences sex without intimacy- how he feels distance even in what should be an incredibly close act. That's not a throwaway line to his story. I love his journal entry about his insecurity, how it states aloud how he feels.

But also. . .it is elaborated on in the show. Colin putting on a persona is proof of this. Colin's journey throughout the seasons is showing this sentiment. Colin coming to apologize to Penelope after he tells her he misses her and she informs she overheard him (a clash of his true self and his societal persona) is proof that his gentle heart wins out. His telling Penelope that living for the approval of others whilst he is always literally masquerading FOR the approval of others. . .that is proof he is still insecure but would like to be less so. He says aloud he misses her. He very obviously puts on his mask. He even says the same lines to the debutantes! He is playing a role. A role of a pretty, perfect Prince Charming, arms length away from everyone. Everyone but Pen. Everyone but who he feels that intimate closeness with.

The show does not have to hand hold the audience through every single nuance. Colin *is* fleshed out. In the span of 4 episodes, Colin has done what no other male lead has done in the same amount of time: he has confronted his feelings, and he has acted on them openly and honestly. In Episode 4, Anthony proposed to Edwina, Kate's sister, instead of her, and informs Kate that she vexes him. In Episode 4, Simon insists he cannot marry Daphne, and is even willing to be shot by his best friend Anthony over it.

These men run from their feelings. And yes, they have reasons, but Colin also had reasons to run from his feelings.

And yet, unlike them. . .he runs toward them. He literally runs after his heart, and puts it all out on the table. Er. . .carriage seat? He kneels before his love interest after spending episodes trying to help her and telling her how wonderful she is, and he lays his feelings bare for her, not knowing she feels the same. He takes his own advice on bravery, he follows Penelope's boldness in asking him for intimacy and love, and he does the same. Colin hasn't even done his actual love confession yet!!! Yes, he has another one! This is just his 'I want to be with you' moment, imagine how we'll feel when he professes that he loves her?

I repeat: It's not even his love confession, yet. And already he's been so open and honest with his feelings. Colin is romantic and a dreamer, Colin is growing up and doing so in imperfect ways, coping by being a people pleaser to feel safe and accepted in his society, and then Colin, at only 22 years old, rejects his coping mechanism, and runs off after Penelope in full view of his entire society, breaks up a dance with a man everyone knows will propose, and emerges on the other side engaged to her. Colin is a decade younger than the previous leads, and has shown more emotional maturity than the both of them.

So, in short terms. . .miss me. Colin is fantastic. I won't budge on that.

If your concerns with the show are about nudity and sex scenes. . .maybe it's time to find another show. Sex is a big part of Bridgerton and it's a large reason why people love it, and I'm not and never have been here for the puritanical rejection of sex and sexuality. It's a vital part of both Penelope and Colin's arcs this season, and it holds significance narratively. As Nicola states, these are not throwaway scenes. Each one means something and each one progress the story. For Colin, the brothel scenes are to indicate pre and post realizing his feelings. In the first, he is only there physically, and the second, he cannot even do that much. It is to represent how he rejects his society's expectation that sex for him as a man should be surface level and shallow, and he embraces that he wants love and connection over fast pleasure. That's why the carriage scene is so different: he maintains eye-contact, he is fully present, and he is fully connected to Penelope in a way he wasn't with anyone else.

I don't think it's that difficult to read unless you don't want to. But people who do not want to understand him will choose to purposefully misread him, or will choose to disregard him, as you have in many ways, but here's the rub: just because you don't see it doesn't mean it isn't there.

Colin's the kind of character where you have to scratch the surface of him to see all the beauty beneath the veneer. For those of us who do so, he is rich and complex and incredibly endearing and understandable. He is brilliant and kind, a wonderful male love lead, so much of the female gaze personified, and so so very relatable.

And for those who don't want to actually see him? Y'all are missing out

I truly cannot overstate just how much I adore Colin Bridgerton as a male love lead, and how important his story is, in particular in a current, modern reading. We live in a time of alpha male machismo that in many ways mirrors the sexism of the historical time period Colin is in, and we have a hero who explicitly rejects it. More than that, we have a hero who first tries on the persona, first tries to fit in, and then determines, with no outside influence and all on his own, that it's wrong. That he doesn't want to be like the men of his society, that he doesn't like the expectation of sex without love and commitment and connection, that he doesn't want to be 'one of the boys', even if it comes at their derision.

Because when Violet says he has always been her most sensitive child, when he has always considered others before himself, when he has always offered a joke or a moment of levity- for so long, he felt he had to. That there was no other choice.

Colin Bridgerton, The Great Pretender, is finally coming into the light.

Take my hand. Come walk with me.

Colin's arc is incredibly clear, and incredibly dear to me. We can track his progress throughout the seasons he has been in, but if we consider his backstory, it comes even more in clarity.

Piecing together a timeline with some influence from the books and loose historical accuracy, Colin loses his father at 12 and then is sent off to Eton. And he is a tiny thing when his father passes, shorter even than his 9 year old sister, Eloise.

(Yes, I checked!! He's half a head shorter than Eloise, and an entire head shorter than Daphne. This boy is SMALL)

So it makes a lot of sense to me that this is the start of his fake-it-to-make-it personality. He cannot grieve with his family in these circumstances, he's been sent off to school with other boys who are bigger and stronger than him, and he must realize relatively quickly that weakness in their eyes will never be tolerated. In fact, Eton was well known for corporal punishment and bullying during this time. Older boys were well known to mistreat the younger once, and considering just how small and soft-hearted Colin is, and just how vulnerable he is having lost his father-

Of course Colin would become a target of such.

And despite that, we meet him in Season 1 with an endearing earnestness and hopefulness in the world. Something inside him, something sweet and gentle and warm, thrives to live. And fights against grief to do so. How easy it would have been for him to lose his father and be bitter. How easy for him to see his father die from the steps of Aubrey Hall, to be sent to a boarding school away, and withdraw in on himself.

And yet, he doesn't.

At least, not in the way one would suspect. Instead, Colin becomes a chronic people pleaser. If the people around him are happy, then he will be safe. Will not be hurt. And they have no space for his own hurt, regardless. There's hardly even any space for his mirth, as most people didn't even reply to his letters on his travels the previous season.

In Colin's confession in Season 3, he says 'I have spent so long trying to feel less', and this numbing begins early in his life. He's a consummate gentleman in Season 1. He does everything by the book, everything as he should. He wants to be accepted in his society, wants to be taken seriously, wants to belong. So he sees a pretty woman, and he gets along with her well enough, and he courts her. Openly, honestly, in full view. It isn't a heart-stopping love, but he has numbed himself for years at this point, so affection will do, and if proper men of his society are married, well, maybe he'd finally be taken seriously.

And yet, no one notices him, even still. No one except Penelope. His own mother doesn't recognize his behavior, and worries for him after she does. How long has it been since she's actually seen him? We know from the show that he's incredibly close to his mother, and loves her dearly, but we also know that after Edmund's passing, Violet was mired in grief and post-partum depression. Colin misses much of this as a firsthand witness since he's at school, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't be able to tell, wouldn't be affected by losing his mother and father in one fell swoop. In fact, Colin loses his connection to the majority of his family in being sent to school so soon after the tragedy. So of course he comes back and he tries not to make waves. Tries to do things correctly.

His friction with Anthony proves time and time again that nothing he does is entirely ever able to fully please him, and this causes contention in their brotherly bond. Of all the siblings, Anthony is arguably the most harsh with Colin. And he is also the model for who a man should be in the family, as the head of the family.

So when Anthony sees Colin earnestly try to marry, he scoffs him off. Accuses Colin of only wanting to marry to have sex, and then claiming "It is my fault. I should have taken you to brothels." This is the first on-screen shaming of Colin looking for connection before sex, and Colin doubles down. He wants to marry for love.

But he doesn't actually love Marina. Neither of them truly know each other, and so when it all blows up, and he is humiliated to the entirety of his community, Colin gets his first taste of romantic failure. He tried to do it right, and it ended more wrong than he could have ever imagined. So, maybe Anthony was right. Maybe he is just a foolish, green boy, who has no idea how to go about things. The fallout of his failed engagement echoes in the persona he puts on in Season 3, and the choices he undergoes during them. Is it any wonder he ends up going to brothels to have unfulfilling sex if even his own BROTHER, the head of his family, tells him to do so?

It doesn't happen right away, though. Despite the fact that no one truly checks on him or sees how this breakup effects him (Eloise dismisses the hurt he must feel in light of such events with an honestly rather accurate wave-away "Men are always less affected", and that is true), it is evident that he is NOT okay.

We leave Colin in Season 1 putting on a mask, a happy face to his family, a 'you inspired me' to Penelope, and then spends his travels sad. Depressed. Taking drugs to try to ease his mind, occupying himself with writing to Penelope. In Season 2, he spends the entirety of it trying to be useful. And he does this with Penelope. He feels deeply for her, he cares so much for her, and he even says it to her aloud 'You are special to me' and 'I will always look after you' and how he could never give her up. Season 2 is a season of healing for Colin- he closes his chapter with Marina with a relationship post-mortum conversation after he does a wellness check to make sure she's alive (let's be real here, no one else was going to reach out to her. She made it clear to him that even her own father didn't want her), makes amends with Will, proves himself useful to Penelope, and departs on a high: he thinks he threaded the needle. He thinks he was successful sending Jack off, that he made Penelope happy, and that he's in with The Boys.

But whilst the person he is around Penelope is genuine, the person he is around these men are not. We know from Season 3 that they don't actually like him. They make snide, underhanded comments toward him, and laugh at him. I stand by the idea that end of season 2 is Fife and Co. laughing at Penelope AND laughing at Colin. They don't care about their friendship, they're teasing him for caring about her so openly, and Colin is protective of the relationship he has with Penelope. So he makes a comment for the boys, and puts on his mask. 'I would never court Penelope Featherington' (look, I'm just like you. I walk like you, talk like you, speak like you) 'Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife' (I am one of you one of you one of you- so why does it feel so hollow?)

He gets, now, his first taste of acceptance from them. They come to him to Mondrich's bar, he repays his slight against him, and he feels he is one of them. (Does he truly *want* to be one of them?) And so when we open Season 3, it's a smooth progression.

Colin is walking the walk and talking the talk, and yet his heart isn't in it. He's not one of these smarmy men, but he mimics them. Their behavior. In part, at least. Whilst Fife is out preying on 18 year old women in coat closets, Colin is telling gaggles of girls how pretty they are and how with such nice dresses, they're sure to find a husband. He makes it clear he's not an option, but that he doesn't mind being a fantasy. And Luke Newton does an amazing job making that clear: there are three sides of Colin. The Colin portrayed to his society in the light in good company (1) and the Colin portrayed to his society in the dark, in. . .less savory circles (aka: The Lads)(2), his 'armor' as his mum calls it. And finally, the most important but the one kept closest to the chest: the Colin of truth. The Colin who cries alone in his room after a breakup, the Colin who doesn't burden others with his feelings, the Colin who writes to Penelope, the Colin who loves deeply and feels deeply.

But his society has no use for a man like the real Colin, they do not *want* a man like real Colin, so he puts it under lock and key. And so much of this is centered around his feelings about sex, so here comes my 'Colin is Queer' soapbox. Colin does not experience sexual attraction like the rest of the men of the ton. He is expected to find it casual and be cavalier about it. To just want to fuck for the sake of fucking. But Colin needs love and romance and connection to actually enjoy sexual interactions. Nowadays, we recognize this as being on the asexual spectrum, of being demisexual, but he didn't have words for that in the time period he's in, so he has to forge ahead to figure himself out without a community identity to find solidarity with. That's what makes the brothel scenes so interesting as a narrative device: in the first, he's masking even in the midst of it, and in the second, he can't. After kissing Penelope, he finally, for the first time in his life, has a sexual interaction that means something to him.

It's the first one he truly enjoys, and the first one that feels right to him. It clicks for him that oh, that's what it's meant to be like. And the strain of that realization whilst still having to be what his society expects of him puts immense stress on his shoulders. You see how he grows more and more uncomfortable about the conversations, until finally he rejects it outright.

Even when it's very much not encouraged for him to do so. He's even told "You are much more fun this season." That's why he hides himself. From near everyone, even his family, even his brothers. It's telling how Anthony's positive interaction with Colin is when they're at the club, and Anthony praises him for his most recent attention. Have we seen much of Anthony being proud of Colin, otherwise? Not really. So he's reinforced in his persona. Doesn't boast of his travels because it didn't have anyone liking him for it, before. Doesn't even say how many cities he's gone to. Except with Penelope.

In the books, there's a line about their kiss, referencing how his world will never be the same. And it won't be. Because when Colin says that she helps him see the world in new ways, it's in a multitude of meanings.

Penelope refuses to let him wear the mask, because in truth, Penelope is the only one who doesn't like it. Not only does she see the real Colin, but she enjoys the real Colin. Whilst everyone else is simpering over Colin's new look and attitude, rejects who he is in reality, Penelope dismisses it, wants the person she knows him to be instead. It's only when he strips down the facades that Penelope allows him into her life again. And her Whistledown article was harsh, but it was also true. He *is* masking. He *is* putting on a persona and a role. But she was wrong when she asked if Colin even knows which is real: Colin knows very well which is real. And he also knows the realities of him haven't been accepted.

When Colin tells Penelope charm can be taught, he speaks from experience. When he says 'living for the expectations of others is a trap' it is because he has already fallen into it, and if he can't dig himself out, maybe he can keep her from it. Colin tells her 'you do not need lessons' and that she is fine exactly as she is, because just as she sees the real him and loves him, he sees the real her, and loves her, too. But they both live in the constraints of their society, and so they both put on the masquerade. Even sometimes to hide from each other.

The current climax of his arc is when he's out with the lads, after they all go off to the brothel again, and he disassociates from the experience. Playing cards and insisting on sharing sexual exploits, to which he does not want to take part, and makes a lighthearted dig at them. 'There is no gentleman at this table'. He includes himself in that, and then clarifies. He speaks aloud for the first time to them the truth of his heart- 'Do you not ever tire of the expectation to remain cavalier about the one thing in life that holds genuine meaning? Do you not find it lonely?' Can it really only just be him?

And it is. Or, maybe it isn't, but the rest of them aren't brave enough to admit it, so they're okay in making him feel like it is, in outcasting him for being a romantic, for caring about a woman beyond what she can provide for him sexually. Colin professes he doesn't like who he's become, doesn't like the expectations for him to behave the way he has, and they laugh at him. Again. He is made fun of, again.

He goes home and he falls in his bed and he feels like he lost it all. Lost Penelope to his own advice, and lost his newfound shine in his community. But when he's faced with which one matters more to him, he chooses Penelope. Unhesitatingly.

Colin chooses to be sensitive. He chooses to be a warm-hearted, gentle man in a society that prefers sexist machismo. Act one way in the light and another in the shadows. Colin wants to live authentically, as a man he doesn't really have a role model for. He is brave and he is tender, he sees the sexism of his society and he rejects it. He sees the importance Penelope has in his life, the way she makes him feel, and he embraces her wholeheartedly. He wants love and romance, he wants connection and meaning.

Colin, The Great Pretender, sick of pretending. Colin, walking into that ballroom and giving Fife the cut direct when he invites him out. Colin, cutting into a dance in the middle of a ball between Penelope and a man the entire city knows is about to propose. Colin staring deeply into her eyes with such unfiltered longing even *Cressida* can't help but notice what's going on. Colin running off after Penelope in full view of his society, outrunning a *carriage* to see her. Begging her to let him in. Colin on his knees, all but flaying his chest open for Penelope to see his heart. Colin made a choice when that candle flickered out, and his choice was Penelope. His choice was himself. And his choice was to flip off societal expectation and to live for love, damn the consequences.

I think our own world would be a better place if modern men took his example, too. Colin Bridgerton as male love lead in Bridgerton, a global show, is such a refreshing, wonderful example. A man who tried to be like what the world wanted, and who decided to go against the gender norms of his time. A man who prioritizes the woman he loves, who risks ridicule in doing so and comes to realize that he doesn't care. He doesn't care anymore about being one of the boys, one of the lads, one of the guys. Fuck his society if his society can't recognize the beauty of what he feels with Pen. He cares about being the best self he can be. And that best self is around Penelope, inspired by Penelope.

Because how he is with Penelope? God, I could swoon. At every turn, he prioritizes her comfort and personhood. He validates her, he sees her in beautiful, positive light and he helps her see herself that way, too. He encourages her to be brave because he already feels she is, he refuses to let her call herself stupid or a laughingstock, he apologizes without excuses, he checks in on her every step of the way. He's so passionate in that carriage, he's burning for her, he's yearning, but he doesn't do anything until she agrees for him to. He confesses his feelings and when she says they're friends, he backs off. He listens, he cares. He apologizes for overstepping her boundaries, and then when she gives him her consent, the only thing on his mind is showing how much he wants and appreciates her by providing her pleasure. Colin, the people pleaser, dedicated only to pleasing two people in that moment: Penelope, and himself. Because he wants to do that, to give her an orgasm that exists just for her. He's a witness to it, and that's pleasure for him, too. He waits for her nod of consent, he revels in seeing her enjoying herself. And the aftercare- I could cry.

Colin is a man who had every single reason not to be a kind, sensitive soul, and still he chose it. Chose to share it because the headline, even a wallflower can bloom, that's not just for Penelope.

It's for Colin, too.

[dxwnfxll]

Since I no longer have twitter I wanted to remake this post here cause I like spouting off ideas for sims 🤠

So these are some random ideas I've had for sims

- The ability to find out peoples 'birthday' like when you become friends with someone you can ask them when their birthday is, then how many days until they age up will appear in their profile OR their birthday will show up on the calendar

- Future expansion pack, just like the one in sims 3 where you can meet your descendants and go into the future

- This one has been suggested a lot but Fairy pack, we NEED fairies 🙏

- More toys for kids AND toddlers, I'm talking like play houses, toy ovens, imaginary friend doll (which is from sims 2 i think), dolls, more outside toys, maybe jump ropes? And as for Toddlers we should have more learning stuff like you'd see in the baby aisle, maybe a play pen to put them in?

- More stuff for teens, skateboards, arcades, roller skating, etc would be super cool to add. Maybe even the ability to actually go to teen parties and have things you need to do, teens being able to run away again and maybe making some jobs that teens can have similar to the doctor or actor career (where you actually go to the place and have things you need to do)

- we could def use some fashion in the game like gothic, emo, scene, y2k etc along with haircuts that would match, i've been dying to have a scene sim in the game

- Burglars.

- Heterochromia, vitiligo, eczema etc mainly more small details you can add to sims bodies/faces would be nice

- more jobs where you have the choice to teleport with your sim

- Preteens 🙏 Please, it would be amazing if we had that awkward stage, middle school, first crushes, etc it just feels awkward to go from a kid that looks maybe 8-10 then immediately leap to a teen that looks 15-18 😿

- Being able to teleport to any school, like we can follow kids to elementary and preteens (if we get them) to middle school

- Theme park/Parade pack, sims could def do it since we technically have a small one with the high school years pack. But it'd be awesome if we could get a pack that only focuses on theme parks. Maybe it can be a new vacation spot or maybe you can build your own theme park? If that doesn't work then maybe parades could be added, would be cool to go to an event that's a chinese new years parade or a pride parade

That's about it for now, just wanna clarify this isn't me bashing the sim devs these are just ideas i think would be cool to implement into the game !!

[silksdream]

*      🔎      ›      𝐀      𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐒𝐄      𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎      𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄      ﹕      THE      HONEYDRAG      CINEMATIC      UNIVERSE      .

ELEANOR      &      COBAIN      ,      dir      .      @goldwingd      .

[b1as1an-souya]

Before I start I just want to say I like reading your work and if It’s alright, can I request the founders with a skater reader who is chill, is always getting injured cause they do a bunch of skating tricks without checking their surroundings, is always skating whenever they have the chances and is sometimes a jokester and would pretend that their like falling off their board only to go back into boarding stances to catch the toman members off guard (If that makes senses if it doesn’t im sorry). And you know that scene where mikey and Draken have some beaten up students lay on their stomachs I can imagine the doing something like reader pulling an ollie and jumping over a group of beaten up students. I can just imagine the founders hyping up reader when he’s skating. Also I do apologize if this is long

Hi! It’s nice to know that people appreciate and like to read my works<3 thanks for requesting me!

And i am super sorry for taking over a month to write this!

Skating & Gangs

Toman x male reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of beating people up.

[Name] was a reckless idiot. If any of the Toman members were around that boy they would honestly fear for their lives.

But [Name] wasn’t aware of that. Because he’s a fucking dumbass.

But other than that [Name] was a pretty chill dude.

Currently [Name] was skipping school with Mikey, Draken, And Baji. Well more like he was dragged out of school, but who really cares?

“Shouldn’t you lay off the skating for a while? You almost fractured your leg.” Draken asked looking at [Name]. “Nah, I’ll be fine! Anyways wanna see a new trick i learned?” [Name] smiled, getting the attention of Mikey and Baji.

They really liked watching you learn new tricks. They also liked watching you fall and bust your ass failing to show off the trick.

“Why not?” Mikey grinned. “Okay! But for this we’re gonna need to pay Takemichi a little visit!” [Name] said as he circled around his friends on his skateboard. “What the hell does Takemichi have to do with you doing a new skating trick?” Baji questioned, making you stop circling around your friends. “You’ll see! Anyways last one to Takemichi’s school has to attempt to ride my skateboard!” [Name] yelled leaving his friends confused.

“You’re cheating! You’re using a skateboard!” Mikey and yelled before running towards [Name], the other two following him.

Now the four were at Takemichi’s school waiting for [Name] to tell them what was going on. “Okay, Mikey, Baji, Draken, go and do your thing, I’ll be back!” [Name] said hoping off his skateboard and walking to Takemichi’s classroom.

“What the fuck does he mean by do our thing?” Baji muttered. “I don’t kn-” Draken said only to be cut off by some 3rd years who probably went to Takemichi’s school. “Shouldn’t you know that the Tokyo Manji Gang doesn’t belong here?” One of the third year’s asked, giving the three a death glare. “Oh! So that’s what he meant by doing our thing!” Baji said finally realizing what [Name] meant. “It took ya that long?” Mikey joked, before the three started to fight with the third years.

“Takemichi, come and play with me.” [Name] said before dragging Takemichi outside with him. “We’re in the middle of a class though!” His teacher yelled. “Don’t worry Sir, I’ll bring him back.” [Name] smiled as he walked out the classroom with a worried and confused Takemichi. “[Name]! You can’t just drag me out from a class like that!” Takemichi scolded. “Don’t worry about school! That’s not what I came to talk to ya about. I want you to check out this new trick I learned!” [Name] smiled.

“Wait huh?” Takemichi said, as he stopped walking making [Name] stop to. “You heard me! You get to see a [Name] exclusive, best seats in the house!” [Name] replied making Takemichi even more confused, but it was to late because him and [Name] were already walking out the building.

“What happened here!” Takemichi yelled out in confusion, looking at the third years from his school that were currently on the ground. “This is a school so we schooled em.” Draken said giving Takemichi a small smile. “Alright we’re almost ready the new trick I wanna show y’all!” [Name] said. “Please tell me you’re not gonna try and jump over these people [Name].” Baji asked giving [Name] the most tiredest look ever, but [Name] did not care.

“Yeah, no shit Baji!” [Name] said. “If you fall im not gonna help you!” Mikey laughed, only for [Name] to say, “Shut it I’m trying to focus, but I can’t do that if you’re talking!” [Name] seriously said.

After [Name] made sure that his skating gear was on properly, he got on his skateboard and started to skate. “Holy shit he’s actually doing it!” Takemichi said starring at [Name] in awe.

“There is no fucking way he just did that without falling.” Draken muttered. “You really underestimate me and my super awesome skating skills.” [Name] joked.

“Can I go back to class now?” Takemichi muttered. “Sure! Tell Hina I said hi!” [Name] smiled before walking off.

“I still can’t believe you did that shit and didn’t fall!” Baji laughed. “Shut up!” [Name] yelled punching Baji’s shoulder softly. “That was pretty cool though! You gotta teach me how you did that!” Cheered Mikey.

“No fucking way Mikey, that’s a [Name] exclusive, a one time thing!” [Name] said quickly shutting Mikey down.

“Danm it!” Mikey cried

10/01/22

[here2bbtstrash]

ahhhh i was SO EXCITED waiting for you to get to this one ivi 🥲 and i'm so glad you enjoyed it!! 💜

AHAHA i honestly was curious how many people thought the airplane bathroom sex scene was real 🙈 i love the build-up far too much to ever just start a chapter in the middle of sex!!!! but it was fun to trick y'all 🤪

ah yes 💀💀 the racism 💀💀💀

you're so right 🙆‍♀️ she's got her whole internal battle going on of being angry vs. trying not to be angry bc admitting she is would mean admitting she cares and is hurt - but then not being able to admit any of that just makes her all the more angry!!! and round and round. the forced proximity is just the cherry on top 😂

he's a MENACE 👹 always has been!!!! now he's just a menace in glasses!!!!!! 🥵

eeeee i appreciate the commentary about reader and her journey with this job!!! there's more to come on that in the next chapter, is all i'll say, but you were wise to pick up on it 🥲

JUNGKOOK AND HIS PERFECT POWERPOINT SLIDES 😭 i remember making myself actually sad when i wrote that line bc i missed writing him in this chapter, lmfao

omg thank you for all the love on the LA squad 🥰 i had so much fun with their dynamics, and this isn't the last we'll be seeing of them~

and yes 🥺 i liked sharing those little glimpses into reader's thoughts as yoongi creeps ever closer, and her struggles to say what she means without acting like she doesn't care. she's been hurt before! and she's scared! and it's all so confusing! i really feel for her 🫠

AHHHHH YES 🙈 yoongi being nervous makes me heuighdfkjgdfg - he doesn't wanna push her to do anything she doesn't want to do (and there's plenty of self-loathing, we'll get to that 🤪) and so when he's actually finally sharing a bed with her his brain is just !!!!!!!! 😭

eeeeee the morning sex 🥺 one of my fave moments in this whole series! and allllll the little moments of softness between them 🥺

I'M DRINKING COFFEE RN AND WHEN I TELL YOU I CHOKED AT WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT THE GRAMMYS I-- I WILL NOT BE SPEAKING FURTHER THANK U SO MUCH

you're SO right about those assholes, and yoongi being forced to be the bigger person when he has every right to go off on them 😩 especially of note that he seems to have much more practice shrugging off commentary that's not about reader 👀 ooooop~

aha hah hhahahaha we found the self loathing 🥲 yoongi trying so hard to get her to go after baby star candy (who, admittedly, is the perfect man - but she doesn't want him, yoongi!!!! 👹)

i'm so glad you enjoyed the karaoke scene 🥰 i loved writing it - and now, more importantly: HE SAID IT 😭 THE FEELINGS....... 😭

it makes me so happy to hear how you feel about reader's character in this one 🥺 i know she's polarizing to say the least (we'll see how you feel after chapter 10 💀) but i am proud of the way she's slowly grown over this series, and she's about to jump into a lot more of that in the final chapter!!! eeeee i can't wait to see what you think of the angst-fest of ch10, and of the finale once it's up!!! 🥰 thank you as always for reading and sharing your lovely feedback with me ivi!!! 💜

look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)

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

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: 16k 🙈

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

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

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

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck does that mean?!”

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You wear glasses?”

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

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

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

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

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

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

“Guess so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

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

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

“Is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, can I be honest?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am?”

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

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

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

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

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

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him. 

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

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

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue. 

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

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

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt. 

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

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

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older white men you can only assume to be American industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Don’t tell me— oppa gangnam style, right?” The man talking does his best approximation of Psy’s dance, and you consider crawling under the nearest table.

“Nah, come on, he’s obviously the one who did Parasite,” another guy laughs.

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you can’t seem to find your manners. “Oh good job, Yoongi, I see you found the fucking racists.” You don’t miss the smirk he tries to conceal.

There’s a loud reaction from all of the white men, who clearly seem more entertained than hurt by your dig. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

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

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

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

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

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

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

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

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.” 

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

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

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

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

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜

[nctsplug02]

Hey!! Love all your work btw!

Can I request a fluff dad!Yuta scene, if you're okay with writing it ofc :)

Thanks, love youuu ❤

[10:10am]

genre: fluff

warnings: nothing but fluff

note: thank you, my love! ilyanon

after yuta woke his daughter up and got her ready for the day, he brought her to the mall where he said she could get anything she wanted.

pika was confused on why her mother wasn’t coming along on the mini date. “daddy? how come mommy isn’t coming with us?” yuta chuckles and glances at her through his rearview mirror. “cause it’s a daddy and pika day.” she giggles and just nods.

“now,” yuta says as they enter the mall. “where should we go to first?” pika hums and perks when a store comes into mind.

“let’s go get something to drink! can we get strawberry and banana smoothies again?” yuta nods and shakes her hand. “anything you want, princess.”

off the two went to the NEO smoothies shop. where they ordered two small cups of strawberry and banana smoothies.

“okay, we’ve got your toys now. is there anywhere else you wanna go, or do you wanna go home?” pika hums, her eyes wandering around until they stop at a nail salon.

she giggles and looks up at her dad. “can we go paint our nails, daddy?” yuta looks straight ahead of him and notices the hot pink salon shop. it was labeled “NEOs nail shop”.

yuta looks down at his daughter. “of course, we can.” with giggles, his daughter guides him to the shop. as they wait for someone to become available, they look on the walls to see bottles of nail polish neatly ordered by colors.

“daddy! daddy! can i get that purple?!” his daughter points up.

yuta reaches forward. “this one?” she shakes her head.

“this one?” no.

“this one?” no.

“this one?” yes!

yuta grabs the sparkly dark purple and keeps it in his palm. “do you wanna pick out daddy’s nail color?” she nods and looks up again. “daddy, is it okay if i pick the color pink out for you?” yuta nods.

she giggles to herself before pointing up. “that color will look pretty on you.” yuta reaches up and grabs the neon pink nail polish. “will it?” he squats down and shows her the color which she nods to.

it had been a whole six hours of yuta and pika spending a great daddy and daughter time together. you were able to sleep in which when you had woken up and saw the time, you were mad that yuta didn’t wake you up until you saw the note he left you;

“good morning, baby— or afternoon. i took pika out for a daddy and daughter day just so you could get your beauty rest and so you could sleep in. we’ll be home soon! love you, baby.

~ your asshole husband, yuta.

the two had arrived home and they saw you sitting on the couch with a bowl of ice cream in your lap as you watched your show.

“welcome home, my two favorite people!” you welcome them with open arms after setting your bowl down.

“mommy! can i show you what daddy bought me?!” she squeals in excitement while holding her bags in her hands. “oh, why, of course you can!” you gasp.

she brings in her bags to the living room while you catch up with yuta. “welcome home, baby.” you ruffle his hair while leaning in slowly.

yuta grins, leaning in and pecking your lips. “how was your sleep, gorgeous? still sore from last night?” you squint your eyes. “it was great, thanks to you.” you lean up and press another kiss in his lips.

“mommy! look! can i show you my toys, now?” you pat his chest and make your way to the living room where your daughter had neatly ordered her toys.

she jumps in excitement when seeing you. “okay! this froggy bear is named after you!” she says holding up the green frog plushie from build-a-bear. “after me?” you walk over and sit in front by her toys.

“mhm!” she squeaks. “the teddy is supposed to remind me of you whenever i feel sad or.. scared!” you coo and lean forward, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

your daughter spent half an hour telling you about her toys and what they meant and why she got it. she only stopped because she felt hungry in the middle and left to eat.

“while she’s gone.. i wanna show you what i got for you.” yuta says bringing two bags over to you. “me? i thought this was a daddy and daughter day?” he hands the bag off to you.

your eyebrows raise when seeing the gift he had brought you. “red wine laced panties— set, oh?” you say analyzing the several sets he had bought you. “yes,” he nods confidently. “just a little gift as an apology for ripping the other set last night.” his shoulders shrug up as he laughs.

“a little gift?? yuta, this is like.. $200 in total?! victoria secret isn’t cheap.” he shrugs this time, confused. “was cheap to me? and no, it wasn’t $200.. it was $650 and two cents.” you sigh with a grin on your face.

you set the gift aside and you stand up, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a long kiss. “thank you, i love it.” he laughs softly and kisses you again.

“you wouldn’t understand the struggle i felt when picking those out.” you place a hand on his chest. “why? you didn’t know my size?” he shakes his head with a smirk. “just.. kept getting hard when thinking how sexy you’d look in them.” you scoff while he laughs and pulls away.

“nakamoto yuta! you’re a dirty man!” you scold.

yuta smirks, hands pinching your waist. “and look,” he holds his hand out and shows you the pretty neon pink color on his nails. “me and pika got our nails painted. she got purple and she picked out pink for me.”

your jaw hangs ajar when seeing that his middle and ringer finger was painted with the bright color. “nakamoto yuta, you did not!”

yuta nods and brings his hands back to your waist and pulls you to him. “i did too.” when he goes in for a kiss, your daughter interrupts.

“okay!” she says while chewing down her food. “i’m ready again!” she says while jumping down onto the ground. “so this one— mommy, look, please?” she asks when your attention wasn’t brought to her.

“oh, yes. i’m sorry.” you gently push yuta and make your way to the ground. “it’s okay, mommy! so this one, it’s an otter! i got it because it reminds me of my favorite uncle! shotaro!” she squeals hugging the plushie.

you coo, brushing her hair back. “i love uncle shotaro. he always brings me ice cream.” her shoulders rise up in excitement.

[cynettic]

Burning Things with Genshin Impact Characters

Summary - Burning things together, escaping burning buildings, and raiding Hilichurl camps <3 Ahh, the epitome of love.

Pairings - Chaotic Reader x Albedo / Venti / Ayaka / Scaramouche

Warnings - Mentions of fire, alcohol, suggestive themes, and uhm- ✨ c h a o s ✨

A/N - Bro- this is just my mental break after writing 6.9k of smut in my last post ;-; And my next two posts are supposed to be for Genshin women and their smut so… I need some cute fluff before I get into that.

Albedo

“Y/n… calm down.”

Urgent eyes darting over the vicinity of your apartment, you hardly spared the light haired boy a glance. “‘Calm down?’” You asked incredulously, flapping your arms around as if that would solve the issue of smolk. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet, but our house is ‘burning.’” The bits of ash stung your arms, smoke seething against your eyes.

“I’m aware, I’m just asking you to get off the windowsill.”

Looking down at your already prepped foot right on the metal of the only opening the room, you flashed him a glare. “Uhm… no? I’ll have you know I have things to do and places to be, I’m a very important-”

“‘Y/n,’” Albedo interrupted, exasperated. “Please, come here.”

“No!” You shot back, “‘You’ come here, you aren’t going down in flames with your lab experiment. No matter how important it was.”

You could slowly see the patience from Albedo’s face melt away. An incredible feat, it was far too bad you didnt have the time to admire his ticked off face. “And you plan to jump off and break a couple bones?

“Better than death by fire.”

This time, the alchemist simply pointed to the experiment table, unable to form words.

“Yes and? I already know you messed up your experiment.”

“And,” he continued, irritated. “The table is the only ‘damn’ thing on fire. ‘The only thing on fire.’ The entirety of the house is just ‘dandy.’ Now help me put it out.”

You removed your foot of the ledge. “Oh, now that you mention it…”

Albedo put a hand to his head, sigh escaping as he rubbed his temples. “You’re almost worse than Klee… no, scratch that. You’re worse. Klee wouldn't have run away, she has the decency to stick around and out the fire out.”

“I thought it as a life threatening situation!”

“Mhm,” he hummed, displeased. “Whatever you say, get over here.”

Venti

Your drunk figure stumbled across the plain of grass, arms outstretched as you spun around. The wind rushed past your face, cool against the heat that ran through your veins. You felt dizzy, the world spinning in circles around you.

“Hey!” You spun around, foot sliding around the grass as you struggled to keep yourself from falling back. “You- you over there.”

“Yes?” The bard spoke, whisking the alcohol bottle in his hand in circles. He too had chugged a few too many bottles, but nothing to get him as wasted as you were at the moment. “And I do have a name you know- I’m aware you’re drunk, but it still hurts to know you’ve forgotten it~”

Squinting your eyes, you racked your mind for a name. “Oh.. uh…” It took only a moment till the name flashed in your name, and with a giggle, you turned back around. “Venti!”

“Yes?” He responded, this time with a wide grin.

All that stretched in front of the two of you was a wide field of grass, a grand tree, and a hilichurl camp. The two of you were too far away to quickly make it to the tree, and far enough not to arouse any suspicion with the monsters.

Of course your focus was on the hilichurl encampment.

“Look!” You pointed to the wooden pillars perched upright, two or three hilichurls dancing around a fire. “Lets destroy it!”

Venti nearly choked on the beverage in his mouth, swallowing it before he let out a chuckle. “Destroy it?” he repeated bemused, staring at your knocked up state. “I’d be surprised if you managed to make your way there-”

As if to prove him wrong, you started sprinting.

“Uh oh- hey! That wasnt what I meant!!” And he was sent racing after you.

By the time you made it to the camp, the Hilichurls had taken notice of you. All three of them standing up with some kind of weapon in hand. Your joyous laugh sent shivers down their spine, wobbly walk making them back up.

You were ‘scaring’ them.

“C’mere,” you cooed, arms wide. “I don’t bite.”

“Yes you do,” Venti mumbled once catching up to you. Too low for your ears to catch.

When the hilichurls didnt move, you whirled around to grab the vodka from his hand. A high percentage of course, Venti couldnt get drunk on normal wine or too low of a vodka. With a squeak of surprise, he reached for the bottle.

But it was too late.

You’d throw the bottle right at the hilichurls, who dashed away right at that moment. They abandoned camp and sprinted towards the meadow to find some refuge in the trees.

But that wasnt the end of the chaos.

Oh no, the bottle just ‘had’ to spill its contents onto the grass. And well, knock over a torch light stand while it was at it, which meant what? Fire.

“Its burning!”

“Oh dear…”

Venti pulled you away from the camp, sending a gust of wind to pick up the remainder of whatever was burning and put it out. “What am I gonna do with you…” he whispered in a groan. You happily skipped alongside him, giggling at his remark. “My little menace.”

He made a mental note not to bring you to the tavern again.

Side note - No Hilichurls were harmed during the raid-

Ayaka

“‘I’m saving her.”’

Hanging on a tree just beside the Kamisato residency, you and Thoma crouched on a single branch, tipping from side to side to regain balance before falling. That wasn’t the main issue, because just beside you was Ayaka, trapped in a burning building as she frantically tried to put the fire out.

“I’m her bodyguard,” Thoma beside you seethed, pushing you lightly to get you to move. “Therefore its my jobs to protect her, move.”

You shoved back, “And she’s the girl I love, got an issue with that?” You stuck your tongue out, “Or maybe you’re just ‘jealous’, wanna play hero and get her to fall in love? Too bad, you know we’re a thing, get over it.”

“Do you ‘want’ me to hurt you?”

“No thanks, save that for your new girlfriend and your bsdm kinks.”

“HEY- I DONT HAVE-”

But you’d already jumped, grabbing with both hands onto the window ledge and hoisting yourself up. The smoke hit you, burning your eyes and making your nose scrunch up in distaste. If this was your first reaction- how was Ayaka?!

You looked around, spotting the girl trying to put out the fire. It wasnt a big one, in fact it was just the cooking stove and a tinge of the carpet was on actual fire. The rest was just too much smoke, and a coughing Ayaka spilling water over everything.

Racing over, you began stomping on the flames of the carpet. Noticing you, she put her attention on the stove, and the two of you managed to clear away all the fire in no time.

It was when she put her hand over her mouth to cough that you realized you needed to get her out of there. Picking her up with ease, you cradled her in your arms as you dashed to the window. You didnt want to know what the rest of the house, and if there was any more fire, Thoma could put it out right?

Unfortunately for you, that wasnt even your main worry as you made it to the window. Water had somehow made it just below the windowsill, and instead of jumping out with precision, you slipped you with Ayaka in your arms, screaming out in surprise.

So you did all you could do, tuck her in your arms with your back to the ground and hoped you didnt die.

“‘Umph’- holy you’re heavy.”

You weren’t dead but…

‘Being in Thoma’s arms is worse.’

His face said the same, so he dropped you and instead held Ayaka in his arms. You watched as his face morphed into one of worry and compassion, “Princess- are you alright?”

“I was the one who caught her!” You blurted from your position on the ground, stumbling up to stand.

“And I caught both of you,” he corrected, flashing her a grin before giving you a look of distaste. “By accident, it was by pure luck that you happened to be holding onto her.”

You flashed him the middle finger, “Well your jobs done, saved the day, now fuck off.”

“‘You’ fuck off.”

“You have no reason to be here.”

“And leave Ayaka with an incapable fool? How did you slip out of a ‘window?’”

“Water you dumbass, now let go of her before I beat the shit out of you-“

“Ha- I’d like to see you try.”

Meanwhile, Ayaka rest cradled against Thoma’s chest, a look that your bickering was getting to her, and that she was seriously getting ticked off.

“Can you both just ‘shut up?’”

Scaramouche

Everything was ‘burning.’

Scarlet flames licking the wooden planks, crackling as splintered logs came crashing down and silenced by the background screams. Chaos strewn from side to side, a contrast from the normal pace of your footsteps, the calm collected look on your face.

“That was fun,” you simply stated to the boy beside you, squeezing his hand. “We should do it again some other time.”

He squeezed your hand back, a gesture far beyond him. However, he didnt reply, just walking alongside you with your hands interlocked and casually walking away from the crime scene.

Side note - you could really tell I got hit by writers block on the last one ;-;

[afictionalwhor3]

I wanna request an angst for Chris Evans! Soo here it goes.

Reader caught Chris tangled in the sheet with another woman. Chris anticipated all the hurtful scene - screaming, crying and all but it didn’t came. She was calm and collected. He tried to beg her no to leave, she cave in. That’s what he thought. But in the middle of the night, whilst Chris is in deep sleep, she vanished. Until a year later, while Chris started looking for her again he came across her IG where she wrote about the unborn baby “I was ready to spend sleepless nights with you but I guess you’re not…”

Hey anonymous! Angst usually makes me cry, but in a weird way I thoroughly enjoyed writing this. I truly believe this is the best work I've done to date and I hope this is everything you could have wanted.

Warnings: Cheating. Curse words?

Word Count: 4.1k

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You sigh pulling into the driveway of yours and Chris’ shared home. You rest your head on the wheel taking a deep breath. The last few weeks have been crazy. Your job was opening a second location and you were going to run it. Because of that, you were the head of the committee that oversaw everything was okay and good for opening. Of course, that meant a lot of long hours at the office. Chris understood though. He had spent weeks away while filming, and he would support you in this big moment. He was incredibly proud of you and swore he would be there with you the day the building opened.

As it got closer and closer to opening day, it seemed like the days got more awful and more stressful. You take a look at the beautiful ring on your finger and smile. Most days the thought of coming home to Chris was the only that got you through. Big things were about to happen for the both of you. You were very excited about your growing future. Now, you can look forward to going inside and cuddling and ordering cheap take-out.

You take your keys out the ignition and grab your purse getting out of the car. You lock the doors making your way to the front door. If you were more alert you would’ve noticed the unfamiliar car parked across the street. If you were more alert you would’ve thought it odd the front door was unlocked. If you were more alert you would’ve thought something was wrong when you came in and saw Dodger desperately scratching at the glass sliding door. If you were more alert you would’ve picked up on the familiar sounds of your bed creaking. You could’ve prepared yourself for the scene when you opened the door.

The love of your life. On top of another woman. Your mind was running crazy. You couldn’t correctly string together one thought. You weren’t just angry, you were pissed. You were sad. You were hurt. All those emotions got lodged in your throat and burned your eyes. The skank under him just looked at you and smirked. You shook your head, there was no way you were about to cry now, no way. Chris noticed her gaze looking over his shoulder to see you. He immediately jumps away from her like that would stop the image that continued on replay in your head. You stood in the doorway as still as a statue. Your purse was still in your hand.

“Y/n. Y/n. I can explain this. I promise I can explain” He says grabbing his boxers and putting them on walking to you. You felt numb, usually, Chris walking towards you would put a smile on your face. Now you just wanted to smack him. The skank sits up that dumb smirk still on her lips,

“Maybe I should go,” She says her tone sultry. She makes a show of getting out of the bed, your bed, slowly. She puts on her pants and opts for Chris’ t-shirt, you were supposed to be the only one wearing his t-shirts. She swings her hips walking by you “I know my way out” She whispers as she goes by.

Chris knew you. He’s seen you mad, sad, and everything in between. He knew that when you got quiet, meant you were pissed off more than anything. He walks over cupping your face and making you look at him “Hey talk to me y/n. I can explain everything.” He couldn’t even be bothered to wipe the lipstick off his neck.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Chris. I’m leaving” You say calmly, placing your hands on his wrists, trying to move his hands, but he doesn’t budge.

“No, please listen. I love you y/n. That whorebag meant nothing. You have just been working so much. That’s no excuse, but I was lonely. My heart belongs to you. And only you. I promise that. I wouldn’t have put that ring on your finger if I thought anything different.” He says. You hear his words but you aren’t really processing them. You are comprising a plan of your own. You were hurt, and you were going to make sure you hurt him back.

“Okay.” Is all you say, keeping your composure. You weren’t going to yell or cry or scream (even though you really wanted to).

“Okay? We’re okay? You’ll stay?” Chris asks, smiling and you nod, forcing a sweet smile. He tried to kiss you, and that was a line too far. You pushed him away, shaking your head.

That night the two of you are laying in bed Chris has his arm across your stomach and his head on your shoulder “I know what I did was wrong y/n. I know I’m gonna have to regain your trust, but we’re going to be okay right?” He asks hopefully and looks up at you. His tone was scared and it almost made you feel bad. Almost. You smile right back saying,

“We’re going to be okay.”

Once you were sure Chris was in deep sleep you acted on the plan you crafted hours earlier. You slid out of his hold and packed all your stuff. Your clothes, toiletries, pictures, everything that said you lived here was gone. You were thinking about writing a note, but he didn’t deserve a note. Not when he stomped on your heart so hard it broke into a million little pieces. Before you left you took one last look at the engagement ring that felt heavy on your finger, but not in a good way. You placed it on Chris’ nightstand and walked out of his life.

1 year later

When you left Chris’ life went to shit. That morning he woke up he searched all over for you. Your stuff was out of the bathroom, your closet was empty, your car and keys were gone. When he got downstairs he found Dodger laying at the door whimpering.

He didn’t have the gall to tell his family you left him. Because then they would ask why. His family loved you. They didn’t find out until you sent out mail telling everyone the wedding was canceled. There were texts from friends and family. Knocks at the door, emails from the press asking for answers, but he answered none of them.

For a little while, that woman would come around again and again. Even though he didn’t want to, he would indulge in her. And every time it became more apparent she wasn’t you. She couldn’t make him as happy as you could, didn’t touch him the same way, and she was nowhere near as beautiful as you. Chris would spend nights on nights wondering how he messed up his life so bad.

Some days he would wake up pissed off. You lied to him. That night you told him you two would be okay. You promised you two would be okay. Chris knew he would have to earn your trust again, but he was willing to do it. He loved you. But then he remembered how bad he hurt you. And that fury turned back into the sadness he walked around with these days.

His vice became drinking. He read all the articles about the two of you. You were tight-lipped about the reason why so all they could do was speculate. This only fueled him to drink more. When he was drunk some days he could drown the thoughts of you. Most of the time you were all he could think about. Your smile, the way you would laugh, when you would grumble at him for waking you up too early. He would finish his days looking at the photos and videos of you that still lived on his phone and he would cry himself to sleep.

It was coming up on the year anniversary of the day you left. The day he ruined everything. When he tried to call you it said the line was disconnected. You changed your number. He asked your friends for it, but they refused. He even got as low to reach out to your job but they wouldn’t give it up. He hadn’t heard or seen anything about you in the last year. Isn’t it crazy how two people could be so in love, now they were nothing more than strangers.

It was another drunk night for him. Beer bottles littered his kitchen table. Dodger whimpered banging his empty food bowl before walking to his bed and curling into it. Even he had missed you. Tonight was worse than it had been since the day you left. He got the sudden urge that he had to find you. He had to know that you were okay. For his own selfish reasons, he needed to know that you didn’t move on.

The first couple of days he had tried to find your Instagram after you deleted your old one. He went back to Instagram and started typing a few name combinations. Chris knew you were a creature of habit and after a few tries, he found your new Insta. When he opened your profile he was shocked at how overwhelmed he was. There were so many pictures of you pregnant! And the last few had been of you and the same baby. He went to an older picture that looked like the baby had just been born. The caption read:

“I was ready to spend sleepless nights with you but I guess you weren’t. This is my story. My pregnancy might not have gone the way I thought it would, but I was definitely not alone. Now I am happy to introduce you all to Kai August y/l/n”

3 months ago

Chris read that paragraph over and over again. The words Kai and pregnancy bounced around his brain. You knew you were pregnant and never told him. He remembers that the two of you would say that if you ever had a boy you would name it Kai. You loved the name because you said it sounded happy and carefree. And that’s how you would want your son to be. Chris liked it because…. Well, you liked it. And Chris would do anything to make you happy. Until he didn’t.

Chris didn’t know what to do with himself. He was pissed off again. You knew you were pregnant and still left him. Then he was sad again. He hurt you so bad you didn’t even want him in your baby’s life. The baby didn’t even have his last name. He knew the baby was his. You weren’t like him, you were loyal, committed, you wouldn’t sleep with someone else. The timeline doesn’t match up for you to be with someone else and already have a baby. The timeline does fit for it to be his.

Chris scrolled through the newer pics and it was you and your baby. Mirror selfies of the two of you. Pictures in the park. You were living the life you two spent nights talking about. Except you were doing it without him. Chris was on a new mission now. He had to find your address. He had to find you. He didn’t even know if you were still in Boston.

Was it the right thing? Probably not, you moved away for a reason. But now that he knew he had a son in the world, he had to find you whether you wanted him to or not. Chris knew it would take some time because you made sure no one in Chris’ life would have access to that information. During that time he would become a man again. Even if you didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted to be a father to his son. He knew you wouldn’t let him do that in the state he was in. He sent a text to his manager and started his comeback.

First things first was he got back in contact with his family. He sat down with them and apologized for the way he’s treated them this past year and finally confessed to what he did. He could sense the disappointment, especially from his mom, but they were happier than ever to have him back in their lives. He didn’t want to tell them about Kai yet. Not until he saw you again.

Then, he stopped drinking. It was harder than he thought it was, but every time he wanted to drink he would play with Dodger or play the piano. He got back to doing those things again. He also got back in shape. Drinking every day came with the beer belly and Chris made it a goal to get back in shape. He shaved his beard down and shaved the hair with it. He needed this clean, fresh, look again.

His manager would constantly send him updates about where they were in finding where you lived, but it was proving harder than normal. You didn’t even live in Massachusetts anymore so they would have to look through every state. If they couldn’t find you then, well they would have to look international. And who knows how long that would take. You really didn’t want to be found. While Chris waited for updates, he went back to answering work emails and reading scripts. He was truly getting his life together again.

It had been eight weeks since he had sent his team on a mission to find you. Chris felt almost like himself again. There was a missing piece to his life and that was you. He was on the couch reading a script for a role he was thinking about going out for. Usually, he would talk to you about what you thought, but obviously, he couldn’t do that anymore. The saying that you don’t know what you truly have until it’s gone has never been truer for Chris. He knew how much he relied on you for advice and such. But he definitely took the little moments, like talking about a script, for granted. His phone rang and without looking at it he picked “Chris” He said still reading the script.

“Chris. It’s Nick. We found them” Is all he says and Chris drops the script.

“Where are they?” He asks standing up and quickly making his way to his room to pack a bag.

“New Jersey. She bought a house out there and has a new job. Chris I don’t want to sound like a bad guy but it looks like she is doing really well. We found out the little boy recently turned five months old, but there’s no way to tell if it’s yours. I can send you the address, but Chris are you sure you want to do this?” He asks. Chris knows he isn’t really thinking properly but he needed to see you.

“Yes. Can you get me the first flight out?” He asks hastily throwing things in a bag. He can hear Nick sigh but he agrees.

“Yeah. I’ll send over the information when I’m done” He says and hangs up.

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Chris has been in New Jersey for a week. He drives by the address every day. Sometimes he catches you leaving your house with the baby. You still look good. You just had a baby and somehow you looked even better than the day you two met.

Chris has performed for live audiences and been featured in blockbuster films. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to finally knock on your door. He was scared more than anything that you would slam the door in his face. Then he would be in the same place he was over a year ago. He knew at some point you would pick up on him constantly driving by, and you would probably call the police. It was Chris’ eighth day when he finally talked himself up to doing it. He pulled in front of your house and sat out there for 45 minutes talking himself up again. He checked his watch, 6:00 p.m, he looked at your front door. It was time.

Chris got out of the car taking a deep breath. He put his hands in his pockets after closing the door. It was cold in New Jersey in February. Nothing like Boston, but it was cold. He walked up to the pathway to the front door taking a deep breath and knocking twice. Chris’ heart hasn’t beaten this fast in his life. He could hear your footsteps approaching the door and you opened it.

“Sorry, how much do I owe you again?” You ask looking through your wallet laughing softly. Chris was dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe how close he was to you again. You still had the same laugh that made him smile ear to ear. You were so beautiful. There was this wonderful glow about you, and Chris didn’t know what else but you looked ethereal. At not hearing a response you look up the soft look leaving your face. He can see your eyes fill with anger and see you closing the door. He stops you,

“Please y/n. Don’t. At least hear me out.” Chris pleads.

“Chris!” You yell then take a deep breath. When he broke your heart a year ago you didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears, and you wouldn’t do that now. “I don’t even wanna know how you found my address. But Chris, I want nothing to do with you.” You say trying to close the door again and he stops you again. You groan frustrated looking at him,

“Then at least let me meet my son y/n.” Your body tenses up at this. He must have found your Instagram. Damnit you knew you should’ve made that page private. Deep down you knew you wanted him to find it and know you were doing fantastic without him. Now that he was in front of you, you were trying to think of a lie to tell him. But you knew no matter what you said Chris would know it was his.

“I want to be a father to him. You know how much I’ve wanted to be a dad and I don’t want him growing up without a dad when I can be in his life. I’m going to be a hundred percent honest with you. When you left I became a void. And I don’t want it to seem like I’m blaming you cause I’m not. I broke your heart and for that, I’m truly sorry. No woman has ever meant as much to me as you. I figured you didn’t want me, but I knew I had to become a man again and be a father to my son. I’ve spent the last eight weeks looking for you two. Trying to get my shit together again. Now all I want to do is meet my son at least. I know you y/n. I know he’s mine. On your own terms, I can hopefully get visitation. I’ll buy a house here. I don’t care y/n. I just want to be in his life.” Chris says panting. He’s been planning that speech for so long and it feels so good to finally say it.

You stand there processing everything he just said. Chris hurt you so much. You would never admit it, but you cried for weeks. Then you remembered you had a life groiwng in you, and there was no time to cry. You knew you had to make the best decision for not only you, but for your unborn child. At the time, it was getting the hell out of Boston and someway, somehow, you ended up in New Jersey. Then again here he was. He had spent the last eight weeks looking for you guys, and he looked good. You knew he wasn’t lying about getting his life together again. He was out here begging to be a father to your kid, he already planned for you to say no. How many moms out there wished the father of their kids would put this much effort into wanting to be in his kids lives. If you were being honest you wanted Kai to know his father. There was no tangible reason he couldn’t other than your own heartbreak. You take a deep breath looking at him.

“Listen to me and listen to me good Christopher,” You say. You only ever used his first name if you were super serious. “If it weren’t for that beautiful little boy in there I would most likely slap you and never talk to you again. Me and you? Nothing. But I will allow you to be in his life. I don’t know how long you’re in town for but you can come by and see him every day. Then we will figure out visitation. But there will be nothing between us. Point blank” You say and Chris nods. He is willing to take it. You step to the side and Chris enters the house. He didn’t realize how cold he was until he entered the warmth of your house.

Your house was nice. Spacious but not too big. Nice furniture, baby toys all over the place, pictures everywhere. He knew you loved pictures. You closed the door and Chris saw the coat rack hanging up his jacket.

“Follow me,” You say walking ahead of him and up the stairs. He could finally take you in. You had on yoga pants and a hoodie. Your favorite at-home outfit. He could tell after all this time that your body had changed, due to the baby, but you still looked good in his eye. You walked into a nursery painted blue with fish all over the walls. There was an obvious water theme going on. There is a white crib in the center of the room you walk over to. You lean down and see your baby boy’s eyes wide open and looking at you.

“Hello, my love. Were you waiting for mama?” You ask him as he starts kicking around happily. You smile big and pick him up. You place him on your hip and Chris takes a hesitant step forward. You take a deep breath still looking Kai, “Meet your daddy baby” You whisper to him and Kai stares at him. You knew he didn’t understand you, but you felt it was important for you to acknowledge Chris was Kai’s father. Chris walks over to you,

“Can I hold him?” Chris asks and you nod. You knew Chris knew how to hold a baby and you place him in his arms. You see tears come to Chris’ eyes and they just run down his face. He tries to stop them, but he knows there is no point. He feels himself letting all his emotions out. He unembarrassedly lets the tears stream down his face. You can’t help but feel your own tears burn you eyes. As much as you hated him for what he did to you, he was the love of your life. This moment was powerful enough to make a grown man cry, obviously.

“Hi. I’m your dad. I know I just met you but I love you so much” He says in a whisper his voice cracking as he looks down at him. Kai has on a red and white polka dot onesie you just changed him into before his nap. Chris uses a finger to rub his belly gently and Kai grabs his finger in both his little hands and Chris laughs softly. “I love you so much y/n. I didn’t think I would be able to feel more love than that for someone. But right now it feels like my heart is about to burst. I’ve never felt emotions like this before” He says looking at you tears still running down his face.

You walk over and put your head on his shoulder. You look down at Kai looking up at the two of you. No matter how much disdain you may have for him, or how much you both hurt each other, you two brought something beautiful into the world. For this small second in time, you would enjoy this beautiful moment with the two most important people in your life.

[mercurygguk]

winter soldier | jjk

genre; winter soldier/avengers au, angst/smut/fluff

pairing; winter soldier!jungkook x avenger!female reader

summary; the love of your life died during ww2, they honored his death. you had never imagined you’d ever see him again until you’d join him in death, but here he is and he’s trying to kill you. he’s not himself at all. you, however, insist that the man you used to know is still in there somewhere.

word count; 6,764

warnings; descriptions of war/battle/fight scenes, descriptions of scars, the rest of the avengers joins the party, reader is like Cap A but not like Cap A, you know??, jungkook looking hella hot with his long hair and steel arm, inspiration from ‘captain america: winter soldier’, swearing, SMUT; explicit sexual activities, oral (f. receiving), love making at its highest- nothing kinky, just plain ol’ sex

a/n; okay so um, i’m binge-watching the avengers movies atm and i was watching Captain America: Winter Soldier. i kid you not, throughout the entire movie i was imagining what jungkook would look like as the winter soldier- jungkook combined with superheroes is like the perfect story, amirite?? ;)) enjoy!

ps. once again, i didn’t proof read so ignore my possible mistakes lol

(for reference, this is what jungkook’s hair looks like in this fic)

War.

Terrorizing. Horrifying. Absolutely petrifying.

There are several words to use when talking about it, describing it, reliving it. Once you’ve experienced it, it will haunt you till the day you die and even beyond that. There isn’t much positive to take from it, not many positive memories come to you as you think back to the time during war. Only one positive memory returns to you from those dark times...

Him.

Him who did not fit in with the military services due to his lack of strength and speed. Him who never let anyone step upon him and evolved with the job. Him who never backed down from a challenge or an order given from the highest ranks. Him who had braveness unlike anyone, loyalty like no other, a will to fight for what’s worth it and to win. Him who made you fall for him without meaning to. Him who promised he would always come back to you, no matter what happened.

And then one day he didn’t. They had told you he went down in the fight, died for his country, for his team. He hadn’t hesitated to sacrifice himself, thrown himself towards the threat in the hopes of ending it for everyone once and for all. That he did. He killed himself in the process of saving everyone else.

A hero is what they had called him. Honored his name, saluting as they all stood facing his military photograph, serious faces and emotionless eyes all over. Tears had filled your eyes that day, but they didn't fall. You refused to let them. There was no way you would cry because of a liar. A coward, really. Anger kept you going, anger aimed at him. A rage so intense that you would convince yourself that you hated him. Some people would call you selfish, selfish for hating a man who sacrificed himself for everyone else. They were right. You were selfish. But love makes you selfish, and you loved him. So ridiculously much.

Years later, decades into the new century he remains as a positive yet heartbreaking and frustrating memory in your mind and heart. You haven’t aged a day thanks to the advanced technology and the project you offered to be the experiment of, in the end of the war. After his death and the war seeming more out of control than ever, you thought there wasn’t much more to live for, so you volunteered. A successful masterpiece, professor Kim had said as you regained consciousness on the lab table. You were his greatest, most succeeded experiment. You still are, except for the fact that Kim Namjoon is no longer walking among people on earth.

Now you’re living as the successful masterpiece he has created. Stronger, faster – young too even though your real age is something near 98. It doesn’t show. You look like any other 23-year-old but with extraordinary strength and speed. Being a part of a team as the Avengers truly has given you a meaning of life, a purpose that you didn’t feel you had before joining this outstanding team of superheroes as some would call you.

But as you stand here, in the middle of a battlefield that is scarily similar to those back in the 1940’s, you feel small. Gunshots fire around you, flying past your head and ringing in your ears. Explosions going off from the shots fired by Stark, Iron Man as he’s known as. The grounds breaking from the power of Thor’s hammer, the bad guys falling like flies in the hands of Widow. You’re watching it all unfold, breathing for a split second as robots are charging at you with red, glowing eyes.

For God’s sake, just how many of these are there?

Keeping yourself from rolling your eyes in pure annoyance, you set off running towards them with an unmatched speed, fists up and ready to take them out. One goes down after another, surrendering to your very angry, very powerful fists. Your patience is running thin as the robots keep appearing from left and right, setting their focus on you as demanded by whoever’s controlling them. A person you haven’t managed to find yet, but determined to hunt down and put a bullet through their head.

“Hey, Thor!” You call out to the nordic God flying around you, punching fists through robots and throwing his hammer at them. He glances your way, finding you surrounded by robots, too many for you to fight by yourself. “A lil hand here?”

He nods in response, immediately dropping to the ground and plunging his hammer into the asphalt on the ground, lightning seeping through the ground and into the robots, taking them down and splitting them in half. Thor throws a smug smirk at you before turning back around to fight another round of robots. You roll your eyes, about to run off when shots are being fired at you.

“Shit!” You hiss, running to hide behind a tipped-over truck while fishing out a gun from the strap around your thigh. You lean out, aiming in the direction of the shots. There is a man with long, dark hair, a black mask covering half his face and a silver arm that does not look familiar at all. The mysterious man steps onto the railing of the bridge he fired shots from, hard glare focused on you as he steps out and lets himself fall to the ground beneath the bridge. He lands on his feet, supporting himself with the silver fist into the asphalt. He stands to his height, walking straight towards you and leaving a mark in the asphalt where he had landed. Your eyes widen as he holds up a machine gun, opening fire at you as you scramble to run off while loading more shots into your gun.

Peeking around the corner of the brick building you’re hiding behind, you hold your gun up to aim at him. You fire a bullet, hitting his silver arm. He doesn’t budge, the bullet not even leaving a bump in the silver.

“What the-” you gape, firing shots again. He holds his silver hand up, the bullets bouncing off like they’re made of cotton, still walking towards you with eyes focused on you. There’s something about him that seems familiar – maybe his build? Or the way he walks? Or was it the slightly curly hair on top of his head? You can’t quite pin it as you watch him get closer, fists clenched tightly at his sides as if he’s ready to throw punches at you. You contemplate running to him, throwing the first punch at him before he gets to you. There is a slight hesitancy in your body as you can’t shake off how awfully familiar he seems the closer he gets to you. Knowing what the right thing to do is, you step out from your hiding spot, collecting all strength as you charge at him. A yell of anger and confusion rumbles from your chest as you jump on the last step, fist pulled back only for it to be forced forward and into the center of the mysterious man’s chest.

He stumbles back slightly, gaining his balance quickly before he steps closer, throwing a punch at you as well. You dodge, throwing your leg into his side in a strong kick. He grunts as he catches your leg, pulling on it to force you towards him. You ram into him, his clenched fist connecting with your jaw. You groan in pain as you fall to the ground, landing before his feet. Squinting at him, you watch as he kneels down over you, holding you down against the ground. As he stares at you, raising his hand to deliver a punch to your face again, you realize it as your eyes meet his. You gasp softly, not believing the sight in front of you. It’s a known fact that you would recognize those deep, brown eyes anywhere in any given moment.

“J-Jungkook?”

The sound of your voice, the sound of his name falling from your lips has him freezing for a split second. His eyes shift between yours as he slowly begins to sink his fist. But not even seconds later he’s raising his fist again and that’s when you can tell that he does not recognize you. He is looking at you as if you’re a complete stranger, like he didn’t spend the last year of his life telling you that he loved you more than life itself.

His gaze fills with the only feeling he feels, hatred. He moves to force his silver fist down and into your face, a face he used to call beautiful as he traced his finger tips along the edges. You barely dodge it, trying your very best to meet his eyes again as you call his name.

“Jungkook!” You fight the tears that are brimming your eyes as you continue to dodge his hits the best you can, “Hey! It’s me!”

He’s not holding off, continuing to throw punches at you and hitting the asphalt as you squirm in between his thighs. He’s impeccably strong, the asphalt cracking under the jabs of his fists. His thighs are keeping you in place as he pins you to the ground, your arms locked along your sides. You know he’ll punch you to death if you don’t get inside his head. It seems nearly impossible as his eyes are trained on you, emotionless and angry, only a small glimt of the man you used to know in them.

“____! Might wanna duck down a bit,” Tony shouts as he flies in your direction, his glowing hand aimed at Jungkook.

Your eyes widen in horror as you scramble together all the strength you have, throwing Jungkook off you and away from the deathly ray of light coming from Tony’s palm.

“No!”

The shot hits the asphalt a few meters away from you, nearly grazing Jungkook but it doesn’t, thankfully. Tony is shocked as he comes to a halt in the air, staring between Jungkook and you. You wave a hand at him. “I got him,” you assure him as you pant out breaths of air, nodding towards Widow and Thor, “go help the others.”

The man in the iron suit in front of you seems to hesitate for a second as he looks at you. He catches the pleading look on your face, glancing back at Jungkook for a moment before nodding at you once and flying in the direction of Widow and Thor, aiming his shots at the robots that are still coming from all sides. You turn your attention back to Jungkook, the body of the love of your life but not the eyes or mind of him.

“Jungkook,” you try again, slowly stepping closer as he stays still, slightly shocked that you had saved him from Iron Man’s deadly shot, “it’s me, ____.”

You’re begging, tone pleading him and hands up in surrender as you slowly step closer to him. He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling in deep breaths. His eyes are dark, cold and distant as you get even closer. He’s frozen in his spot. He seems confused behind that hard expression, confused because you look less terrified than you did before realizing who he is. He doesn’t flinch or move away from your hand as it inches closer to his face, reaching for the black mask on his face.

“Hey,” you softly say, hesitating to touch him as you let a single tear escape and roll down your cheek. Something flashes in his eyes as he looks into your wet eyes, a small hint of recognition, familiarity too. Maybe he remembers. You hope he does. He lets you pull the black mask off completely, the strong line of his jaw appearing in front of you as well as his pink lips you used to kiss so often in that hidden place you liked to meet almost every night. “It’s me,” you whisper, “it’s ____.”

You’re afraid you’re imagining things as tears build up in the corner of his eyes, his jaw tightening. It’s too much for him. The memories returning with full force, the emotions filling his chest and warming it for the first time in 70 years. He wants to cry. He doesn’t know whether it's happiness because you’re right here in front of him, after he thought he would never get to see you again as he took his last breath back in 1944, or sadness because he’s well aware that he almost killed you if you hadn’t pushed him off you.

“____?” His voice betrays him as it cracks, your name coming out in a croaked voice. More tears escape as you hear your name falling from his lips for the first time since that morning in the military camp where he said ‘see you soon’ and then never returned. He freezes as you throw yourself at him, arms wrapped around him as you pull him closer in a tight hug. The sniffles and muffled cries you let out breaks his emotionless, cold heart and filling it with a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye as he lets his own arms snake their way around your waist, hugging you just as tight as you hug him.

Relief.

That’s what he’s feeling.

Jungkook wanders around inside Stark’s office, eyes exploring things as he calmly runs his silver hand over them. You watch him from a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest. Worry is filling your entire body as his back is turned to you. He still doesn’t seem like himself. There is something about him that makes you anxious, something about him makes you wonder if he’ll turn at any moment, falling back into whatever sort of amnesia he has been experiencing for the past decades.

You jump in surprise when the door opens beside you, revealing Tony. He notices your jumbled state, giving you a small, half smile. You turn your eyes back to Jungkook who’s picking at an ancient-looking sculpture on Tony’s desk causing Tony to take a step closer.

“Hey! Buddy!” He calls out, catching Jungkook’s attention. “Don’t touch that, please. It’s antique.”

Jungkook steps away from the desk, hands up in mock surrender, emptiness in his eyes as if he couldn’t care less about Tony’s antique sculpture. No one really cared about that sculpture. It’s doomed to break at some point when it’s placed in his office, in the Avengers building.

“Tony,” you catch the attention of the older man, looking straight at him with hopeful, desperate eyes, “can you help him?”

He turns to face Jungkook, looking him over from head to toe. “Friday, give me a scan of whatever’s controlling Jungkook.”

Anticipated, you wait while biting a nail. Jungkook doesn’t move an inch as Friday scans him for anything to help Tony figure out a way to help. He’s glancing from Tony to you, his eyes meeting yours. Seconds. It takes seconds from his stare meeting yours to something flicking behind his dark brown irises, something inside of him snapping like the tips of someone’s fingers. Your eyes widen in panic as you move to stand between Tony and Jungkook.

“Tony!” You shout, moving fast as you try to get in between the two men. Tony has already activated his iron hand, catching Jungkook’s silver fist right before it hits him square in the face. You come to a halt, staring in surprise as Tony tightens his hold on Jungkook’s fist, forcing him to the ground. “Tony, please, don’t hurt him. He’s not in his right mind!”

“Oh, really?” Tony scoffs, sarcasm dripping from each word. A small yelp leaves your mouth as Tony kicks his knee up under Jungkook’s jaw, knocking him out. Jungkook falls limp to the floor, eyes closed as he’s kicked unconscious by Tony. You kneel down beside him, brushing his long strands of hair out of his face. He looks peaceful as he lays there, completely unconscious, and yet there’s a furrowed look on his face, like he’s never free from whatever that is controlling him. You sigh deeply, head dropping as you cradle Jungkook’s hand in your own. Tony’s palm rests on your shoulder. You glance up at him. He gives you a small, reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help him,” he tells you. You nod, knowing he spoke the truth.

“Thank you.”

The frustrated look and furrowed eyebrows are gone. He looks genuinely peaceful this time, long lashes resting on the top of his cheeks as he rests beneath the sheets on your bed. You can’t help yourself as you reach out, palm cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone in a soft caress. Hopefully you’ll have the love of your life back once he wakes up from the deep sleep Tony put him in.

You’re about to move away, retrieving your hand from his cheek just as you hear him whimper softly. Turning back to him, you watch as his lower lip begins to quiver, eyebrows furrowed tightly together. “No,” he whimpers again, head shaking in his sleep. “Please, no! Don’t!”

Worry fills you once again as you sit on the edge of the bed beside him, hands cupping his face between them. “Jungkook,” you softly call, trying your best to wake him without startling him. “Jungkook, my love, please wake up. Please!”

Startled, you gasp as his eyes shoot open, his lips parting as he gasps for air. He’s looking right into your startled, widened eyes. It takes a minute for him to realize who you are and where he is, the surroundings not seeming familiar at all, but it feels nice. The aura, the warmth and the dimmed lighting in the bedroom where he’s tucked under the sheets.

“Hey,” you breathe out as you smile, not sure what to say to him. Tony had made sure to help him, get whatever that was controlling him out of him, his head to himself now and slowly filling with memories, both good and bad ones. “How are you feeling?”

He groans as he moves to sit up. You help him straighten up, making sure he has a pillow for his back as he leans back against the head of the bed. He closes his eyes tightly together as he drops his head back, still trying to calm his erratic breathing. You sit back in the chair you had pulled to the bedside when you got here.

“I feel…” he begins, words feeling foreign on his tongue as he speaks with a croaking voice. He sighs deeply. This is a lot for his head to take in in just one day. “I feel like my head is about to explode.”

Your smile is careful as you look at him. “Makes sense,” you softly say, watching him glance at his arm only to notice the silver is still there, like he had hoped it would be gone. It’s easy to tell the arm itself is a symbol of a very dark time as he looks at it and then looks away from it. He isn’t fond of the silver arm, obviously having a love-hate relationship with it as it has given him power and strength he never had to begin with and problems he never voluntarily wanted in the first place. There’s pain in his eyes as he glances at you, shame as he cowers under your gaze.

You frown deeply. “What happened to you?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. He closes his eyes, not really wishing to go back to those dark times where his life was saved and changed for the worse. The dark times where he became a shadow of himself and a manipulated soldier, brainwashed to take orders from others.

“I, uh, I don’t think-“ he stumbles over his words.

You place your hand over his actual hand, your thumb brushing the skin there. He glances at where you’re touching him before looking up at you. You’re hurting, it’s easy to see. It’s not your own pain though, it’s his. You’re feeling pain for him, hurting because he went through things he never should have, things where death would’ve been much less painful. You want to kiss him, kiss it all better if that was possible.

“You can tell me,” you whisper, pleading him to confide in you, to tell you what happened to him all those years ago.

He sighs deeply, turning his hand over to wrap it around yours. A rush runs through your stomach as he grips onto your hand with a hold so tight that you find yourself promising him silently that you’ll never let go again by giving his hand a small squeeze.

“They found me a few days later,” he starts, gaze focusing on the way yours and his fingers intertwine with each other like they’re meant to do it, “in the ruins of buildings. I-I wasn’t fully awake when they did, only just coming to my senses again after the explosion that was meant to kill me.”

You’re focusing on his hand in yours now, not able to look into his eyes as he tells the story of how he ended up here, 70 years later, and still looking like himself but with longer hair and impeccable strength.

“I didn’t recognize them. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They took me to this place, a bunker or something like that. There was this huge laboratory inside with equipment way ahead of its time,” he looks confused as he relives the horrifying moments, “I was placed in a chair and the next thing I know they’re sawing my arm off-“

You whimper. “Oh, god,” tears dwell in your eyes as you grip his hand tightly.

“____, I have never felt as much pain as I did that day,” he looks you straight in the eye, the pain from that day flashing over his face as he recalls it, the feeling of it. “And all I could think about while they turned me into this- this monster… was that I lied to you.”

You shake your head in denial. “No, Jungkook,” you whisper, “you couldn’t know. You couldn’t.”

He offers you a small half-smile, remorse covering his features as he reaches up with his silver hand, careful as he lets the fingertips of it brush your hair out of your face.

“I’m sorry I gave you an empty promise,” he whispers, silver fingertips brushing against the side of your face. You cover it with your own hand, letting him cup your face in the cold silver. He leans closer, hissing lightly as pain shoots up the side of his torso. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come back to you like I promised.”

“You did though,” you sigh deeply, resting your forehead against his. “You’re right here.”

He nods softly, his eyes shifting between yours.. “and I won’t leave again,” he assures you before hesitating, shrugging as he adds; “unless you want me to.”

You chuckle through the tears that had built up in your eyes. He’s smiling at you as you reach up to cup his face in your palms, brushing your thumb across his cheeks. He’s watching you, still not quite believing that you’re here with him. After so long. 70 years of wondering if you’re still alive. 70 long years of wondering where you were in the world. 70 unbearable years of longing for your touch, your soft, plump lips that made his heart stop beating for a few seconds each time they would touch his in a kiss.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he whispers into the small gap of air space between you and him. “Each time I’d return from a mission and become myself again after being under mind-control, you were the first thing on my mind. To be honest, I don’t think you ever left it. You’ve always been there with me, in the deepest parts of my consciousness. You kept me sane during the missions, kept me from forgetting myself completely.”

Listening intently, you close your eyes as your thumbs continue to brush over the skin on his cheeks. He continues, a deep sigh falling from his lips and clashing against yours causing goosebumps to rise upon your body. You’re shocked that you have gone this far without smothering him in kisses. You don’t want to risk anything, waiting patiently for him to make the first move in the direction of more physical affection, whether it’s a touch of his hand, a hug or more.

“And when I realized it was you earlier today...” his voice cracks, “when I realized I almost killed you- I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that.”

“You can and you will,” you softly tell him, the undertone of your voice stern, “you didn’t kill me. You wouldn’t. You were gonna recognize me sooner or later.”

He exhales shakily. “You don’t know that,” he almost snaps, eyes closed tightly as he drops his silver hand from your face. He pulls away from your touch, the warmth of him disappearing the further he moves away. He’s not looking at you. Tears are threatening to spill as you stare back at him, lips slightly parted as you want to speak up. You want to tell him he’s wrong, but you already know that he will not take your words for what they are. He, and you, know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t pushed him off when you did.

“You’re right,” you say, catching his attention again. He barely glances at you, noticing the small remnants of tears in your eyes before looking back at his silver hand, clenching and unclenching it. A tear rolls down your cheek. “You’re so right, Jungkook. I don’t know if you would or not.”

You get up from the chair you’ve been sitting in since you brought him back to your apartment. Jungkook still refuses to look at you as you move onto the bed, crawling closer to him. You don’t hesitate as you lay a hand on his shoulder and throw a leg over his to straddle his lap. He finally looks at you, eyes slightly widened at your actions. His eyes meet teary ones again, his silver arm moving out of an old habit as he reaches up to wipe your tears away.

“But I like to think you would.”

Your lips press against his before he can reply to your words. Jungkook gasps and then grunts in response as you press your mouth to his, desperately and needy. His body freezes beneath you as you kiss him, tasting his lips for the first time in an unbearably long time. It takes him a while to realize that you’re kissing him, finally kissing you back as he cradles you in his arms, pulling you closer to his chest. The silver arm keeps a tight grip around your waist, holding you in place as the other runs up your thigh.

Pulling away, you gasp for air, letting your forehead rest against his. Jungkook is breathing heavily, his breath once again clashing against yours as you both catch your breath. Your eyes meet, seconds after he’s kissing you again, your tank top riding up as the silver arm keeps you tight against him. The silver touching your skin causes goosebumps to cover your skin, a chill running up your spine as you cup his face. His tongue licks against your bottom lip, you let him in. A moan escapes your lips as his tongue touches yours.

“I’ve been holding myself back ever since you woke up,” you whisper against his lips, making him smile as his hands slide under your top, pushing it up before pulling it over your head completely. You return to his lips, catching them with your own as you reach for the hem of his t-shirt. He helps you pull it off, your mind elsewhere as you throw it onto the floor. Your hands rake down his body, over the tensing muscles of his abdomen as he moves his kisses down your cheek and further under your jaw. Your breathing is ragged as you pull away, only a few inches so you can glance down at his torso. The sight horrifies you, your fingertips brushing over scars and healed wounds.

“Oh my god,” you whisper as you glance up at Jungkook, his eyes meeting yours for a few seconds before you look back at his chest. Your eyes wander, over his both small and larger scars to his silver arm. You feel your heart tightening as you take in the way the silver arm is sewed onto his body. You hesitate to reach up, Jungkook’s eyes on you as you let your shaking fingertips brush over the burned, scarred skin that keeps the silver arm attached. “I- This…”

His human hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. “I know,” he agrees without hearing the rest of the sentence. You look back at him, finding relief in his eyes as you rest your palms against his chest. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he then says.

“They literally cut off your arm,” you point out, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t even imagine how much pain he must’ve been in when they did this to him. “I wish I could have spared you this pain, spared you the torture you went through.”

He smiles softly. “I know, ____. But there's no way you possibly could’ve.”

You're carefully running your pointer finger along one of his scars when you look up at him, eyelashes framing your eyes so perfectly. He thinks you’re absolutely beautiful, even more so than the last time he saw you. You can’t do anything to stop the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I love you so much, Jungkook.”

His breathing stops for a second, his heart skipping a beat. He hasn’t heard those words since 1944. He didn’t even hear those words that morning you had sent him off, he hadn’t said those words when he promised to return. He should have. That way you’d never be in doubt of his love. He wonders if you’ve loved him since or if there has been anyone else in the meantime to love you the way he should’ve.

Silently, you watch him as his thoughts run one hundred miles per hour. Your palms are sliding from his chest to his shoulders and further up his neck to cup his face again. The love he feels is evident in his eyes as he focuses on you.

“I love you,” he whispers, carefully turning you over onto your back only for him to hover over you. You’re watching him, tingling in your stomach as you hear the words fall from his lips. He returns to kissing you, kissing the skin on your cheek, your neck and further down to the very top of your chest, right beneath the collarbones. He glances up at you as he kisses his way down the valley of your bra-covered chest. “I didn’t say it enough back then,” he mouths against your skin, another round of goosebumps rising beneath his lips, “I should have said it more. I’m sorry.”

You exhale deeply, arching your back into his touch as he reaches your navel and moves even further down to the waistband of your pants, your spandex pants that you so elegantly wear whenever you have a mission with the Avengers.

“Stop apologizing,” you breathe out, eyes closed as you succumb to his touch. The silver hand brushes over your stomach as it runs up to your chest, unclasping your bra on the front. It falls to the sides, revealing your perky nipples to the crisp air. You gasp softly as a silver hand brushes over both, the cold steel doing nothing but erecting them even more. “I've always hated it when you apologize.”

He smirks softly against your lower stomach, pressing one last kiss to the skin there before pulling the silver hand down to pull off your pants, and panties too. The pants are barely on the floor before he returns to your lower abdomen, kisses being spread across your hip bones and pubic bone. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his long hair as he runs his hands up the inside of your thighs. He spreads your legs, revealing your throbbing core to him.

“God, I missed this,” he breathed out, the air of his words hitting your wet folds. “Having you like this, all to myself.”

You whine from above him. “Jungkook,” you whimper, “please.”

It doesn’t take more for him to lean closer, tongue licking a stripe up between your folds and to your clit, his silver arm sliding across your abdomen to keep you down as he eats you out for the first time in decades. One would think he had lost his touch and knowledge of a woman’s body, but you can say that he certainly didn’t as he roots himself between your legs, tongue licking your wetness and prodding at the entrance.

“Oh god,” you moan, softly gasping for air as his human hand rests on top of your one thigh, fingers digging into the flesh there. You’re in heaven, on the ninth cloud as he slurps your arousal, licking your folds and clit as if his life depended on it. “Fuck, Jungkook!”

The sound of your name toppling from your lips as he hits a certain nerve makes his body flush with a warmth he almost forgot what feels like. You’re writhing in the tight hold of his silver arm, squirming as he licks you to your release. The orgasm is approaching fast and hard, Jungkook being the sole reason for it. No one could ever get you there as fast as him.

“I’m s-so close- oh!,” you pant, your walls clenching as Jungkook’s actual fingers slide into you. He pumps his hand in and out of you in a pace that is perfectly building up your orgasm. He takes nothing but a glance into his eyes as he leans down to softly kiss your clit that you’re toppling over, hitting the wall of your orgasm. “J-jungkook, my god!”

You jerk away as he leans forward, tongue licking up your release, tasting it on his taste buds. He hums with a small smile as he glances up at you, loving the way your eyes are almost bulging out of your head at the sight of him between your thighs. It takes nothing more than a few seconds before you shitting up, Jungkook meeting you halfway in a kiss. Tongues clash against each other, the taste of you on his tongue as he kisses you deeply, needingly.

“Please fuck me,” you mumble in between kisses, a desperate whining tone attached to your words. “Make love to me, Jungkook.”

He seals your words with a kiss, giving you a silent promise of doing just that. As if he’d lick you out and that would be it. No way.

You watch, teeth biting into your bottom lip, as he gets off the bed to remove the sweatpants you had dressed him in when you got back, getting him out of those military pants with belts and buckles all over them. His cock springs free, slaps against his abdomen as it stands proud into the air. A rush runs through your stomach at the sight, mouth slightly watering. Once the sweatpants and his boxers lie on the floor by his feet, he crawls back onto the bed. He moves closer, pushing you back onto your back as he hovers over you. You’re glancing at his silver arm for a mere split second, your hair reaching up to run along the hard edges of it. Jungkook can’t feel your touch but he’d like to imagine that he can as he watches your palm brushing over and further up to the nape of his neck. His eyes move back to lock with yours. You’re looking at him just like you did that last night of intimacy you had back in 1944, the night before he was sent off on a deathly mission. A huge wave of emotions hits him as he glances from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“I love you,” he softly says, eyebrows furrowed together as he looks at you, “so much, ____.”

You smile, pulling him down to meet you in a kiss. The kisses are soft, tender even as he reaches down to line himself up with your entrance. You gasp into his mouth as the tip of his cock prods at your folds. A hand of yours tangles back into his locks as he pushes inside, the tightness overwhelming for the both of you. He rests his forehead against yours, your breaths clashing together between you as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Shit,” he hisses, glancing down at your connecting hips. “Can i move?”

You nod your head, whispering, “yes.”

Jungkook watches the way your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pulls out and pushes back in, the sight causing him to do it again and again, wanting to see you lose yourself and succumb to the feeling of his cock brushing against your walls.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp as he gives you a particularly hard thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin as he hits that exact spot that makes you whimper out a soft, whiny moan. You’re clawing at his shoulders, his neck and chest as he sets a rhythm, keeping it steady as he grinds into you. He grabs your leg with his silver hand, helping you to wrap it around his waist. The other follows suit, locking with your other behind his back. He hits deep inside of you, his veiny cock sliding against your walls so deliciously.

It’s like that last night you had with him all over again just with more longing and more desperate kisses. Your stomach tingles with the overwhelming amount of emotions you’re feeling in this exact moment as you look up at him – his long hair slightly damp at the roots, his toned chest glistening in sweat as he works you both to a release, to a high you’re both so desperately in the need of.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans as you unawarely clench around his length, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Don’t do that or I’ll cum right now.”

“Sorry!” You squeak, chuckling as he eyes you with a small smirk. God, you wanna ride him so badly. “Oh, Jungkook,” you moan breathily as he hits your spot again. He’s watching you, eyes running over your face as it contorts in pure pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he grunts, leaning up on his hands to get a better angle. He rams his hips into you, his strength coming to show as he thrusts into you harder than ever before. The power of his thrusts have you seeing stars as your second orgasm nears you. Jungkook can feel it as you clinch repeatedly around him. He won’t last much longer if you continue to do that.

High pitched moans tumble from your parted lips as he speeds up his movements, desperately trying to get you over the edge before he topples over himself. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as you reach your high, the orgasm hitting you like a bullet.

“Oh my fucking god,” you moan, breathing ragged as he continues to fuck you to get himself to cum. His breathing is uneven, not matching his thrusts as all as he moves in and out a few more times before stilling inside of you, spilling his load and painting your walls inside.

“Fuck, I love you,” he breathes out as he drops his forehead to your collarbone. You’re smiling widely as you run your fingers from his shoulders and up into his hair. He lifts his head to look at you as you push his long, brown hair out of his face. You know him too well when he gives you a look, a small smirk on his lips. A joke is coming. You can just feel it. And you can’t help but grin at him as everything feels exactly like 1944 again. Also, you want to punch him for his next words:

“Not too bad for a 98-year-old, huh?”

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