#this is better and worse than the <3? tag ish

[bangtan-junkie]

Dissonance (Part 3) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (f) ft. Jimin

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Genre/Tags: coworker!JK, enemies to lovers, smutttttt, slow burn (ish?), ANGST

Word Count: 9028

Synopsis: Giving you what you wanted seemed to put more of a rift between you and Jungkook. How could you enjoy his every touch, but despise him for it at the same time? Now you were stuck working on a huge project together, adding to the tension building between you two. High tensions and deadlines finally brought things to a head, forcing some truth out of each of you. But somehow that only seemed to make things worse. You couldn't handle it anymore. You needed a distraction. And what better distraction than a certain pretty red-haired man that you worked with?

Note: the plot and smut might be equal for once lmfao. as always, i hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! (longer note at the end)

This time around, you didn't have the privilege of avoiding Jungkook. You were still very much stuck on the project with him, despite all the excuses you had tried to make to your boss. She was having non of it; determined to get you two working together. So, you grit your teeth, and for the sake of professionalism (mostly just to keep your job), you remained civil with him. Your job was made surprisingly easier by Jungkook. After your last encounter, he'd become distant and quiet. He was now only talking to you if he really needed to, and doing everything in his power to not be in the same room as you.

Jungkook was not happy. Despite giving you exactly what you wanted the last time, you still loathed him and he couldn't understand why. When you left that file room, he was quick to get himself off - still reeling from your taste, how you felt, your sweet moans. But even after climaxing, he was still rock hard. As much as he wanted to keep going, he knew he'd been gone for too long and someone would come looking for him soon. So, he fixed himself up as best as he could. He tucked his cock up into his waistband, tried to fix his collar, and ditched his stained blazer. The rest of the day, he seemed normal enough to everyone else, but he was all too aware of his arousal. Jungkook couldn't have gotten home quicker that night; immediately pulling your panties out of his pocket and his cock out of his pants. Once he finally felt satisfied and his hormones balanced out, that's when the reality of his thoughts hit him. He'd put up with so much of your shit; but you treated him like trash, started rumours about him, humiliated him at work and in front of your boss - all because you wanted him to touch you. And when he did just that, he was still the asshole at the end of the day somehow. Did you really hate him that much? The frustration that was building up in him wasn't healthy and he knew that. He couldn't help himself when you looked at him with so much defiance and self-righteousness. He just wanted to wipe that look off your face - put you in your place. Jungkook had to stop himself; stop giving you what you wanted every time. So he decided to distance himself.

You'd think you would've been happy with his efforts to stay away from you. And you were, at least in the beginning. You were fully expecting this project to be a nightmare because Jungkook was going to give you a hard time. But he didn't. He was as civil as you were. Initially, you thought that maybe he finally understood how poorly he'd treated you- felt bad even. Maybe that's why he was making this easy. That was until you noticed how he was rushing out the door whenever you were the only person in the room. Or how he'd stopped quipping back when you slipped in any passive-aggressive comments. Or how rigid he was around you - all the time - despite being completely normal with everyone else. That was when your blood began boiling. He was basically turning the tables on you now, even using your tactics against you. Granted, in all your rage, you'd gone too far before. It was only fair that you'd humiliated him just as he'd done to you. Even though you didn't feel even by the end of your last exchange. While his degrading words never failed to drench your panties, some of it felt a little too real. Did he really think you were just one of these women that throw themselves at him? Extra desperate for him? That you were just waiting around for him to pay attention to you? You tried not to think about it, knowing it would only piss you off more. His new behaviour was most definitely not helping. It felt like he'd proved his point to himself, and now he was ignoring you as if you were a bad one night stand.

Despite your growing frustrations, part of you did feel bad about starting that rumour about him and the boss. You still didn't know whether it was true or not (although you were strongly leaning towards it being true). Jungkook had never clarified that; he had seemed more offended by your accusations of his lack of skill. But whether he was sleeping with her or not, the whole office didn't need to know. Not that she didn't make it obvious that he was her favourite anyways. You felt the need to clean up the mess you'd made, just to clear your own conscious, if nothing else. Just as sneakily as you started the rumour, you began discrediting the idea whenever people brought it up around you.

"He acts like that with everyone."

"He's everyone's favourite, apparently. Of course he's the boss' favourite too."

"He does get a lot of the shit projects that no one else wants too."

Your passive-aggressive comments and the fact that everyone had forgotten who'd started the rumour, helped with the damage control. Soon the rumour began dying down, and thankfully before your boss had heard them. But while you were doing a saint's work, Jungkook continued treating you like a stranger. You fought the urge to march over to him and give him a piece of your mind, but the last thing you wanted was to draw more attention back to him. Maybe this distance that he was putting between you two was for the best.

The next two weeks went by quickly as you engrossed yourself in the project and ignored Jungkook's weird behaviour. You were surprised to find that you actually worked well together when you weren't at his throat. He worked hard, made sure to get his work done on time, and - despite refusing to socialize with you - was good at communicating with you about the project. At first, you found it hard to move past Jungkook's cold behaviour towards you. But you certainly couldn't let it affect your work either, so you decided to stick it out - at least till this project was over. When the project finally came to a close, you were quite proud of your work. But the lingering feeling that you'd never speak to him again after this was slowly eating away at you. Why did you even care?

The night before your submission and presentation, you and Jungkook were the last ones left in the office. As you closed the last tab on your computer, you sighed contentedly and stretched your back. After sitting at your desk for so many late nights over the last few weeks, you felt like your entire body was sore. A disgruntled sigh from behind you made you swivel in your chair. While you'd just wrapped up the presentation for the next morning, Jungkook was still busy at work. His brows were furrowed as he carefully examined the papers in his hand, his desk scattered with more paper. He had taken on the responsibility to finalize the submission documents which is what he'd been working on the entire day. Maybe it was the lack of sleep from the past few days, or maybe you felt bad, but you decided to try and make conversation.

"Do you need any help?" you asked, standing up to stretch a little more. Jungkook's eyes flitted over to you as you broke the silence, his gaze roaming over your figure briefly.

"No, I'll manage," he replied blankly, quick to get back to his reading. You rolled your eyes, not entirely surprised by his cold answer.

"I'm gonna get some coffee. Looks like a late night for you, do you want some?" You asked as you walked towards the door.

"Yeah," he answered curtly. You froze in your spot momentarily, not expecting him to agree. This was probably the most friendly he'd been in over two weeks. "Oh and do you have the final drafts? I need them to cross reference and edit."

"Yeah, I do," you said, turning on your heels to get back to your desk. But Jungkook just waved dismissively.

"Just leave them on your desk before you leave. I'll get them later." You nodded, heading out to get the coffee. You returned with the two coffees, stepping behind Jungkook's desk to hand him his.

"Here. You like yours sweet right?" you asked, handing him his cup. Your stomach fluttered as his fingers brushed against yours while he took the cup. Jungkook didn't miss the way your gaze dropped to your touching fingers, but he didn't say anything. He simply nodded, sipping his drink. You sighed, walking back over to your desk and plopping in your chair.

"Don't you have manners?" you snapped, annoyed with his dismissive behaviour. Jungkook looked up at you, an amused glint in his eyes. You snapped your fingers. "Hello? You're supposed to thank people when they do things for you."

"Really?" he asked condescendingly, turning back to his papers. "I've done plenty of things for you, and haven't heard a 'thank you' either." The insinuation of his words made your face heat up with embarrassment and anger.

"You're such a fucking prick," you cursed, quickly grabbing your things. Suddenly, you couldn't get out of the office quicker. You didn't know why you'd bothered to try to talk to him at all. Why stay here and suffer further humiliation when you could be at home, taking a bath instead?

"First an asshole, now a prick. I must really be the worst," he said, a bite to his words despite his disinterested tone. You scoffed in disgust, feeling stupid for thinking he'd even consider being polite. Without another word, you shoved your things into your bag and left the office. Jungkook's eyes only lifted to watch you walk out the door, a certain frustration building up in him. But he shoved his feelings down to focus on his work.

When you finally got home, you ate something sweet with your coffee, took a hot shower, and climbed into bed. Pushing aside all thoughts of Jungkook, you knew you had to get a good night's rest to nail your presentation in the morning. Luckily for you, your exhaustion from the past few weeks caught up with you the moment your head hit the pillow. And then you were out like a light. At least until the sound of your phone buzzing woke you up a few hours later.

"Hello?" you mumbled groggily into your phone, beyond pissed that someone had woken you up.

"It's Jungkook. Where are the drafts? I can't find them anywhere," he asked, annoyance clear in his voice. It took you a moment to process what was going on as you wiped the sleep from your eyes.

"They must be on my desk," I groaned angrily, just wanting to back to sleep.

"If they were on your desk, why would I be calling you?" he snapped. You sat up, trying to think clearly. You knew they were on your desk, but then it dawned on you - you had shoved them into your bag in your hurry to leave. You cursed under your breath, knowing that Jungkook was about to give you more shit for this.

"Fuck, I think I might've taken them by accident," you admitted, bracing yourself. There was a moment of silence which was followed by a quiet groan. You could picture him pinching the bridge of nose in irritation.

"I need those drafts to finish to finalize the submission docs," he said blankly, as if the solution to this problem was glaringly obvious. You pulled your phone away from your face, staring at the screen in disbelief for a moment.

"I am not coming in to the office right now Jungkook. It's 3am for fucks sake," you said, bewildered.

"Well I need them now," he grit through his teeth. "We have to submit these at 8, you know that."

"Look, I'm sorry. But I'm not coming in at this time. I can come in earlier in the morning," you offered.

"I need them now," he repeated. "Fine. I'll just come pick them up myself. Text me your address," he demanded before hanging up. Once again, you were left staring at your phone in disbelief. What other choice did you have? You texted him your address and laid back down to rest your eyes for a minute - which meant you went right back to sleep.

You jolted awake as your doorbell rang incessantly, over and over again. Groaning in irritation, you reluctantly got out of bed, dragging your body out of your room.

“Can you fucking stop?! I’m coming!” You shouted. You weren’t the nicest person to start with, but you were much worse when people fucked with your sleep. You unlocked the door, angrily swinging it open. “Do you have to be an asshole even at 3 in the morning?” You spat, groggily rubbing your eyes. Jungkook shot you a dirty look, like he was repulsed to just be in your presence. He took in your disheveled state. Without a word, he pushed past you, stepping into your apartment. You scoffed at his attitude.

“The drafts?” He asked curtly. You groaned, feeling your annoyance build up.

“You’re seriously gonna walk into my apartment and act like this?” You asked, your words laced with venom. Jungkook stepped closer to you, his presence suddenly feeling intimidating.

“I wouldn’t have to be here if you knew how to fucking listen, hm?” He grit through his teeth. Your jaw nearly fell to floor, bewildered by his audacity. “What did I tell you earlier today?” His voice was deeply condescending.

“Excuse me?” You scoffed, still in shock. He took another step closer to you, now towering over you.

“I told you to make sure you left the drafts for me. Did you listen?” He questioned rhetorically, the anger in his voice rising with each sentence. When you didn’t answer, he grabbed your jaw and forced your head to shake a no. “I wouldn’t have to be here, with you, to get those fucking drafts if you’d just done what I said,” he spat, practically shoving you away as he let go of your face. There was no fucking way he just did that. "What is it? Does everything I say go through one ear and out the other? Nothing in here to make it stick?" he asked, flicking your forehead, a dark glint in his eyes. It was obvious that he wasn't just talking about the drafts anymore.

Finally snapping out of your shock, you grabbed his hand as he was about to flick you again. Tension swam in the air as your grip tightened and your gaze pierced him. "Jeon Jungkook, you're crossing the line," you said firmly, trying to contain your anger.

"Crossing the line?" He laughed loudly before pulling his hand away from you. "Like you did?" he asked with dry amusement. You winced slightly at his words, feeling like he'd slapped you with them. He leaned against your kitchen counter, seeming tense despite his lax posture. "Actually no, I'm crossing the line in the privacy of your home - with no one around. But you felt the need to do it in front of other people. So I guess this isn't the same, is it?"

Your eye twitched at his words. Logically, you knew he was right. What he was doing now wasn't the same as what you'd done. It wasn't nearly as malicious as your actions and you probably deserved some of this. But, as guilty as you felt, anger was quickly replacing the feeling as he continued to behave so disrespectfully. Besides, you were also fighting back your irrational side that was telling you to slap him in the face.

"Do you feel better now? Are we even?" you grit through your teeth. He chuckled darkly, not a hint of humour reaching his eyes. He stepped forward again, backing you against the counter with no room to escape.

"Not even a little bit," he said, the depth of his voice rumbling through your chest. He leaned down, looking into your eyes so intently that you felt vulnerable; like he could see all your innermost thoughts. “We’re nowhere near even Y/n.” Your heart raced as you braced yourself against the counter, staring up at him.

“Then what else do you want from me?” Your words came out as a hoarse whisper. His hands enveloped yours on the counter, keeping you trapped under him.

“I want you to tell me why.” It felt like he was consuming you with his body and his words. Your stomach churned at the thought of baring your feelings to him. You tried to turn away to avoid his gaze, but his hand quickly grabbed your jaw and forced you to meet his eyes. “I’ve been very considerate; waiting for this project to be done and keeping my distance at the office. So you’re going to do one thing for me, and tell me why.”

“Why does it matter? Don’t you just want to get your revenge?” You retorted, a new fire burning in you that was fueled by embarrassment.

“Y/n, I’ve had to deal with people looking at me like I’m a walking STD for weeks. It’s truly a miracle boss never heard about the rumours or I would’ve been in so much shit,” he seethed, leaning closer. “So yeah, I wanna know why you did it.”

“I-I fixed it! No one really thinks it anymore. I already undid what was done. Isn’t that enough?” You tried to justify, squirming in his hold.

“Enough?” His voice dropped lower as he spoke mere centimetres from your lips. “You want me to thank you for fixing your own mistake?” When he put it that way, you felt even more stupid. “Why Y/n?” He repeated. You took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let you go if you didn’t answer. There was no way around it.

“You left me. In that bathroom, you used me and you left me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest from a mix of emotions. Jungkook didn’t react. His expression stayed the same, indifferent, still staring into your eyes. Silence followed your answer which somehow felt more humiliating than actually being left in that bathroom. Your rage quickly built up.

“Seriously?! You have nothing to say about that?” You asked, angrily yanking his hand away from your jaw. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You were the one that didn’t want anyone to know,” he finally spat. “So yeah, I left. Did you want to walk out together?” His voice began to rise a little, but he was sure not to yell.

“No, but–,” you started, but he interrupted you.

“That’s what I thought,” he scoffed. “And as for using you, you were pretty eager yourself.” He pressed you harder into the counter as his expression darkened. “I remember you taking my cock all the way to the back of your throat; so determined to make me feel good, to make me cum.” You tried to even your breathing so you wouldn't give yourself away as your mind raced with the memory. It wasn’t working too well. “I barely had to do anything. You were practically begging to suck me off.” The embarrassment was making it a lot harder to maintain your eye contact but you didn’t want to back down.

“Fuck you Jungkook. This is why I did it.” Your eyes were fiery as the truth came out. Well, part of it at least. “All you’ve done since then is humiliate me. Is this a game to you? Fuck with me and then make fun of me after?”

“Humiliate you?” He looked at you like you were insane. “You think this is me making fun of you?”

“What the fuck else is it then?! You make me sound like…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling like this conversation was getting too real. You had to turn away to hide the emotions that were most definitely written all over your face. Jungkook shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wasn’t even sure how to explain that he wasn’t making fun of you.

“Y/n.” His voice was serious. “If I wanted to humiliate you, I wouldn’t be doing it here, when no one’s around. I’m not interested in pulling any stunts like you did.” His words stopped your thoughts in their tracks. He leaned down next to your ear.

“Because as much as I want everyone to know that it's me that makes a mess of you," he whispered, "I don't want anyone else to see what a dirty little slut you turn into for me." It felt like the oxygen was sucked out of the air as the soft words hit your ears.

"Every filthy word, every depraved sound that comes out of that pretty little mouth of yours is only for me to hear." Why was it that your brain turned off whenever he spoke to you like this? His body was now fully pressed against yours, trying to get as close as he could. But his hands stayed put, keeping your hands pinned to the counter. He nuzzled his face against your hair, right above your ear. His own breathing was heavy and this somehow felt more intimate than anything else you'd done before.

"That lewd face you make for me when you finally get what you want, fuck," he groaned. "I don't want anyone to see that but me." The possessiveness that laced his words should be setting off warning signs in your mind. Instead, it was making your chest heavy and building an ache in your core.

Jungkook was starting to feel more vulnerable than he wanted and he could feel his mental fortitude chipping away. He'd vowed to himself that he wouldn't cave to you - to his own desires - after your reaction last time. But he was finding it extremely difficult in the moment. He pulled away enough to look at you again. You found yourself searching for something in his eyes as you stared back at him. Sincerity maybe? You weren't sure you'd even be able to see it past the frustration that adorned his features.

"You think I'm making fun of you? You have no idea what you do to me Y/n." His face contorted into a snarl. "It's burned into my brain; the way your throat felt, your pleads and moans, how good your pussy tastes, how fucking tight you are." You knew that your eyes, clouded with lust, were definitely giving you away now. "Makes me rock hard whenever I think about it," he admitted with a humourless chuckle. He was pissed - at you, but even more so at himself. Meanwhile, you were struggling to process what he was saying. "Does that sound like I'm making fun of you?"

You were left speechless. Your mouth opened to answer him, but no words came out. Jungkook scoffed at your lack of reaction, feeling even more frustrated after spilling the truth. While both of your bodies were reacting to the situation, the tension in the room was becoming too suffocating to ignore. Your eyes subconsciously dropped to his lips, and that was nearly enough to snap his thin thread of restraint. His own breathing was ragged with the effort it took him to maintain his self control. He went to say something but quickly stopped himself. His eyes closed as he turned away to collect himself for a brief moment.

"You, on the other hand, are hell bent on ruining me," he grit, finally putting some space between you two as he stepped back. "You wanna talk about making fun of someone? How 'bout all that shit you said about me - that you lied about - in front of everyone?" His anger was becoming abundantly clear, and you couldn't help but start feeling guilty.

"I-I said I was sorry," you mumbled.

"Do you even realize how fucking humiliating that was for me? Or how screwed I would've been if the boss found out?" he grit through his teeth. "I tolerate so much of your shit Y/n. Just because I take it in stride doesn't mean you can do and say whatever the fuck you want. You think this is some joke? You could've destroyed my career Y/n." With every word he spat at you, your guilt resurfaced, taking in the gravity of your actions.

"Do you hate me that much?" he asked, a hint of hurt in his voice. When you didn't respond, he just scoffed. Your answer was clear to him. It shouldn't matter to him, because it's not like he had any reason to care about whether you liked him or hated him. But the bitterness of your silence still left a bad taste in his mouth, making him want to leave as soon as possible. He took a few more steps back until he was near your front door again.

"Get me those drafts" he said coldly, any sign of his previous emotions disappearing from his face. You didn't move for a moment, still processing what he'd just said. When he shot you an expectant look, you finally snapped out of it and grabbed the files out of your bag on the couch. You handed them to him wordlessly, a mix of emotions swirling through you. As he turned your front door, about to leave, he looked over his shoulder at you. "And by the way. You actually haven't even apologized once." Your stomach dropped as you realized you hadn't said "I'm sorry" at any point - too busy defending yourself the entire time. Before you could say it, Jungkook was already out the door.

It took you a while to fall asleep after Jungkook left. There were a million thoughts running through your mind. How were you supposed to process Jungkook's confession and rejection at the same time? It truly felt like he was done with you now that he'd said his piece - like one last 'fuck you' before he never had to speak to you again. You tried your best to push away all the thoughts that clouded your mind. The presentation you had to give in the morning was far too important for you to screw up because of all this shit. With great difficulty, you eventually managed to get some sleep.

The morning went by in a blur and before you knew it, you found yourself in the conference room at work, with Jungkook by your side, in front of your boss and coworkers. Regardless of your lack of sleep and heightened emotions, you managed to keep yourself composed and present your work clearly. Jungkook seemed to do the same, although you weren't sure he cared about what had happened at all. Even under the scrutiny of your boss, you felt confident about your work. This was only solidified as your boss praised you and Jungkook at the end of the presentation. Obviously, she leaned a little heavier into praising Jungkook, but she still commended your work. As your boss collected all the documents and left the room, you felt relief and dread take over you. Yes, it was a relief that this huge project was finally complete. But did this mean that Jungkook would never talk to you again?

Your coworkers came up to you, congratulating the two of you and immediately making plans to go out that night. You tried refusing but they remained persistent until you caved in. You glanced over at Jungkook. He seemed so normal when he was interacting with everyone else; he had a smile on his face, he was joking, and happily agreeing to go out later. You felt a pang in your chest. You focused on the conversation happening around you.

As 5 o'clock rolled around, your coworkers were already buzzing to leave. You followed their suit and began wrapping up your things.

"Hey," a familiar voice caught your attention. "I didn't catch you earlier, but I heard your presentation went well. Great work." Jimin's kind words eased some of your inner turmoil. You mirrored his smile with a small thank you.

"Are you coming to the bar?" You asked, gesturing to the groups of people that were leaving together. Jimin nodded, offering you his arm as you stood up from your chair. You gratefully took it, using him for support to steady yourself in your heels.

"Shall we?" he asked. You smiled again, appreciative for the distraction as you walked together to the nearby bar. When you got there, you wasted no time in ordering your drinks. You caught sight of Jungkook walking in not too long after, your gazes meeting for the briefest of moments. You immediately downed a drink, the burn in your throat working as a perfect distraction. By now you should've learned your lesson; that you and alcohol was the perfect recipe for disaster. But your mind seemed to have forgotten that as it craved for a way to take the edge off. Jimin watched you amusedly as you drank so quickly.

"Stressed?" he asked with a chuckle, sipping his own drink. You turned to him, trying to forget about Jungkook being there.

"Hmm?" you asked, confused.

"You drank that cocktail like it was a shot," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You must be stressed."

"Right. Yeah, just need to clear my mind a little," you answered sheepishly. You sipped your next drink, not wanting to alarm Jimin any further.

"You just finished a huge project. Shouldn't you be relieved? Less stressed in fact?"

"I should," you sighed. "It's not..." you started, your eyes glancing over at Jungkook again, "...work related. I guess." Seeing him acting so normal, as if he hadn't confessed how he couldn't stop thinking about you, was frustrating. You began questioning your memory. Had he really said that? Because anyone who looked at the two of you right now would assume he didn't even know you at this point. You polished off the rest of your drink in seconds. Jimin followed your gaze, a look of understanding washing over his face as he put the puzzle pieces together.

"What's going on between you two?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Nothing," you answered truthfully, turning back to him. After all, he'd barely even spoken to you over the last few weeks. And how would you even define what was happening between you two before that?

"It must be some pretty intense 'nothing' to have you drinking like this," he joked, watching you start on your third drink already. But Jimin took the hint; you didn't want to get into it and he would respect that. While the rest of your coworkers seemed to mingle amongst each other, you and Jimin kept to yourselves, the conversation flowing smoothly between you. Talking to Jimin was easy and it was doing wonders at calming your mind. You noticed that he was moving closer to you as the time went on, soon sitting so close that your knees were brushing. The more drinks you had, the less you minded his proximity, finding it almost comforting in a sense.

Jimin, who was buzzed but not as tipsy as you, noticed every little movement you made. The way you leaned in to talk to him, the way your skirt rode up your thighs as you crossed your legs, the hazy look in your eyes. It was all building up in the back of his mind. He'd always found you interesting, cute even - but between work and your bickering with Jungkook, you never seemed to have the time to actually become friends. He'd also be lying if he said he just wanted to be friends with you. He wouldn't be sitting so close to you, his fingers tracing patterns into your knee, innocently teasing the hemline of your skirt if he wanted to just be friends. Although you continued the conversation, he saw your eyes flit down to where his fingers lay and your breathing get slightly heavier. But you didn't move away.

Maybe it was the drinks in your system, but Jimin's fingers that were threatening to slip under your skirt were making your heart race. It had been a while since you'd flirted with someone else; usually, too busy bickering with Jungkook when you came out to the bar with your work friends. It was a nice change of pace, and it was certainly helping you ignore your guilt and frustration towards Jungkook. You'd always thought Jimin was attractive, but you never got any non-friendly signs from him - until now. Because the dark glint in his eyes as he listened to you speak and whatever his hands were doing were definitely not friendly. You tried to finish the story you were telling, but your brain kept getting side-tracked by him, making you halt momentarily in between words. Your gaze kept going back to his fingers that were trailing further up your thigh now. And when you were looking at his face, they kept dropping to his plump lips.

"Something wrong? You're struggling to focus," Jimin said, leaning in to speak softly into your ear. The feeling of his breath against your lobe sent a shiver down your spine.

"No, just...got a lot on my mind," you answered, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. You sipped your drink as Jimin pulled back a little, a smirk resting on his lips. His other hand came up to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, his gaze seemingly more intense now.

"I hope you're thinking about me, especially when you're looking at me like that," he teased. Your face heat up a little as you realized he had could see the effect he had on you. His hand rest in your hair, while the other continued it's ministrations on your thigh. You didn't reply, turning away in embarrassment. Jimin chuckled at your reaction, cocking his head to the side to meet your gaze again. "I don't think I've ever seen you flustered like this before. It's really...cute." You flushed more when he placed a finger under your chin, guiding you to look at him. The kindness - the sweetness - he was treating you with felt foreign compared to Jungkook's ravenous appetite.

"Are you really calling me cute right now?" you asked weakly, hyperaware of his full hand gripping your thigh now. You found yourself leaning into his touch, subconsciously moving forward, as if his simple touch was beckoning you.

"I guess you're right," he chuckled, his hooded eyes roaming over your face. "I'd be lying if I said I'm just thinking about how cute you are." Your stomach flipped at the implication behind his words.

"What else are you thinking then?"

"You do look very cute like this," he said gently, leaning in closer, gaze dropping down to your lips. "But I'm also thinking about what you'd look like if I..." he trailed off, his breath hitting your lips. It felt like every thought in your mind had disappeared as you focused on your proximity. The few moments that he lingered, your heart raced with anticipation. Then his eyes met yours again, hazy with lust and that was the last straw. You weren't sure if it was you or him that closed the distance, but the next thing you knew, his lips were pressed against yours. Jimin's kiss was soft and tender; his hand slid behind your ear, pulling you closer to kiss you deeper. You moaned quietly against his lips - enjoying the sensuality of his kiss. His tongue gently swiped across your lips, slowly meeting yours as you parted your lips. His mouth and hands were doing an excellent job at clearing your mind. And while it worked - you were solely focused on Jimin and how he felt for the most part - a nagging thought broke through your amorous barrier.

Had Jungkook kissed you yet?

The simple thought broke your immersion. You pulled away, breathing heavily to catch your breath. Jimin's gaze was darker as his chest rose and fell.

"How do I look now then?" you asked, gulping down the lump that was forming in your throat as you were silently spiraling. Jimin grunted, his fingers trailing down your neck.

"Tempting," he answered, the one word heavy with desire. Your brain was at war with itself. Half of it was telling you to crawl into Jimin's lap and keep kissing him. And the other half couldn't stop thinking about how Jungkook hadn't kissed you - not even once. The conflicting thoughts in your already drunk mind were overwhelming and you needed a minute to calm down. Despite your urges, you slipped off the barstool.

"I'm just gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be right back," you said, stumbling a little as you straightened yourself. You gave him a small kiss to reassure him that you weren't rejecting him - you truly just needed a cold splash of water on your face to wash away Jungkook from your mind. Jimin's lips followed after yours as you pulled away, but he shot you a smile and nodded as you stepped away. You made your way through the crowd, distracted and hazy from the alcohol. You'd almost made it out of the crowd until you someone bumped into you. The force was enough to make you lose your balance and bump into someone's back.

"Oh fuck, I'm so sor-" you began, only for the person to turn around and of course, it was Jungkook. Your stumble had caused his drink to spill on his shirt. Your words got stuck in your throat as you mentally cursed your luck. You and alcohol is a recipe for disaster. Just walk away. You tried to convince yourself, but the annoyed look on his face was keeping you tethered in your spot. All your guilt and hurt bubbled up to the surface of your skin. The thoughts and feelings you'd spent the last couple of hours repressing came rushing back, threatening to spill from your lips. After a moment of shock, you laughed at the irony of the situation. Jungkook's brows furrowed, realizing that you were already drunk. You grabbed a nearby napkin and started wiping at his shirt, not noticing how close you were getting to him. As you wiped at his shirt, you were dazed with emotion. Jungkook watched you curiously. Your movements slowed down as your thoughts consumed you.

"I-I'm sorry," you mumbled. But it dawned on you that Jungkook probably couldn't hear you in this crowd of people. Taking a deep breath and gathering all your courage, you looked up at him. "I'm sorry Jungkook. I'm really sorry," you repeated.

Although you hadn't said anything else, Jungkook understood what you meant; the heaviness of your words clear. You weren't just apologizing about his spilled drink. His expression softened a little, but he was still upset with you. A drunken apology, no matter how sincere, wasn't going to fix everything.

"Shit, I keep fucking up with you huh?" you laughed, the sound devoid of any humour. You held onto his shirt as you struggled to get on your tiptoes. "I really do have a knack for making your life harder." Jungkook held onto your arm, supporting you so you didn't fall over. Your breath hitched as you met his dark gaze. There was that look again - like he would eat you alive. Your breath hitched.

"You must really hate me," you said quietly, now close enough that he could hear you despite the noise that surrounded you. You could see the frustration and restraint painted across his face.

"Y/n, you're drunk," he pointed out, voice low. His grip on your arm tightened as you leaned in closer, your eyes flitting between his eyes and lips.

"Did you mean it? That you can't stop thinking about me?" You asked, your thoughts blurting out of your mouth before you could even think. Jungkook growled as you pressed your body to his. You were really testing his self control; every inch of his body itching to pull you into him.

"Y/n," he warned, his jaw clenching while he tried to put some space between you. But you refused to let him, leaning on him so heavily that if he moved, you'd probably fall over.

"I think you're lying. You look at me with so much anger, so much hatred," you scoffed. Jungkook's eyes narrowed as you spoke, fighting the urge grab you and shut you up.

"That's why you won't kiss me, right?" you asked, voice shaky as the words finally left your lips. Jungkook was taken aback by your question, his brows furrowing even deeper. "You touch me, everywhere..." you whispered, "...but you won't kiss me. Because you can't stand the thought, you can't enjoy kissing someone you don't like, right?" You felt unbearably vulnerable as the questions lingered in the air. A few seconds passed as Jungkook scanned your face, the gears of his own mind turning. But he didn't answer you. The silence only confirmed your thoughts. Your stomach dropped as realization hit you and you knew that if you stayed any longer, you wouldn't be stay composed. You felt embarrassed and hurt enough as it was; you didn't need to humiliate yourself any further. You slowly let go of his shirt, pushing away from him, spinning on your heels, and heading to the bathroom.

The cold water against your skin did nothing to cool you down. Looking up in the mirror, you were met with your own flustered reflection. Was it the alcohol, Jimin’s kiss, or Jungkook’s lack there of that left you so heated? You didn’t know. You hated that you’d let Jungkook see you in such a weak moment. You and alcohol were a bad mix. Why did you even care if he didn’t kiss you? What would a kiss change anyways? The only thing you liked about him was how he handled you and your body. Kissing him meant nothing. At least that’s what you told yourself as you tried to pull yourself together before walking out of the bathroom. But the moment you stepped out, you were greeted with the sight of some girl pressed up against Jungkook. Your stomach churned at the sight, feeling like you'd been punched in the gut. After baring your hurt to him, this felt ten times worse. He really didn’t care about you or your feelings. You weren’t special; he just enjoyed messing with you, like every other girl he flirted with. How could he say all those things to you - confess that you had some effect on him - and then do this? As Jungkook briefly looked up from the girl who now had her arms looped around his neck, his eyes met yours. He shifted slightly, trying to step away from the girl as he saw the look on your face. You couldn’t stand there a moment longer, immediately rushing back over to Jimin. Before Jimin could even ask what was wrong, you were ordering shots. He quietly observed you downing your shots. With the frustration that was painted across your face, he could only assume this had something to do with Jungkook. One quick glance over to Jungkook, and he was sure; he was already staring in your direction. Jimin sighed softly. He didn't necessarily want to get between the two of you, but if Jungkook was causing you this much distress then maybe he should.

"You okay?" he finally spoke, placing a hand on the back of your head, guiding you to look at him as he polished off the rest of his own drink. You couldn't really tell if you were nodding or shaking your head no, but he must've seen the slight distress on your face because his eyes softened. He pulled you closer, turning you around before lifting you onto his lap. You were too hazy to protest as his chest pressed against your back.

"Jimin," you murmured, "I need a distraction."

"What kind of distraction sweetheart?" Your heart fluttered at the nickname.

"Anything." He leaned down, his breath hitting your neck as he moved your hair to the other side. He hummed against your skin, lips pressing gently against your pulse. The small gesture made your crane your neck the other way, your heartbeat racing more as your worried about whether he could feel it or not.

"This work?" he asked, biting at the skin before kissing it harder.

"Yeah," you replied shakily. Jimin's hands made their way to your hips, holding you firmly against himself. Your eyes closed while Jimin continued kissing your neck, his tongue now laving softly over the contrastingly sharp bites he was leaving. Yep, that was a pretty effective distraction. Before you knew it, your chest was heaving as your breathing became laboured. Jimin's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. But you loved the proximity. It was intoxicating, yet comforting. He made you feel wanted which was something that Jungkook didn't do. Your body was quickly reacting to his touch, heat already pooling between your legs. You shifted slightly - only to feel Jimin's growing erection rub against you. Both of you groaned at the feeling. Jimin's lips moved to your ear, nipping at the lobe. In this position, you could hear his heavy breathing as you subconsciously continued shifting in his lap. Amidst such a good moment, you made the mistake of opening your eyes - only to meet Jungkook's gaze from across the bar. He was far away enough (and you were tipsy enough) that you couldn't make out his exact expression. But the fact that he was watching you was enough to unnerve you. You craned your neck to turn away, pulling away from Jimin with the motion as well. Jimin didn't even have to ask what happened as he caught Jungkook's stare too. A flash of irritation passed through him as Jungkook continued ruining your mood. But he brushed it off quickly, not wanting to upset you further. He held your chin, turning you to face him.

"You wanna get out of here?" he offered, mostly just wanting to get you away from Jungkook. A sense of guilt washed over you as Jimin treated you so sweetly. It wasn't that you didn't like Jimin, and you certainly found him incredibly attractive, but you felt like you were using him to get over Jungkook in a sense. You knew that this probably wouldn't be happening if everything between you and Jungkook hadn't happened. And you weren't sure you wanted anything more from Jimin anyways. Jimin was too kind for you to lead him on and use him like this.

"I-I do," you began, your voice heavy with guilt. "But I don't want to hurt you." Jimin gave you a look of confusion.

"Hurt me?"

"This...this is just a distraction for me." You winced as the words left your lips, feeling worse about yourself. "You're just a distraction." Jimin paused for a moment, but then his lips curled into a soft smirk.

"I'm okay with that. I can be your distraction," he whispered huskily. Your eyes immediately clouded with lust as he washed away all your guilt with two simple sentences. Suddenly, Jungkook was gone from your mind. You grabbed Jimin's hand, sliding off his lap, before dragging him up. He laughed at your enthusiasm, standing up but staying put in the spot.

"Let me settle our bill sweetheart," he chuckled, calling the server over and dropping some cash off with her. The second he paid, you were dragging him out of the bar.

Within thirty minutes, Jimin was struggling to open your apartment door while you messily kissed his neck, your hands roaming over his body. The second he got you through the door, he pinned you against the door and caught your lips in a hungry kiss. His own hands moved from cupping your face to sliding along your silhouette, appreciating your curves under his touch. The alcohol was catching up to you, making your movement sloppy now. But Jimin didn't mind, his own drunken mind loving the desperation in your touch. You slid your hand between your bodies, hastily rubbing his clothed cock.

"Y/n, fuck," Jimin groaned, struggling to contain himself. You took the opportunity to deepen your kiss, letting your tongue battle with his. Jimin huffed, matching your vigour, before grabbing your mischievous hands and looping them around his neck. His hands slid to your ass as he guided you towards the couch, not breaking the kiss for a second. When the back of your knees hit the couch, you tossed your bag on the coffee table. Some of your belongings fell out - including your phone - but you were too far gone to notice or care. Jimin lay you down on the couch, crawling on top of you immediately so as to keep kissing you. You groaned into the heat of his mouth. Your body felt like it was on fire as he pinched one of your excited nipples. When you finally ran out of breath, that was when he broke the kiss.

"Jimin, more. Want more," you mumbled, hastily trying to unbutton his shirt. He chuckled as you struggled with the small buttons. He held your hands to his chest, taking a moment to calm both of you down.

"Patience Y/n. We're not in a rush," he kissed the words into your neck. "We have all night," he whispered, sending shivers down your spine. He pulled away to look down at you, admiring your fucked out state. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes half-lidded as you looked up at him, and you were biting your lips in an effort to control yourself. The sight made him impossibly hard.

"I'll be the best distraction you could ever have," he spoke softly; but the tone of his voice was so alluring, you found yourself holding your breath in anticipation. And then, as if on cue, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. The vibrations against the glass were enough to draw Jimin's attention, while you returned to unbuttoning his shirt. Jungkook's name was plastered on the screen. Of course it was him.

Jungkook was still at the bar - now standing right outside for some fresh air. He was dealing with his own conflicting emotions. He was seething when he saw you in Jimin's lap, watching him kiss your neck. The way you were so docile in his hold, just letting him touch and kiss you, it made his skin crawl. Why were you so resistant to him, but so receptive to Jimin? You were meant to be his - his toy alone. He had half the mind to walk over there and yank you off Jimin's lap. But at that point, none of your coworkers had noticed the two of you yet. He didn't want to make a scene and embarrass all three of you; he couldn't afford any more workplace rumours. On top of that, he couldn't get your question out of his head: why hadn't he kissed you? Unable to bear watching the scene before him any longer, he turned away and focused on drowning his thoughts away with drinks. When he looked back, you were gone. His mind immediately flooded with all the scenarios you could be in. Were you with Jimin? He shook his head clear of his suspicions. What did he care? You were a grown adult, capable of taking care of yourself and making your own decisions. He continued drinking, but he couldn't shake off his anger and confusion. After a few drinks, his self restraint was slipping and he stepped out for some fresh air to calm down. But he found himself reaching for his phone and calling you. Why was he calling you? To check up on you? Make sure you were safe, find out where you were so he could come to you, or question you about Jimin? He didn't know as he stood there, watching his breath form clouds in front of him as the phone rang.

Jimin stared at Jungkook's name on your phone and grunted in annoyance. Even when he wasn't physically present, Jungkook managed to get in his way every time. At least this once, couldn't that man leave you two alone? Then a thought crossed his mind - a way to get Jungkook to leave you alone for tonight. Noticing the irritation on Jimin's face, you went to turn and look at your phone, curious to see what was bugging him. But Jimin stopped you, quickly cupped your face with one hand and crashing his lips to yours - effectively making you forget all about your phone. Meanwhile, his other hand slid over to your phone and swiped to answer Jungkook's call.

"Tell me what you want Y/n," he demanded between breaths as he purposefully kissed you sloppily. You moaned softly against his lips as the lewd sounds of your kissing filled your ears.

"Want you, Jimin," you groaned. You pulled at his collar, trying to get him closer.

"Yeah?" he prompted you further, his fingers pinching at your already hardened nipples to provoke you further. You gasped, moaning his name as your back arching into his touch.

"Want you to touch me, wanna taste you, wanna feel you," you rambled. "Want you to keep kissing me," you admitted with a sigh. Jimin's body was reacting your words too, his hips already grinding into you. He hummed with satisfaction, peeking over at your phone. There was still silence from the other end, and he felt his pride swell as he watched the call end. Jungkook wouldn't be bothering you tonight.

another note: HOLY FUCK YOU GUYS! i finally go this goddamn chapter out! I am truly so sorry it took me this long. but i was actually crashing out from life and THEN tumblr fucked me over and didn't save my draft for this chapter TT i literally had to take a break from the app i was so annoyed. it took me forever to rewrite this. to everyone who asked how I was doing and checked up on me, thank you <3 you guys are the sweetest and I am doing much better now! as for the story, was the plot twist what you expected? how're we feeling about reader and Jungkook right now? the tension continues to tension... while i'm decently satisfied with this chapter, i might have to take a break from Dissonance for a bit. i have a lot of other stories i want to write (specifically Love and Deepspace ones lmfao) and Dissonance is taking up a lot of my time right now. I swear I'll still be working on it, just expect some other works to be released before D4. thank you all so much for reading! I appreciate each and every one of you for enjoying my work :)

side side note: if y'all have any ideas for D4, or requests for new fics as well, please let me know! i already have noona x jk in the works lol.

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tag list: @myjungkookthighs @bemuas @junecat18 @exortedgoods @jahnaviii @jk97bam @itsmekylabear @blueberriesm @marvelbun @vantelover1306 @runariya @btstrology @diame93 @curse-of-art @minyoongi7016 @joonwater @jeonzll @hagridshaircare @user-190811 @praetae @llallaaa @chimchoom @persona3012 @softhaes @darkangelfei

[barleyo]

Better Things.

Older Bro! Megumi X Little Sis! Reader (smut)

A/N: please read the tags and avoid this if anything mentioned in them discomforts you ^_^ i'm not responsible for your media consumption, so do not read this is if you do not like the sound of it. thanks!! :3

Tags: incest (brother-sister), some misogyny, 25-ish years old megumi, fingering, oral (f receiving), no penetration/dry humping

Wordcount: 2.8k

Megumi did not know whether or not to be angry with you or himself. Maybe a mixture of both— no. No, you. Your fault. 

Very rarely did he have time off from missions. Often, it was back to back assignments in far away places. It had been two or three years since he had seen you last. He went back to your apartment as soon as he came back from an especially lengthy mission, only to find it empty. No furniture, no clutter. No little sister in sight. 

He found your landlord. Some old sleaze, Megumi remembered him well from when he helped you with moving in. He was so angry that day, extra eyerolls and teeth gritting. He never wanted you to be anywhere that wasn't attached to his hip. You weren't meant to be on your own, you needed him to protect you, but you insisted on a little independence. 

"She hasn't lived here for a while, son" the landlord answered, leaning on the frame of his front door, arms crossed. "Said she was moving into college dorms."

College? What did you need college for? To get some degree? A worthless slip of paper to show the four years that you wasted? 

Megumi stomped away from the apartment complex with a look of pure betrayal. 

He'd been sending you money and clothes— anything he could use to keep you entertained while he was gone— over the years. Was that not enough? If you were that damn bored, you could have told him. Megumi would have done something, anything, to keep you stuck safely at home, but no. You weren't at home. 

Were you even alive, he wondered? He had heard stories of those college bastards eating freshman girls alive. Sororities hazing sweet things like you to no end, fuck boys slipping mystery pills into drinks of girls stupid enough not to watch them, and God knew you were just that stupid. What if you got knocked up by some awful frat guy while Megumi was gone? What if you were slutting around campus? Or worse:

What if you had gotten a boyfriend?

Classes here were much harder than you had anticipated. You knew college was a big deal. You hadn't done especially well in high school, either, but the social aspect of college spoke to you so loudly. The movies had hyped it up well. You wanted it all— a spot in a fancy sorority, maybe Chi Omega or Kappa Alpha Theta. You wanted a clique of close girlfriends to gossip with. You wanted to sit in the front row of every class and answer every professor's questions with precision and accuracy. You wanted to be a cheerleader, a book worm, a prodigy, and a notorious knock-out all rolled into one.

Well, year one of college and you were severely disappointed.

You went bidless with every sorority you tried to rush. Friends were hard to keep and come by— your roommate never even spared you a side glance. She was too busy bringing boys home to catch your name, you assumed. You sat in the flooded middle rows in your lecture halls, and the only question you had ever answered correctly was when your physics professor aimlessly asked what day of the week it was.

Your essays were consistently given static, mediocre grades. Your exam scores were less than stellar. The cafeteria's food was tasteless and bland. Your feet constantly hurt from walking around campus all day. Your schedule was awkward and poorly spaced out.

You didn't know why you even left home. Not your old apartment, but home. Home with 'Gumi. Sure, you didn't see him a lot, but if your brother was your only shot at a decent human connection, you'd take seeing him once or twice a month.

You were petty to move out in the first place. You wished you could smack your old self right across her stupid, stupid face! You wish you could shake her by the shoulders and say 'stay home! you aren't cut out for this!'

Who were you joking, thinking you could make it on your own? You weren't very smart, and as much as 'Gumi loved you, he made that very clear.

"You're a girl," he often told you when you were both small children. Some neighborhood boys picked on you, calling you creative names like 'stupid' and 'idiot,' articulated as children do. "Girls aren't supposed to be strong or smart. That's why they have brothers to protect them," he would reason, his logic going unchecked by anyone around him.

"You're a girl," he'd say when you both got a little older. Some boy had played with your hearts, stringing you on. "Guys like hurting girl's feelings. That's why you don't need one." He wanted badly to add, 'you just need me,' to that sentence.

"You don't need to work, you know," he told you after you finally finished high school. "Just stay with me. You don't need to do anything else."

God, you wish you had listened to him. Instead, you had your nose stuck up so high in the air that you would drown if it rained. You left home because you wanted more for yourself, but was this the universe's way of showing you that you had all you needed? You left because you thought you were big and bad, because you thought you were a woman. Well, life was certainly humbling you, because just like Megumi had always told you, you were just a girl. 

A girl sitting in a tiny, cramped dorm room with a dirty nightstand, awful grades, no friends, no place to belong, and no romance. The high hopes you had in the beginning of the semester had plummeted. All you wanted was your older brother. 

After high school, Megumi's overprotectiveness and thinly veiled old fashioned way of thinking was suffocating. You brushed off his words with pouts and huffs. He was right, though. He was always right. You did need him to protect you, to provide for you. 

You needed Megumi to save you from your own stupid choice, and quick.

Finding you was surprisingly easy. There were only a few local colleges. Megumi was certain you weren't anywhere across the country, or God forbid, international. After a little digging, who found that you were attending a community college only ten or so miles away from his house. High acceptance rates, low reputation, and zero tuition. Made sense. 

He scoffed at the idea. How could you go somewhere so lowbrow? He didn't want you enrolled back in school, point-blank, but if you had to go, he would've paid to get you into somewhere much better. He wanted the best for you. This place was not it. 

Hands crossed over his chest, shoulders slouched, Megumi stared at the brick walls of your dorm building. It was old and dilapidated. He was sure the admin board would refer to it as 'rustic' or 'charming,' but really, it was a dump. No place for his baby. Baby sister, he meant, not... not that way, right?

Megumi shook his head, trying to dispel the thought before it could settle. Of course, not that way. He was just protective. You were his sister, and this place was beneath you. It wasn’t about control, it was about making sure you were safe and comfortable. That’s what older brothers did—looked out for their family. He had every right to check on you.

He didn't want to control you. He just wanted you to do what he told you to and to follow his guidance.

Still, standing there in front of your dorm, something gnawed at him. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t doing this purely out of brotherly concern. He brushed it aside, pushing his hands into his pockets as he glanced up at the windows. One of those was yours, no doubt. He hadn't been able to find the exact dorm number, but the building wasn't very big. A perk, in this case, of the budget college you'd stuck yourself in. 

Megumi sighed, his frustration growing as he scanned the windows. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be in this kind of place. You had him, and took care of everything for you. Sure, maybe he wasn't physically around often. Maybe he couldn't give you his time, but he gave you everything else. Every card in his name was free for your use. Every cent in his account had your name written all over it, had you have wanted it.

Women are ungrateful, he reminded himself, shaking his head in frustration. It's just how they are.

He turned the corner, making his way toward the entrance, rehearsing what he might say. He wasn’t here to pick a fight. This was just a pick-up. A chance to remind you that you didn’t have to settle for something so mediocre. A chance to bring you back home, where you belonged. His chest tightened as he stepped inside the building. 

The hallway was humid and dimly lit, the faint hum of old fluorescent lights filling the silence. As he approached the stairwell, his footfalls echoed—louder than he appreciated in the still quietness. He didn’t know which room was yours, but he had a feeling he’d know it when he saw it.

Reaching the second floor, he paused in front of a row of doors. His hand hovered for a moment before he forced himself to knock on the one closest to him. He had no plan for what he’d say if this was the wrong room or worse, if you didn’t want to see him ever again. The uncertainty didn’t matter. He’d bring you with him no matter what. 

He wasn’t leaving until you understood that this—this place, this whole plan—wasn’t what was best for you. He’d make you see that you still needed him, even if it meant dragging you out by your wrist like a child. Shoving aside whatever was stirring in the pit of his stomach, an unsettling mix of guilt and something else, he watched the door creak open slightly.

Your puffy, flushed face peeked through the door. Damn it, crying already?

"You don't get to be mad at me," you sobbed angrily. 

This is why Megumi still saw you as a something to be protected. A weak, emotional woman. 

"You left me first! You left and I never knew when you would come back, 'Gumi—" you shook your head, burying your face back into the pillow under you as you corrected yourself, "—Megumi."

Perched behind you, pressing his clothed erection against your ass, Megumi huffed. His chest planted against your back to trap you against your thin, uncomfortable mattress. 

"That's different. I have to work."

You sniffled and felt more tears slip from your eyes. Small stains were starting to cover your pillow. Wet splotches giving away your cries of anger, sadness, and pleasure. 

Megumi’s sigh was heavy, his breath brushing against the back of your neck as he leaned in closer. “You know it’s not the same,” he said, his voice calm, almost patronizing. His arms caged you in, keeping you pinned beneath him, as if he could physically restrain your defiance. "I don’t have a choice. You do. You chose this." His words were measured, but there was a subtle edge to them, the weight of his snark pressing down as much as his body was.

You squirmed beneath him, trying to shift your weight, to pull away from the suffocating feeling of his presence. But he didn’t budge. He never did. "You say it like it’s so easy," you said, your voice cracking with every word. "But you don’t understand. You don't know what it's like to feel so lonely. 'S like you don't love me anymore, 'Gumi, like I'm not important."

Megumi's grip tightened slightly, his chest rising and falling against your back. His voice softened, but the meaning in it remained. "I’m making sure you’re taken care of. That you don’t end up in places likethis." He tipped his head back, gesturing to the disorganized dorm room, even though you couldn't see what he was doing. "Do you know what could happen to you out here? Here where anyone could take you? Hurt you?"

You felt his hands snatch you up by your hips. A more freeing position, sure, but more exposing too. Your ass perched in the air and your face was pushed further into your pillow. 

"I’m the one who's always been there for you, you know that. I always take care of you." 

Cool air whooshed over your bottom. Megumi's palms ran over your cheeks. You could've sworn you heard him groan at the sight before him. Your cunt sticky and spread, nearly as wet as your tears. 

"Don't ever say," he spoke between placing firm licks over your clit from behind, "that I don't love you."

He spat on the little nub, slicking you up. From broad strokes to pointed swirls against the tip of your clit, Megumi felt himself growing lost in you. He'd wanted this for so long, he just didn't know it. He didn't know why he wanted to so close to you, why he felt the primal need to protect you, but it all made sense now.

One protects their property, don't they? They get a guard dog to chain up at the edge of it. They keep watch, armed on their porch, ready to shoot anything that moves.

A foreign feeling entered you. A snaking tongue slurped at your hole, wriggling deep inside and toying with your tight walls. 

"'Gumi, no," you couldn't fight it. Embarrassed as you were, you wanted— needed, to cum.

Fingers replaced the intruding tongue. The angle was all too good. Too perfect. You felt drool prick the corner of your mouth and heat rise through your lower body. It was like a wire wrapped around your womb and cinched, tighter, tighter, tighter—

"Awh! No, no more," you cried out. "Can't take anymore!"

"No?" Megumi looked almost amused. "Still sensitive, huh? Guess no guys have broken you in yet."

You shook your head slowly.

"Good. We'll fix that, then. At home."

[hongjoongspoetry]

Pretend You Love Me | Choi Jongho

🥂 Summary: Jongho, heir to Choi Clothes, and you are soulmates marked by each other’s names on your wrists since birth. Instead of a fairy-tale romance, you’re stuck in a fake dating contract to restore Jongho’s tarnished image created by scandals. As you navigate public events and play the part of a cute couple, the lines between fake and real blur together. Despite your undeniable chemistry, you refuse to take him seriously due to his reckless past. As the arrangement nears its end, you must confront the truth about your feelings and whether you can move beyond the contract.

🥂 Pairing(s): Badboy!Jongho x Student!Reader

🥂 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, fake dating AU, fluff, humour

🥂 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), the MC goes by the lastname Jeong, Jongho is a rich kid, the MC not so, Jongho smokes and rides a motorcycle, light alcohol consumption, a lot of teasing, pet names (pretty girl, soulmate, sweetheart & Jjong), probably incorrect portrayal of CEOs and charity events (bare with me, i'm just a girl), some kissing, adult language

🥂 Wordcount: 9.0K

🥂 Author's Note: Click the image for a higher resolution (Tumblr, I hate you). This is my first time ever writing for Jongho and also the fastest I’ve finished a fic — just 4 days, to be exact! It was a lot of fun playing around with the soulmate idea and turning Jongho into a bad-boy-ish character. I hope you all enjoy the second fic of the Cherry Blossom March Event and feel brave enough to share your thoughts with me! I'm really curious to hear what you think and have to say :3

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of matures themes and adult language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

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To go out with people widely. It could mean all sorts of things. A person whose presence spreads widely. Someone who possesses the ability to form broad connections and reach far with their impact, whether it be through influence, relationships or personal qualities. To go out with people widely was the meaning behind the chosen hanja of the name Choi Jongho. The same name that was imprinted on your wrist since birth in black and reminded you daily of your other half. Everyone was born with a name on their wrist that assigned them to a soulmate the moment they entered the world. All you had to go by was the names on your wrists and hope it would be someone sane. Everyone didn’t have to worry about that though as some faced a fate worse than death — their soulmate mark written in white. It symbolized the death of their significant other. One would think the word would change into red, like anger and blood, but no. You liked to think the white represented innocence, cleanliness and new beginnings, almost like an angel. 

Your soulmate mark was the same since you were welcomed to the world. Wailing loudly and alerting everyone of your arrival. It hadn’t changed over the course of your twenty-five years long life, for better or for worse. Ever since you could remember, you loved listening to the stories of how people met their soulmates. At family gatherings, you would sit on the knee of your relatives and ask them kindly to retell the moment they met their husbands or wives, but your favorite story was always your parents'.

It was a few days before New Years and both of your parents just recently turned eighteen. The biggest snowfall of the year graced Seoul, like a late Christmas miracle, and the streets were swarmed with people enjoying the freezing weather, young and old alike. Your parents hadn’t known each other by then. They lived in the same neighbourhood, but weren’t aware of just how close they were to their soulmates. Your mother, young and happy, gazed up at the snowflakes being pulled by gravity when something cold and hard struck her, followed by horrified gasps. She crouched down, cradling her head, gently pressing against the side where the snowball had hit. A few seconds later, a young man approached her, apologizing and bowing so deeply that he nearly toppled over. It was your father who had launched the snowball at his friend, misaiming and hitting your mother instead.

Little you hoped to experience a romantic encounter with your soulmate as your parents did. You would stay up way past your bedtime and fantasize of meeting your soulmate, coming up with various scenarios that changed every night, but nothing could prepare you for the surge of emotions when your eyes locked. It was your first day of high school and all of the first year students were gathered in the gymnasium, patiently waiting for the principal to call out their names and their respective classes. You sat in the fifth row on the seventh seat, hands clutching the hem of your blue plaid skirt. It was nerve wracking — starting high school, meeting new people and creating friends. Then there was the possibility of finding the one. The principal cleared his throat, probably getting dried from pronouncing all the names right after each other. You pitied him, but that sentiment flew out the window as he moved onto your class. Out of all the three hundred first years and out of your thirty classmates, one of them was named—

“Choi Jongho!” You burst into his office, letting the door bounce off the wall. 

The secretary, frantically chasing after you with desperate pleas not to disturb the designated successor of Choi Clothes, stood in the doorway, her face twisted in a mix of fear and nervousness as she failed at her job. Successor, my ass. That man didn’t know anything beyond smoking a pack of Marlboros a day, dodging his responsibilities, and defying his parents. The man in question was currently sitting behind his desk, one ankle propped on his knee, fully decked out in Valentino — a black suit that was probably bespoke, tailored to his fitting. His hair, a natural shade of dark cocoa, was parted down the middle and showcased his forehead while his hands were decorated with various pieces of jewelry, starting with big fat rings on his fingers, a golden watch and a matching bracelet. Jongho didn’t look the least phased by your appearance nor by the loud entrance. In fact, he looked as monotone as ever, but you saw the brief twitch of his fingers. While he was at the company, he wasn’t allowed to take a smoke until lunch or after work and it sure was getting to him.

“Miss Jeong,” came the annoying voice of his secretary as she began reciting the script drilled into her mind from her first day on the clock. “Mr. Choi���s schedule is fully booked this afternoon and he does not have the time to discuss–”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out as you zeroed in on Jongho and raised a brow, silently challenging him to do something. On cue, the stone cold expression morphed into sunlight seeping through an array of thunderous clouds as he broke out in a charming smile and averted his attention to the woman behind you still going on about rules and policies. Gentle as a breeze and with a faux sweetness to his words, he cut her off. 

“It’s alright, Eunij. I called her over to plan our date for the evening. We won’t be long, I promise.”

To really secure the win, Jongho flashed her his significant gummy smile that looked sweeter than sugar itself. Jongho knew he was good looking, you knew he was good looking, everyone knew he was good looking, but what they didn’t know was that he used it to his advantage for years. He would flash them a smile warm enough to melt through ice and cheesing eyes that portrayed the sweetest chocolate in the world, but his mouth wasn’t just good for a handsome distraction. More often than not, Jongho would sweet talk his way out of situations. It worked nine out of ten times. The one time it didn’t work was on you.

As expected, Eunji blushed beneath his attentive gaze and your insides turned on fire. The swirls of his name on your skin burned hotter than a blowtorch and no ice bath would save you from the stinging pain. She threw you one last look before closing the door with a gentle click that could barely be heard in the silent room. Being left alone in the solitude of his office and away from the prying eyes of his father’s employees, Jongho allowed the sugary facade to slip like cotton candy dissolving at a brief contact with water. The round eyes of a teddy didn’t find you, but rather a pair belonging to a hungry bear who’s just had his territory disturbed.

Jongho clasped his fingers together and leaned on the mahogany desk, putting his whole weight on it. “I take it you didn’t come here to give me chocolates for White Day?”

Hadn’t you known Jongho for a decade or so, you’d be confused at the teasing remark coming from a man looking anything but in the mood for playing around. You ignored the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and got straight to the point, hoping it would calm the beautiful creatures pushing you to the brink of puking.

“Why did you agree to attend the charity event on my behalf?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend?” 

“Fake-girlfriend,” you corrected him and crossed your arms. “I can’t just change my life to accommodate yours, Jongho, this wasn’t the deal. The contract explicitly said we would be under a fake guise until your name was cleared of rumours and scandals.”

“And how do you think that would happen if we don’t play the part of a happy couple? I can’t go on my own, that tells them I’m more available than ever before, especially when we recently went public with the relationship.”

You yielded under his intense gaze and changed the direction of your attention on the shelf to your left displaying various brands of alcohol ranging from pricey Japanese whiskey to Italian wine. The inside of your cheek was caught between your teeth as you contemplated your answer. He had a point, but you didn’t want to boost his already hugemongous ego. Darting your tongue out to lick at your dry lips, you turned back and found his eyes still staring into the depths of your soul as if searching for the red string that tied you together.

“Just… Just ask me next time before you make a decision on your own, okay? That’s all I want.”

The need to defy everyone and everything danced through his veins, yet the rewarding feeling of succeeding to annoy the other party wasn’t as satisfying when you were on the receiving end this time. He flexed his jaw and the hand that slipped beneath the table to rest on his thigh clenched into a tight fist. 

“Fine…” 

“Thank you.” 

That marked the end of your conversation and you took it as your cue to leave. Jongho’s voice calling out your name brought you to a stop. You didn’t let go of your hold on the doorknob, just turned slightly to show him you were listening.

“We’ll pick you up at six PM on Friday and I’ll have Eunji send you the clothes before then.” As if having the ability to read your mind, he quickly added what felt like the most obvious thing in the world. “And yes, the dress is long sleeved.”

That was probably the sole good thing with the contract, besides the paycheck that sold you in the first place. You weren’t picky with the arrangement and went along with everything stated in the agreement — going on a few dates for publicity, holding hands, kissing, posting each other on social media, attending events and galas. Wearing clothes created by Choi Clothes came with the duty of fake-dating the heir of said agency, however you did make it clear you’d only sign the papers if all the clothes were long sleeved, reaching well over your wrist as not to disclose the soulmate mark. The easy money you once thought you’d earn by fake-dating the successor of Choi Clothes turned into a full-time job with no room for slacking off. Just a few more months, you thought and walked out of Choi Enterprises. 

It was still hard to wrap your head around everything. You recalled the day they came knocking on your door. A woman and man dressed in expensive clothes that seemed to cost more than the will your parents set aside for you. They introduced themselves as the managers of Mr. and Mrs. Choi, the owners of Choi Clothes. The ice tea you poured in the prettiest set of china you owned were left untouched as the managers — the names you have long since forgotten — explained their unexpected visit. The Chois selected you as the perfect candidate for their little stunt to ensure their son wouldn’t put the entire family line at shame and burn the whole establishment to the ground before he could even acquire the title as CEO. 

Your task was, more or less, to be the candy glued to Jongho’s side and together play the part of a couple head over heels for each other. The pair was patient as you bombarded them with questions, meanwhile they only had three — Do you have a soulmate, have you met your soulmate and how is your criminal record? The quiet voice in the back of your mind pointed out how they probably already had the answers, but didn’t want to seem totally uninterested in you.

At first, you didn’t want to do it. Not only were you going to play pretend for a good few months, but you weren’t even allowed to know who you were going to fake-date as they didn’t want you to decline the offer and run your mouth to a newspaper publisher. The fountain pen with gold swirling engravings on its sides looked scary as it lay abandoned beside the pristine contract. That quickly changed when you saw the never ending zeroes slothed after the word ‘total salary’. Your morning shift at the closest seven-eleven that was about to start in thirty minutes flashed before your eyes and you never signed something as fast as you did that contract.

Perhaps you would’ve said no if you knew the heir was going to be none else than your soulmate. The universe worked in miraculous ways and somehow always made sure to lead you back to him. A magnetic pull that steered you in every direction until you would stand before him again.

The weekend came around and so did the event taking place that Saturday afternoon. It would be marked as your second public outing as a couple feeding into the eager eyes and cameras of South Korea. Mr. Oh, Jongho’s designated driver, pulled up in a squeaky clean limousine that looked more out of place than a kitten raised by a group of squirrel monkeys in the Amazon rainforest. Mr. Oh was a kind older man inching closer and closer to his retirement, always wearing a smile and never speaking without referring to others by their titles. In the few and brief encounters you had with the man, he would always greet you with a ‘Hello, Ms. Jeong’ while opening the rear door for you despite being told to just call you by your name. The backseat was already occupied by Jongho sitting in yet another expensive suit.

The suit jacket was black with white tiger-like stripes erupting from his shoulders and reaching all the way down to his midsection. It had six silver buttons, two for practical use while the rest were there for embellishment. Jongho — never one keen on showing too much — chose to keep the jacket buttoned and you wondered how he could endure it, considering he wore a white turtleneck beneath. The pattern wasn’t what caught the eye of the beholder, rather it was the millions of bedazzles covering the whole piece, making it reflect beneath any form of light, identical to the ones on your dress. His hair was styled in a middle part and unveiled his forehead, a sight you had seen a dozen times before, but were still left breathless. It was already established that Jongho was a handsome man, however the suits created by his parents certainly brought out the best of him — accentuating his confidence, breathtaking features and magnetic presence in a way that left everyone in awe. 

Jongho brought you back to reality as he did a rundown of the charity event, what questions to expect and what answers to give, the names of some important people you would definitely speak — or at least greet — with tonight and who would exit the limousine first. You definitely missed the way his eyes ran over your figure, seemingly appreciating you in a beautiful dress from the latest spring collection of his parents. The Chois apparently had a knack for chic attires because your dress wasn’t anything over the top either, but would definitely unscrew some jaws. It was strapless and started from your bosom with a straight neckline allowing your collarbones to be captured by the crazy shuttering cameras. The dress was tight around your torso, giving a perfect picture of your figure beneath, but grew loose from your hips and down. The material didn’t stop until it grazed the ground you walked on, despite wearing a pair of black stiletto heels that were made for your feet and clicked with each step you took, announcing your arrival to everyone in a close vicinity.

Speaking of your lower body — your left leg was exposed as a long slit protruded from your upper thigh. Both of your arms were covered in black detachable sleeves reaching up to your mid bicep and cuffing around the cushion of your hand. You almost threw a fit when you took out the dress from its gigantic box and noticed the lack of sleeves on it. You were one phone call away from canceling the whole agreement hadn’t you seen the remaining parts of the attire.  To top it off, the Chois gifted you a set of golden jewelry and a black clutch handbag spacious enough to fit your phone, lipstick and wallet. The matching set of earrings, rings and necklace were nothing too outstanding, but enough to take on the elegance of a model.

“We’ll be there for an hour or two and then Mr. Oh will take you home.”

You ignored the part where it was stated Mr. Oh was taking you home and focused on his subtle slip-in of defying his parents’ rules yet again. Your brows furrowed together and Jongho suppressed the need to even out the skin between them. “No, Mr. and Mrs. Choi explicitly said we had to be there until the very end of the event.”

Jongho leaned into his seat and spread his legs further apart until one of his knees touched your thigh. A chuckle void of amusement filled the passenger compartment and he sighed as if you said the joke of the century.

“I think you should relax a little, sweetheart. My parents should be grateful I’m attending in the first place.”

You pursed your lips to keep yourself from giving your input where it clearly wasn’t wished for. Jongho looked out of the window while you admired his side profile. Jongho was the epitome of a whiplash — you never knew when he’d shake you off like a poisonous insect or help you fly as if you were an injured ladybug. His nonchalance left a bitter tang on your tongue, the similar taste after downing a beer you knew you’d puke back up in a few hours, and the imaginary Jongho was crushed in the world you created in your brain.

The karma of thinking such thoughts was instantaneous as the skin beneath your soulmate mark flared to life. You wondered if Jongho experienced repercussions whenever he was treating you badly. The rest of the drive was done in silence safe for the newest global hits playing through the speakers. Four songs later and the limousine temporarily came to a stop before the entrance of a big building looking like something straight out of a movie. A red carpet was rolled out from the doors to the street where everyone’s ride was instructed to stop and let the guests out. Mr. Oh exited first and walked around the oblong vehicle as Jongho simultaneously fixed his suit although it was free of any imperfections.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

The door opened and Jongho stepped out, an array of flashes went off accompanied by the calls of his name — the photographers begging for a crumb of his attention. Jongho straightened his jacket, offered everyone a smile and quick wave before holding out his hand to face the dark heavens. That was your cue. No one really knew who you were outside of being Jongho’s girlfriend and even after you became public, they could find little to no information about you online. Thus, you didn’t expect the clicking of cameras and flashes to multiply in your presence. You grabbed Jongho’s hand per your agreement and stepped out with your exposed leg first then, when you fully exited the limousine — an upgrade from Jongho’s death trap of a motorcycle — you smoothly looped your arm through his and firecrackers erupted on your skin at the contact.  You stood tall and got a couple of inches on him thanks to the heels, but he didn’t seem bothered by it and neither was the company otherwise you doubt they would’ve sent it in the first place.

Standing in the centre of attention wasn’t as nauseating as you originally thought it would be and whether you want to admit it or not, it was partially because of Jongho being there to anchor you. It wasn’t his forthe to whisper sweet words of encouragement, but he portrayed his support in other ways such as leading you through the overwhelming photographers, sneaking his arm around your waist and respectfully resting his palm above the curve of your hip. It helped that you rehearsed the events of the night from start to finish with Jongho and wouldn’t be in for a surprise. Taking advice from your favorite childhood movie, you put on the brightest smile of your career and moved along. The audience didn’t need to know you were finding comfort in the famous line from Madagascar. 

The inside of the venue was prettier than any other interior you had ever laid eyes on. To be frank, it wasn’t anything exceptional, but the simplicity made it appear so. The main colors of the theme were creme white and beige, and were integrated into everything. The seats were plush chairs made out of velvet material in an ashy shade of beige while the tables were round with white marble tops. There was a path leading straight down the area and separating the room into two occupied with seats on both sides. On the other end of the pathway was a slightly elevated scene where the hosts of the event and guests would give their speeches, and use the smartboard to their liking. The ceiling was the most alluring sight though. Oblong light bulbs hung from the ceiling as sheer garment circled the light in waves. It gave a sense of elegance as well as coziness. 

A waiter dressed in a simple black suit offered you champagne on a platter and while you didn’t wish to become drunk, you still needed some alcohol to get through the night, especially when you were going to meet some of Choi Clothes’ most trusted business partners. You both took a glass each and mingled around with Jongho’s arm still glued to you as if it belonged right above the swell of your hip. Not many words, if any at all, were exchanged as you mainly drank in the design of the place while simultaneously ignoring the stares and whispers of the remaining guests, all eyes glued to your forms fitting perfectly with one another like two lost pieces of a puzzle. They were all curious about the pretty lady beneath Jongho’s arm and how the reckless Choi managed to find a girl that would look past his bad habits and disrespectful personality. If only they knew. 

Jongho’s situation wasn’t entirely a secret. Everyone knew he was somewhat of a problematic guy with another style of living that wasn’t fit to his parents’ standard. They didn’t feel all too proud waking up to multiple articles of Dispatch flaunting pictures taken of Jongho leaving clubs early in the morning surrounded by boys and girls of all kinds, certainly not the kind to be invited to exclusive fashion events and charities. Jongho hadn’t changed much over the years, if you recalled correctly. He would rarely be present during lectures. He was physically there, but his mind had transcended off to dreamland long before the lesson started. The one interest he had was soccer and even that ended shortly into his second year as he got with the wrong crowd. If someone needed him, he could be found smoking on the roof or behind the back of the school with a handful of students who also had successful parents.

It was sheer luck Jongho was an only child and that his parents were in need of a successor, otherwise he would’ve been kicked to the curb a long time ago. Apparently, the Chois grew sick of his careless behaviour and gave him an ultimatum — clean up his mess or not be signed as an heir to the company. Jongho defied them like always, until his credit card ran empty and he realized his parents wouldn’t relent. He came crawling back with his tail between his legs and agreed to their proposition. You never understood him or why he acted the way he did. He had everything, practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth and it amazed you that the universe decided to tie your souls to each other. Jongho certainly wasn’t the soulmate you expected and your meeting wasn’t anywhere near the romantic encounter your parents experienced.

“Let’s take a seat before the aunties swammer us,” he whispered in your ear and led you to a table with a gentle nudge to the small of your back. 

The touch sent plausible tingles of electricity up your spine and the intensity never wavered even when he withdrew his hand to pull out your chair for you — a great play to showcase his inner gentleman. He took his righteous place on your right side, but immediately regretted it. His ploy of escaping the aunties proved to be futile as Mrs. Kang, a good business partner of Jongho’s paternal grandparents, butted into your table and plopped down on the vacant seat beside you despite her name not being on the list and began shooting invasive questions. The older lady wanted to know everything about you — your age, name, workplace, how you knew Jongho, who your soulmate was, if you and Jongho were soulmates. She pulled on the imaginary rubber band attached to Jongho’s wrist until it snapped and rebounded against his skin.

“Mrs. Kang, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

The chatter around the table quieted down at Jongho’s sharp reply and you acted quickly to ease the tension. You placed your hand over his and gave it a firm squeeze. The motion averted his attention from Mrs. Kang to your stern gaze. A silent conversation ensued between you.

“Stop.”

“She’s the one who started it.”

“I don’t care. It won’t look good for you or your parents.”

Jongho eventually gave in and leaned back in his chair. The sudden cold shoulder on his part was him telling you he wasn’t pleased with the outcome. Not like you cared. Yes, your part of the deal was to be his fake-girlfriend, but you couldn’t just let him do as he wished to the people around him as it would reflect a bad light on you too. 

“Welcome everyone to the Fashion For Aid charity event aimed at assisting children in group homes! I want to express my sincere gratitude to everyone for attending on this fine evening…” 

The host was a man in his late sixties with a head full of hair and face clean of any. You weren’t paying much attention to what he was saying as you weren’t well versed into the fashion world, but you did your best to at least look immersed in his speech. The man to your right wasn’t looking any more interested than you did and actually managed to sit through the first five minutes of the opening ceremony, until he got bored. After that, he played a game of what-could-Jongho-do-to-annoy-his-soulmate-in-the-fastest-way-possible? He did everything to get on your nerves — drumming his fingers against the edge of the table, staring at you then looking away when you met his gaze, loudly cracking his neck and fingers, and frequently checked his phone. The moment the host finished his lengthy speech and encouraged everyone to visit the table full of sweets and drinks placed on both sides of the room, Jongho jumped from his seat, hand already reaching into the inner pocket of his suit.

“If you’ll excuse me, a man’s gotta use the bathroom.”

“Jongho!” You hissed after him, but he either didn’t hear you or blatantly ignored you. As you moved to follow him, an inkling feeling telling you the bathroom was the last place he was headed for, a wrinkly hand landed on your thigh and successfully stopped you from going after him.

“Oh, honey, it is not worth stressing over him. Youngsters like that boy don’t change and he won’t do it even with a beautiful lady by his side.”

A bucket of water spilled over you and froze all forty-three muscles in your face. You somehow managed to force the corners of your mouth up and fake a smile, but the sincerity was not evident in your eyes.

“I, uhm, don’t want him to change. Really.” You added in the end as Mrs. Kang raised a brow in non-belief. “I like Jongho as he is and I don’t think he needs to change to fit in other people's crowded boxes.”

“If you say so, dear, but… if you’re interested, I have a nephew your age who would suit you much better than Mr. Choi.” She turned in her seat and scanned the crowd for said nephew. A fire lit beneath your chair as she began waving him over.

“Oh, Mrs. Kang, that's not necessary.” The reassuring words fell on deaf ears — literally — and although you weren’t too keen on lying, you already had one rich kid to look after. “I think I heard Jongho calling for me, I’ll be right back!”

Jongho was in fact not calling you over. Jongho was gone, disappeared into thin air and abandoned you in a room full of strangers. It would be a miracle if he hadn’t asked Mr. Oh to drive him someplace, leaving you to figure out your own ride home.

“Fucking hell, Jongho,” you muttered and weaved through the crowd of successful people and nepotism babies. 

The venue was so packed with people you couldn’t even try searching for the bathrooms and opted to go back out again. The outside wasn’t void of people either, as some foreign faces stood socializing with each other, drinks in one hand and fat cigars squeezed between the pointer- and middle finger of their other hand. Not searching for more aunties or uncles to flag you down, you walked away from the people to a place that seemed vacant. Who would’ve known the universe was pulling on your red string and leading you in the direction of your soulmate. Turning the corner of the building, you stumbled over the view of Jongho crouched down behind a couple of taller bushes. Much like the other gentlemen, he too had a slim cigarette placed between his lips, dragging the poisonous smoke right into his lungs. You understood why out of all the places, he chose to smoke on the other side of the building. It was less prone to attract the paparazzi searching for something juicy to spread on social media. 

Jongho didn’t kill the glowing stick as you appeared in his peripheral vision nor did he show a sign of acknowledging your sudden appearance. You didn’t go out of your way to chastise him for smoking in a public setting either, instead you took a stance beside him while he inhaled the last of the cancer-stick and looked straight ahead. It was already stuffy just standing there in silence, you didn’t need to stare at him with questions swimming in your eyes.

The warm sun of March was replaced by the round and bright moon, allowing a certain frost to the early spring breeze. You crossed your arms over your chest and caressed the exposed skin of your bicep with your thumb in a poor attempt at subduing the coldness. The dress was beautiful, but it certainly wasn’t made for such weather and you were questioning their professionalism as they didn’t give you a coat or any other outerwear. On the other hand, Jongho had been admiring you for the last couple of seconds since you took the place beside him and the sharp goosebumps littered on your body didn’t go unnoticed by him. He balanced the cigarette between his lips and slipped the suit jacket off himself. The rustle of clothes caught your attention and before you could realize what was happening, a newfound warmth wrapped around you followed by a mild fragrance of charcoal, pine needles and espresso. 

“You don’t have to–” 

“I’m not letting my date freeze her ass off.”

You tried ignoring the harsh squeeze of your heart and a pang of heat blossoming from the center of your chest, sprouting out to the rest of your body. This was just Jongho being kind, nothing more, nothing less. Yet your heart and soulmate mark thought otherwise. The stinging smell of his cigarette was a perfect distraction and your nose scrunched at the awful burn. Jongho needed all of three seconds to take one last drag of the stick, blow it away from your face and throw it to the ground, his expensive boot coming down to turn it to speckles of ash. 

“I’m going back inside,” you announced after another minute of silence. “It won’t look good if both of us are missing.”

“Who cares what they think? They’ll always have something to say about me in the end so it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to prove them right, you know?”

You didn’t get another answer after that and decided to take your leave. A warm hand circled around your wrist, their thumb grazing the covered soulmate mark and stopping you in your steps. You turned around, Jongho’s hand still on you but his eyes avoiding yours at all cost.

“...Wanna get out of here?” He eventually asked.

Another beat passed and you pressed your lips together. “We really shouldn’t, Jongho, besides it’s against the contract.”

A genuine laugh escaped him and he moved toward the opposite side of the event, rounding the corner you didn't appear from. “Screw the contract.” 

You quickly followed his lead, intrigued and worried at where he was headed. Perhaps you got worked up for nothing as a bunch of expensive cars as well as limousines were parked in neat rows, the moonlight reflecting off their polished hoods and trunks. 

“Where are you going?” You hissed and bunched one end of your dress to not accidentally step on it and twist your ankle.

“Why don’t you find out?”

How you managed to find yourself in this situation was beyond you. Not once was it stated in the contract that you would need to use Jongho’s death trap as a form of transportation, yet there you were sitting on the back of his motorcycle as he zoomed through the street. It was a miracle he successfully managed to sneak it into the parking lot without having any of the guards or chaperons turning him down. Then again, it was Choi Jongho they were dealing with. What Jongho wanted, Jongho got.

Your arms were tightly wrapped around his midsection and your eyes squeezed shut, almost believing the danger of the situation would disappear if you couldn’t see the blur of scenery whiz past you. Jongho smirked at the feel of you squeezing him to death and he purposefully revved the bike to go faster just to hear your squeaks of fear slip beneath your helmet. He wasn’t even going half the speed he was used to, but he felt just a twinge of remorse for you. The motorcycle slowed down and eventually stopped before a red light.

“You can open your eyes now,” he spoke into the built-in bluetooth in his helmet and placed his hand on your intertwined ones, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a soothing motion. The whipping wind was quickly drying your hands and he was cursing himself for the pair of gloves he forgot on the edge of his bed. 

You did as told, albeit opening one eye at a time just to make sure he wasn’t sugarcoating the situation. For once, you were happy about being wrong.

“How much more?” You asked, your throat dry and beginning for a sip of water. 

“We’re almost there.” The traffic light switched to yellow. “Hold on tight now.”

It took an eternity — twenty minutes — until Jongho put the motorcycle in neutral and turned off the throttle as well as the ignition switch, and allowed the weight of the vehicle to lean on the kickstand. He took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the gelled strands in the process and placed the helmet on the surface of the fuel tank. You slightly released your grip on him, but were still reluctant to move as you were afraid of somehow falling off the motorcycle or tipping the whole thing over and thus let your fingers hover over his sides. Jongho’s feet were planted on the ground for extra security and comfort, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see you sit stiff as a board. He turned away and brought his shoulders up to his ears as he quietly chuckled to himself. The helmet was still on your head and your cheeks mushed by the pillowy cushion inside, making you look like a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts.

“I thought you hated her?” He asked through his giggles.

“Huh?”

“The motorcycle. I thought you hated the motorcycle, besides can you let go off me now? Unless you like touching me–”

You didn’t need to hear more to fling your hands in the air. The abrupt motion almost caused you to fall back, hadn't you grabbed Jongho’s shoulders again. It was sheer luck that he was sturdy enough not to lean back from your harsh grip. He laughed again, a chuckle that brought his gummy smile into the moonlight. It was a sound you came to like and wouldn't mind hearing for the rest of your life. The admission caused your ears to burn with embarrassment and you were grateful that the soulmate connection was limited to the scribbled name on your wrist, not giving your other half the ability to feel your emotions or hear your thoughts.

“Okay, go like this. Place this foot,” he patted the side of your left thigh, “on the ground and swing your other leg over the bike, then carefully step off. Hold onto me until you’re completely off so you don’t fall.”

His instructions were easy to follow and you managed to get off without hurting yourself, him, or damaging his prized possession. The sound of water softly washing up against the sand reached your ears and it was only when you dismounted the motorcycle that you took in your surroundings. The view was nothing short of exceptional. You stood on the sidewalk with stairs leading straight down to the riverside area, giving you a perfect view of the river. It was slightly blurry and you couldn't quite figure out why. As your hand subconsciously reached up to rub your eyes, you accidentally brushed against the visor. Unsure how to remove the helmet without discomfort, you decided to simply slide the visor up instead.

The Mapo Bridge was even prettier at night, with its blue and purple lights twinkling beneath the dark sky. At least a hundred cars drove across the bridge in the few minutes since you arrived and the sound of their tires and whirring motors added a sense of tranquility to the setting. The prettiest of it all were the cherry blossoms slipping off the branches of the Prunus serrulata trees. The ground was covered in pink and white petals, and some even landed in your hair. It was magical.

It dawned on you just where Jongho had brought you — Yeouido Hangang Park. While you were busy taking in every little detail of the scenery, Jongho retrieved his keys from the ignition and stopped beside you. He buried them in the pockets of his pants to prevent you from noticing he was fidgeting with the keys, thus keeping his dignity intact. He couldn’t have you going around thinking you were the reason behind the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and whether that was true or not would stay with Jongho, and Jongho only.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out.

Jongho hummed in agreement, yet his eyes didn’t budge from your form. It didn’t matter that you wore stiletto heels with a designer dress, a suit jacket multiple sizes too big for you and a sports helmet on your head — you looked as beautiful as the first day he met you, all those years ago in high school. He cleared his throat and stepped in front of you, the pads of his fingers gently grazing the skin beneath your chin as he unclasped the straps of your helmet. The little click snapped your attention to his eyes full of focus that shifted from your chin up to your lips, and lastly your eyes. As if stuck in a trance unable to look away, you drowned in the warmest hue of brown molded out of the richest cacao beans in the world. Jongho slowly took hold of your helmet and began pushing it upwards, but with a gentleness you hadn’t witnessed before. He was so careful and the imagination of having your head ripped off your body didn’t come to life. 

“Thank you,” you whispered as he successfully removed the gear.

“No worries… I’m sure my mom would have my head if I let a lady walk around in designer clothes with a cheap helmet on.”

Although his intentions weren’t to tickle your belly, the sound of your laughter spread a fervor through his body and shone light on the darkest parts in him. It was contagious and he found his own lips curling up, eyes cheesing and that angelic voice of his handing out gleeful melodies to the few people taking a late-night stroll in the park. 

“Come on, let’s take a walk.” He held out his hand for you to take and you did without a second thought. “I meant your heels, but lucky for you I have two hands.”

You began withdrawing your hand, but Jongho had already laced your fingers together and refused to let go. 

“You're unbelievable,” you muttered, pretending the heat of embarrassment wasn't attacking your cheeks.

“I can live with that.” 

Jongho pulled you along toward the flight of stairs and patiently walked with you. It didn’t matter that it took five minutes to reach the bottom because he was with you every step of the way and if you said anything otherwise, Jongho would’ve argued the night was still young and that the five minutes were worth it as he got to spend them with you. He was lucky his parents chose a candidate who wasn’t insecure of themselves to the point they apologized for every minor inconvenience, because Jongho wasn’t sure how the sweet words would fit his unruly persona. The first three steps on the sand made you change your mind and you quickly removed the heels, flexing your stiff feet and releasing a breath of relief. The expensive pair of footwear were handed to Jongho who hooked his pointer- and middle finger in the heel counter while his other set of fingers were still braided with yours. 

“It’s nice here,” you admitted and looked out on the river. The other side was covered with a bunch of buildings, much like the ones behind you, and looked like a scene straight out of a movie. Where the lights of the apartments, universities and hospitals took on the looks of the stars above.

“Mmmmm, it’s quiet and empty.”

“Do you come here a lot?” 

Jongho pondered for a moment. “Sometimes… I can think easier when there aren’t a bunch of people breathing down my neck, plus the ride here helps me clear my head.”

“It’s overwhelming, right? I mean being in the spotlight constantly and having your every move watched from an early age, no?”

He shrugged. “It was at first, but… I stopped caring after a while and people stopped expecting things from me.”

You hummed in understanding and let the gentle waves wash over the conversation. The curiosity you once carried with you concerning Jongho’s defying personality simmered down to nothing and you realized it wasn’t a topic you should venture in on just yet. Instead, you changed it to something less serious. 

“You know, I didn’t think we’d see each other after high school, but look at us now. Holding hands beneath the stars… Are you perhaps starting to like me, Jjong?”

One end of Jongho's lips curled into a shit-eating grin and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and you couldn't tell if it was from the nickname or from bringing up old high school memories. Jongho’s walking slowed down until both feet were planted on the sand, not bugging despite you being half a step ahead of him. You looked over your shoulder to see what was the reason for stopping. 

“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered by the fact that you think I’m just now starting to like you.”

He shortened the distance between you, leaving barely any room for air to squeeze past your bodies. His thumb traced a never-ending circle across the back of your hand and your heels had long since dropped onto the sand, giving him the freedom to cradle the side of your face. Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart seemed to sprout a pair of angel wings, soaring in your chest at the contact of his skin on yours.

"To answer your question, soulmate, I’ve liked you since the day I saw you in that gymnasium." Jongho's eyes traveled over your face, giving each feature and detail equal attention, as if he wanted to memorize your beauty as though it were a cheat sheet for an exam. "You were dressed in that cute school uniform, your hair braided and kept out of your face, and you looked absolutely sick to your stomach. That’s when I knew our souls were made for each other. I didn’t even need to know your name or look at your wrist. I just knew."

The world went silent around you. The sloshing of water, the chorus of cute laughter and the moving vehicles were muffled sounds that didn’t reach your ears. A furious heat crawled up your back and neck, nipping at your cheeks until you were on the brink of burning up like a firework, but the rest of your body — your fingers, toes, nose and ears — were freezing cold. A massive star nearing the end of its life cycle suddenly exploded and your hearing came back. The air that had caught in your throat was let out as Jongho’s words settled in your mind.

“Jongho,” you lamely whispered in return. 

The secret you had carried for years turned out not to be much of a secret after all, and the hundreds, thousands, of people you thought you were fooling day in and day out weren’t deserving of that title. Because the biggest fool out of them all was you.

“You knew all along?” 

Jongho shrugged and tore his eyes from your dumbfounded expression down to your wrist. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.” His thumb slid up beneath your detachable sleeves, exposing the name you kept hidden for years. “I mean, it isn’t everyday I hear about a pretty girl with my name tattooed on her wrist and hers on mine.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first. The fact that he called you a pretty girl, his thumb caressing your soulmate mark or him knowing you were destined together since high school. Your tongue darted out to lick at your bottom lip and his eyes were quick to follow the brief movement. He swallowed thickly and forced them up again. 

“I take it you knew too?”

You nodded in return. “When they called out your name in the assembly and I caught the side of your face.” 

“I’m happy you didn’t approach me then,” he suddenly admitted and chuckled as your brows pinched together. “Fate brought us together in the end.”

“But we aren’t together-together.”

“Last time I checked, you pretty much signed a contract to date me.”

“Fake-date you.”

The tongue poking the inside of his cheek looked ten times more attractive beneath the moonlight, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hand through his hair and kiss that darned smirk off his face. Perhaps the soulmate bond went further than a name scribbled on the outer layer of your skin, because your wish wasn’t too far from Jongho’s. He, too, wanted to get a taste of your lips. To have some remnants of your lipstick smudge against his and guess the flavor of it — maybe strawberry or cherry, though he always took you for a coconut girl. 

He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay, fake-date then… Better?”

Not in the least.

“Much better.”

“It’s not for me,” he quickly added.

“Why?”

Jongho inhaled a sharp intake of air and waited, playing the scene out in his mind and weighing out his options before puking his thoughts and feelings out in an almost vacant park. “Because… I want to do stuff with you. To hold your hand, take you out on dates, kiss you, hug you and just be with you like a real couple. I want to know that the look you have when you’re with me is real, that it isn’t just a job for you. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.”

“I have always wanted you,” you confessed shakily. “Before I even knew you, Jongho. There was nothing more I wanted than to find my soulmate and that hasn’t changed. Even when I did find you and lost you at the same time, that desire still lived within me. It still does… And when I found out you were the rich kid who needed a fake-girlfriend, it felt like the world was laughing in my face, but I realized it was giving me a second chance. Us a second chance.”

Now it was Jongho’s turn to look dumbfounded. You took his silence as a sign to continue.

“And all you had to do, Jjong, was ask. Even now. Just ask for what you want.”

The man stared at you as if heaven were beneath your fingertips, as if a single touch of your finger would bring him eternal peace and serenity. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and no one else could compete with your beauty — even if they were sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Jongho was never a listener — always defying and doing as he pleased. Yet this one time, the one time, he would be darned if he didn’t.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The stars aligned as his lips gently pressed against yours. Jongho was right, you tasted like coconut and it had him craving for more, yet the fear of pushing you away was greater than his need. The fingers of your free hand tangled into the side of his shirt to steady your swirling mind, but did little for your erratically beating heart. Jongho wasn’t rough nor eager to ravage your mouth with his tongue, rather on the contrary. It was a soft and lingering kiss that tested the waters. You parted to inhale air before diving in for another kiss, this one a little more urgent and daring than the first, but equally sweet. Jongho’s tongue swiped at your bottom lip and you tilted your head sideways while allowing him access. Even now with his tongue exploring your mouth, the kiss didn’t change from intimate to hungry. A fire was set in your lungs that ached for oxygen and you were left with no choice but to break apart. Jongho rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing and heavy gasps for air fanning your faces. 

“You drive me crazy,” he said between breaths.

“I’m not… doing anything.” You had to fight the smile threatening to dance across your lips. This was a whole new side to Jongho, a side you had never seen before but wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“Precisely and you still make me lose my mind.”

The stubborn smile eventually broke through and Jongho huffed out a chuckle at the gleeful expression. I’m-not-doing-anything his ass. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek once and twice, but froze in motion as you asked him a question. 

“Did you really mean everything you said earlier? About the contract, I mean.”

“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat. “If I could, I would terminate the contract, but keep this. Keep us.” 

A beat passed and then another. Your thoughts were flying wild, narrowly avoiding each other and the explosion that would ensue. 

“Let’s do it then,” you eventually said. That was the second bravest thing you had done in your life. The first would be signing the contract while running on four hours of sleep. “Let’s do it for real.”

Jongho gauged your expression, searching for any sign of uncertainty or regret. When he couldn’t find even a hint of either, he pressed his lips against yours. Affection, joy and excitement poured into the kiss, and Jongho hoped you would feel at least half of it.

Unbeknownst to the new couple, two people stood by Jongho’s motorcycle. The man wore a fancy black suit, while the woman’s dress elegantly hugged her curves as she stood effortlessly in her heels. A set of black sunglasses obscured their eyes, despite the fact that the sun had long since exchanged places with the moon. The pair seemed out of place in Yeouido Hangang Park surrounded by people dressed in casual clothing. Passersby noticed it too, shooting them strange looks, but neither of them cared. Their attention was fixed on the couple brought together by destiny.

“I knew she was the one for him,” the man proudly admitted and puffed out his chest.

The woman beside him scoffed. “Please, I was the one who found her Linkedin and recognized her name from Mr. Choi’s wrist.”

The pair gave you one last look before turning around and clambering back into the limousine, which drove them straight to the charity event. They had left the party in a hurry the moment they noticed the absence of the successor of Choi Clothes and his fake girlfriend — or should they say, his real girlfriend?

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

doctor! doctor! ♡ seok matthew, lpn ♡ the nurseـــــــــﮩ٨ـ

⋆˙⟡ zb1 doctor smut series masterlist! all parts also linked here: nurse!matthew, doctor!jiwoong/med student!gunwook, allergist!taerae, radiology tech!gyuvin/cardiologist!ricky, anesthesiologist!hao/surgeon!hanbin

⋆˙⟡ wc: 1.5k (gonna try to keep these short, but we know me...)

⋆˙⟡ reader: gn afab (no pronouns used to refer to reader)

⋆˙⟡ series summary: eight medical professionals. a sudden illness that gets progressively worse. can reader survive the l-o-v-emergency?

⋆˙⟡ the nurse summary: the male nurse at your new doctor's office is a total asshole. but he's really hot. and so are you, after what was supposed to be a routine physical takes a couple unexpected turns.

⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific warnings under the cut! angst. lighttt dub-con. matt is a total meanie. little less by the end. explicit mean comments about reader's weight but it's only because he's literally an asshole. smut is fairly light-ish, but we're just getting started so let's let it simmer for now.

⋆˙⟡ l-o-v-emergency scale: ★☆☆☆☆ (1)

GUYS HEY! I'M ALIVE! who's glad? not me. anyway, i've been working in a medical setting for over 2 months now and this series was birthed bc i couldn't stop thinking about how matthew would look in a good set of athletic (specifically magenta) scrubs. okay, hopefully i don't abandon this project!! ily. always. don't forget. <3

⋆˙⟡ iwnfyshb full masterlist

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: fingering/heavy petting (reader receiving), dub-con kind of sort of idk better safe than sorry, matt is very mean, inappropriate use of medical equipment (?), yeah i think that's good for now.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

it’s a regular monday morning. nothing out of the ordinary at all. though it’s a bit chilly outside, the sun is shining on this lovely february day.

you’re at the doctor’s office, sitting in the waiting room for your annual physical. your primary care physician had retired at the end of last year, so you’d scheduled your first appointment with a doctor at a completely new practice. they were so new, in fact, that they didn’t really have any google reviews yet except for one that just said: went above and beyond.

and they also accept your insurance, so there’s that.

though it’s late in the year for it, you’re also hoping to get a flu shot after about eight different strains of influenza ravaged your workplace this week. but you feel very healthy. you actually feel great.

usually you’re called in a bit faster for an appointment, but today it takes about ten minutes before the door to the medical entrance finally bursts open. it slams against the wall, startling both you and the elderly woman sitting a few seats away from you.

“ah, shit, sorry,” a voice mumbles and your eyes follow to put a face to it. standing in front of you is an incredibly attractive male nurse who squints at his clipboard. “uh… (y/n)?”

you stand up quickly, putting your phone in your coat pocket and walking up to the nurse. up close, you can see his name tag says: matthew.

“sick,” matthew says quietly, pointing down the hall to a scale. “we’re gonna head over there.”

you walk with him to the scale, jumping again when the door to the waiting room slams loudly.

“ah, shit. sorry,” he says again. you step on the scale, only to hear snickering next to you a moment later.

“uh… is something funny?” you ask with a frown.

“maybe take the coat off,” matthew suggests with a smirk. “we’re wanting a weight good for humans, not for whales.”

your eyes widen in shock. not really sure how to respond, you simply take your coat off and place it on the chair next to you. matthew leans over your shoulder, encroaching a little too liberally on your personal space bubble, and huffs confusedly.

“huh. i really thought that’d help more,” he says, jotting your (extremely normal) weight down onto his clipboard and shrugging. “anyway, we’re gonna be in room 3, on your left here.”

was he being purposefully rude or was he just painfully oblivious? a little more irritated than you had expected to be during this visit, you follow your nurse into the exam room and take a seat on the exam table.

“whoah, there,” he says with a laugh as he sits down on a stool beside the medical counter. “careful not to break the table after that weigh-in.”

you’re about to ask him what his problem is when matthew suddenly rolls up the already short sleeves on his magenta scrub top, revealing big, toned biceps underneath. goddamn, he was gorgeous.

but it didn’t give him a right to make comments about your body.

“wh—… why do you keep—…” you nervously start to confront him before he interrupts.

“just gonna get a reading on the pulse oximeter,” matthew announces, grabbing your hand from your lap and sticking the device on the tip of your index finger. “cool nails.”

“thanks,” you find yourself replying quietly. you don’t think you’ve ever met a nurse who lacked bedside manner this badly.

“i’ve been giving you a hard time, but you’re sorta hot actually,” he says, matter-of-factly as he snatches your hand again suddenly to check the oximeter. his bluntness and close proximity causes your heart to involuntarily race, and he bites his lip in a conceited grin as he reads the numbers on the device. “100 bpm… something getting you excited?”

you should stand up and walk out the door right now. report him to the reception desk. you figured there had to be some setbacks to a completely new, unreviewed practice, but this was beyond acceptable. no one should be allowed to behave so unprofessionally in a medical setting.

you look him directly in the eyes. about to rip him a new one.

but holy fuck, this absolute dickhead is hot. your brain starts to feel a bit foggy just looking at him.

“are you sure you’re feeling okay today?” matthew asks, removing the oximeter and placing it on the counter. he takes a thermometer out of the pocket of his scrub top and walks over to you— casually situating himself in the gap you’d left between your legs. “i’m gonna take your temperature just in case.”

he holds the thermometer in front of your forehead for a moment, the device buzzing when it has a reading. “hm. all good here. i’m just gonna check one more spot to make sure.”

before you can ask what that means, he moves the thermometer between your legs— pressing it over your clothed core. it buzzes against your clit and you’re unable to suppress a whimper in your shock.

matthew licks his top lip as he drinks in the sound, removing the thermometer and reading the temperature. he clicks his tongue sadly. “just what i thought. you’re burning up, baby.”

“this—… this is—….” you make one last (very weak) attempt to protest this nonsense. “i mean, you really shouldn’t be—…”

“shouldn’t be what?” he asks, fingers now taking the place of the thermometer on your clothed heat. as he massages you gently, you inhale sharply at how nice his touch feels. “doing my job? i’m just getting you ready for the doctor, baby. that’s all.”

you don’t have a clue as to what that’s supposed to mean. and you’re starting to forget why you care as he hooks his fingers around your waistband. reflexively, you lift your hips for him and he pulls down your pants— discarding them on the chair next to the exam table and leaving you in just your panties on the medical paper lining.

matthew pushes them aside with his thumb before prodding at your entrance with his middle finger. “just a small pinch,” he warns as he slips it inside.

you inhale sharply as the full length of his digit fills you. he smirks again, making use of his thumb against your clit as he starts to fuck you with his finger. you begin to whine as a steady pressure forms below your stomach.

“how’s that, hm? feel good?” you nod, growing more desperate for your release. matthew laughs as he pushes another finger inside of you. you can’t help but moan, hand finding its way to grip at the neck of his scrub top. “listen to that. doc’s gonna love you. you could still stand to lose a few pounds though, not gonna lie.”

you hate this guy. you must’ve had a psychotic break at some point between the waiting room and this exam table. but something’s come over you— something almost feverish— and the desire to complain just keeps getting smaller.

“please,” you beg emphatically, fingers of your free hand wrapping around the edge of the exam table as your climax threatens to spill over. “just shut the fuck up and make me cum.”

“fuck,” he breathes, the tips of his fingers curling up into the spongey spot in your upper wall with even more vigor. “okay. okay, yeah. just don’t tell the doctor i let you cum. got it?”

“y-yeah,” you agree half-heartedly— still unsure as to what the doctor has to do with this mean, hot nurse committing a crazy hr violation on you. but you just need release. so you humor him. “whatever.”

matthew presses his thumb hard against your clit and that’s all it takes— your orgasm washing over you as you feel your juices slip down your inner thighs. “fuck, that’s hot. makes me wish i got to finish ‘em off more often.”

more often? a post-climax clarity begins to set in as you wonder what on earth this guy is talking about. but that clarity only lasts a few moments before you start to shake with a chill you swear is bone-deep.

“get up, i’m gonna clean things up quick,” matthew orders casually, changing the paper liner on the table and throwing you some moist towelettes as you stagger off your perch. “clean yourself off good, ‘kay? i really don’t wanna get in trouble for—… hey, are you okay?”

your hands are shaking as you wipe your thighs and core clean of any traces, shivering beyond your control. matthew takes the towelettes from you, chucking them in the garbage. he tilts his head at you, concern suddenly palpable in his eyes.

"you—… you don’t look so good,” he says, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. when he pulls it away, you see the skin glisten. are you sweating? but it’s so cold. matthew pulls out his thermometer again, holding it between your eyes until it pulses. he pulls it back, eyes widening as he reads the temperature. “oh shit.”

"what?” you ask, rubbing your hands against your arms to try and generate some warmth. “what’s it say?”

"um. i—… i don’t know what’s going on,” he stammers, suddenly doe-eyed and nervous. it’s the most endearing he’s been thus far. something must be terribly wrong with you. “i think it’s probably just a fluke. maybe the thermometer’s broken. right? there’s no way it could be that high. you’d be dead. i’m—… i’m just gonna go get the doctor. he’ll know what to do! probably.”

“okay,” you reply. not much more you can say, especially with your teeth chattering.

"just, uh, sit back down and… um… rest, i guess. yeah, rest should help,” matthew says, quite clearly panicking. “and i’ll send the doctor in. and just, um, remember not to tell him what i let you do. please. i’d really appreciate that. if it comes up, ya know, just…”

“lie?” you suggest, plopping down onto the exam table as you continue to shiver furiously.

“yeah! exactly. you’ve got it,” he replies, rushing toward the door. “oh and the doctor has a med student interning with him today. is it okay to have him shadow your appointment?”

“sure,” you agree without hesitation. education is one of your core values, after all. even if you suddenly have a life-threatening fever to rival a volcano.

“awesome,” matthew says, throwing open the door. he glances back at you one last time, uneasiness written all over his pretty face. “hang in there.”

the door slams shut. really loudly.

“ah, shit. sorry.”

[leighsartworks216]

Feel Good

Astarion x transmasc!Tav/Reader x Gale Dekarios

Requested by Dirtyramen on AO3:

“can I request a fic abt Astarion just being soft/caretake-ish to Tav while they recovery from top surgery? (or, I guess whatever might be the equivalent to it in the world of baldurs gate haha) maybeeeeee in a poly relation with gale if it tickles your fancy?

-also if Tara could be mentioned somewhere that would be adorable but not at all necessary, I just love her LOL-“

Gale may be OOC in this, I've never really written him before, but it felt right to have him there

Title is based on "Feel Good" by Ryan Nealon. Doesn't fit 100%, but I feel like this could be a good reference to how Tav felt before their magical top surgery

Warnings: mentions of chest scars, insecurity, mentions/references to dysphoria, crying, implied sexual antics at the end

Word Count: 1,699

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You can’t stop staring at your body in the mirror. Just behind the protective bandages lay the chest you’ve dreamed of having - and it terrifies you. What if it came out wrong? What if you hated it? What if having a flat chest makes you feel worse about your body? The thoughts spiral, questioning every single thing you thought you knew about yourself. You frown at your reflection.

Hands on your hips startle you from your mind, as soft lips against the back of your neck chuckle. Astarion - forever the rogue.

“Admiring yourself, my love?” he teased.

You sigh. You wish you were. You wish you just knew what it looked like. Just a little peek and surely you’d feel better about it all. He rests his chin on your shoulder when you don’t speak, smoothing his hands over your stomach, just below the wrappings. You rest your hands over his, focusing on your reflection’s hovering hands as you run your fingers against his prominent veins.

“What if I don’t like it?” you whisper. “What if I was wrong?”

“Darling, you’ve been gushing over this for months. Why are you worried now?”

“I just…” You dare to raise your eyes to your chest again. Flat. Years and years spent hating your chest, crying and spitting vitriol at yourself for how it made you feel. “I just want to feel okay in my body, Star,” you finally admit, to yourself and your partner. “What if this isn’t it? What if it doesn’t help?”

He hums, considering. “It seemed easy enough to magic your breasts away, I’m sure Gale could find some spell that would bring them back.”

You chuckle despite the emotions in your chest. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” Your hands slide off his as he turns you around, away from the mirror. “The worst that could happen is you don’t like it. And if that happens - which I don’t believe it will for a second - we’ll help you find what’s right. Until you’re comfortable.”

You can’t stop the grin that tugs at your lips. “You can be really sweet when you want to be.”

He smirks. “Don’t tell anybody.” He gives you a quick kiss, though you can feel how reluctant he is to pull away. “Now, come on, off to bed. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“What are you, my mother?” Despite your words, you follow along with him easily as he leads you by the hand through the tower back to your bedroom, only a few doors down. You had a mirror, of course, but this was the only full-body mirror in the place. Gale kept saying he would move it to your room, but he always got sidetracked, always distracted by new questions that needed answers.

Astarion had his reservations of living with the wizard at first, but even he couldn’t deny how comfortable it was here. It was far better than any other option available to him at the time. Not to mention he was always around if Gale had any ideas on how to cure his undead affliction.

And, well, perhaps he didn’t completely despise him, but the world would burn before he ever admitted it.

He leads you through your door, as natural as though it were his own bedroom. He did have his own, but, truthfully, he much preferred spending time in yours. When he wasn’t perusing the wide collection of books scattered in mostly-organized shelves and piles, that is.

He lets go of your hand to open your blankets, and he helps you slide under them so you can lay on your back. He crawls in after you. You’ve learned to scoot over a bit beforehand, so he’s not constantly shifting to avoid falling off the edge, or whining about the blanket not covering his ass, all because he refuses to go around and lay on the other, wide-open half of the bed.

His arms wrap snugly around your waist, though he refrains from resting his head on your chest as he normally would, opting instead to curl into your side, resting his head on your shoulder by your neck. There’d be plenty of time for proper cuddles once you were fully recovered. Unable to roll to your side, you opt to tangle a hand in his hair and rest the other on his arm. It wasn’t the same, but it was comfortable nonetheless.

“A few more hours, Gale will return, and you’ll get to see,” he murmurs against your skin. He presses a kiss below your jaw. “And I’ll get to see you, my handsome man.”

The phrase makes you flush. He smiles when he hears your heart beat faster. You let out a slow, shaky breath. “He needs to get back sooner.”

He chuckles, but says nothing more. You tilt your head to rest against his and close your eyes. Visions of your chest before mixed with fantasies of what it looked like now. It was still so difficult to grasp the fact it truly was flat. Whenever Astarion would help you change into fresh clothes (after he gently wipes you down with a damp sponge, as you are unable to bathe until the bandages are removed), you’d have a moment of confusion when you flipped through the stack of folded clothes and didn’t find a bra. In fact, you’d gotten rid of them all right after your procedure. Gale had to stop you (and Astarion) from lighting them on fire as celebration.

With the images, your anxiety spikes again. It’ll be fine, you know it will be… By what if it isn’t? You want to relax into a nap, pass the time warm and comfortable with your vampire partner until Gale got back, but your mind would not let you.

You sigh in frustration. You press your lips to his head as you quietly murmur, “Will you read to me?”

He sighs, too, long and dramatic. He only half means it. He truly does not like having to pull away from you to sit up, but he does quite enjoy flipping open the book from the side table and continuing the story where you left off. You press your face into his side and he combs his fingers through your hair mindlessly as he weaves a tale of romance and intrigue. He doesn’t stop reading until he is certain you are asleep.

-

You cover your eyes, elbows lifted to the sides. You can barely stay still, rocking back and forth between your feet and fighting not to bounce on your heels. You groan. “Are you almost done?”

Gale huffs a laugh. You can feel it ghost along the back of your neck. “Patience, dear. You’ll see soon enough.” His fingers finally work out the knot in the bandages, and you almost gasp as he unwraps them from your body.

The air feels odd against the clammy skin. Even weirder is the feeling of his warm hand pressing supportively in between your shoulder blades.

“Okay. You can look now.”

You take a breath in. You lowered your hands to your sides, but taking that final step felt overwhelming. Gale’s thumb rubbed against your skin, silently encouraging you, as Astarion came to your side to hold your hand. It was now or never.

It takes a moment for your brain to process. It’s so different. You step closer to the mirror. They let you go, standing back and watching with wide grins. (You can see Gale’s proud smile in the mirror, but you don’t pay him much mind.) You turn to the side. Flat. You delicately brush your hands over your chest. Flat. Tears well in your eyes. You try to blink them away so you can watch as you trace a finger over the scars left behind. The magic was experimental, Gale had worried it would leave a larger mark, but he trusted the Weave more than any surgeon.

A wide smile overwhelms your face as you laugh. A weight has been lifted off your chest, literally and metaphorically. You feel like you can breathe looking at the figure before you. You don’t feel dread looking at your chest anymore. You can’t fight the tears anymore as they pour freely down your cheeks, carrying years of dysphoria with them and leaving trails of relief behind.

You turn and rush straight to your partners, wrapping your arms around them and pulling yourself as close as possible. Gale’s hand rested at the back of your neck as his other held your hip. Astarion stroked comforting shapes into your spine. A gasping sob wracked your body.

“Are you alright, my love?” Astarion asks gently. “Is it alright?”

You laugh again, nodding eagerly. “It’s perfect. It’s perfect,” you gasp between your emotions. You pull away and wipe at your eyes, but when you look down at your chest again they come in another wave. “Oh my gods, look at me.”

“I’m having a rather hard time taking my eyes off of you,” Gale teases.

Astarion chuckles, receiving a quirked brow from the wizard he did not want to address. “I hate to say I told you so, but… You look absolutely stunning, my handsome man.”

“Hm, you’ll have to share that moniker, you know.” Gale smirks as the vampire scowls. “Our handsome man.”

You sniffle, trying futilely to dry your face. “If you keep saying that, I’m gonna cry again,” you joke, but they know you’re right. You gasp and light up. They don’t have time to ask what’s wrong before you’re rushing out of the room, shouting, “I have to tell Tara! Tara! Where are you?! My bandages are off!”

They smile fondly, listening as your voice becomes more distant. Astarion turns mischievously toward the wizard. “Sooo, how much longer does our darling have to rest now?”

“Well, he should avoid any strenuous activities for another week, at least. Why? What did you have in mind?”

“Hm. Would laying down, receiving endless praise from his two partners while we lavish his body with generous care and attention count as strenuous?”

Gale thought for a moment. “If he’s laying down…”

Astarion smirked deviously. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @cyber-dump-171 @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @yarn_yogi @tototini

[mothergold]

| Angel |

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Selfship Coded, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Reader has asthma, Asthma Attack, Angst, Gender Neutral Reader, No pronouns for reader, He/Him for Sunday, 600 ish words.

A/n: Just a little something I wrote for myself <3

Summary: Sunday wakes up and finds out you’re having an asthma attack.

Tags: @auphelia @suyacho @themovingcastlez @tighnarly

It had been a bad, long morning. Thankfully, Sunday was there to make everything better, or at least try to. He’d woken up to find you upright on the couch, hugging your body as you tried to soothe yourself into a more relaxing state. When your eyes locked onto his slowly approaching form you tried your best attempt at a smile, and opened your mouth to greet him, but instead of words there were fits of coughs.

“Feeling unwell?” He asked, taking a seat beside you.

You nodded and smiled weakly.

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. “What’s wrong?” He questioned.

You took a deep breath and tapped the center of your chest as you tried to explain, wheezing out your words in between coughs. Quickly you took notice of how Sunday’s eyes went from relaxed to a widened expression.

“Stay there and stop talking.”

You looked at him confused as he moved to grab something from the room. It wasn’t until he came back with your emergency inhaler that the realization hit you. Oh, right.. that. He brought the inhaler to your mouth and waited until you pressed your lips to the opening before pressing down on it and activating the medicine.

“You’re having an asthma attack.” He explained, watching as you held your breath for a few moments before exhaling.

He waited at least ten minutes before he opened up his arms to welcome you onto his lap, looking at you with a concerned expression and a small, yet sad smile. You took a moment to take a few deep breaths before climbing onto his lap, steadying yourself as you did so as to get into the most comfortable position. Once you’d gotten comfy you curled up against his chest, clinging to his pajama top as he started petting your hair. For the first few minutes it was silent except for Sunday’s and your breathing.

“Why didn’t you come get me? I would’ve wanted to help.” He spoke calmly for someone who was admittedly scared by what had just happened.

You thought about your next words carefully. “I didn’t know what was happening an’ didn’t wanna bother you.”

Sunday was not pleased with your answer, no matter how honest and good natured it was. No, in fact it deeply disturbed him. What would you have done if he hadn’t been there to save you? What would he have done if he failed to protect you? Oh god. Sunday didn’t want to even entertain that thought, it upset him far too much. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself had the worst happened.

“You need to be more careful. Something could’ve happened, you could’ve gotten hurt, or worse.” His voice slightly rose as his words trembled from his lips.

Immediately you felt ashamed. You knew how Sunday was and still you insisted on doing it your way. You were so reckless sometimes, so much so that you worried about the responsibility it put on Sunday.

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to cause any problems.” You confessed quietly, playing with the fabric of his shirt by pressing it in between the pads of your fingers.

Sunday sighed and gave your body a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright. Just be careful. Please? For me?“

You nuzzled your head against his chest and smiled. “Thank you, Sunday.”

He pulled back his head far enough so that he could get a better look at you. “What’s the sudden praise for?”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, giving him a tight hug. “For everything.”

He hummed and stroked your cheek. “You really are something special.”

Regardless of everything, he was truly at home with you. There was no better company than yours.

[ccrites]

CC's Masterlist

This masterlist is a work in progress!! I'm doing my best to make sure it's pretty, but I am in fact, a grandma with a laptop!

updated : Aug 17, 2024

banner by @/cafekitsune

John Price x reader

Signal Lost - finished - 101k words/29 chapters - link to AO3 here

returning to the military to hunt Makarov is hard enough, to do it with your past lover is even harder. a "friends to lovers to enemies to friends and back to lovers" story or, a story I started writing when AO3 was down for I believe 2-3 days or so last summer, and for some reason I decided I need to pour some words into a google docs. the result was a 100k word x reader adventure/thinly-veiled plot required for porn I wanted to write, with too many self-insert moments, but of which I am proud to have finished. I will accept no criticism.

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Chokehold - finished - 6.5k words/one-shot - link to tumblr post here and to AO3 here.

6.4 words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him. an open love letter to early @/391780 and to other fat broads out there self-conscious about their bodies

it's a compliment, I swear - in progress - 10k-ish words so far - link to ao3 here

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4...

me simply thinking about freak!Soap and getting the brain worms wiggling with two sentences: "I can make him better--" "Not if he makes you worse first." a dash of dub/non-con here, a drizzle of puppy vocabulary-verging-into-puppy-play there. no idea where I'll get with this, just vibes and a vague plot. this will progressively get darker, mind the tags when I add them.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Honey, don't feed me, I will come back - finished - 11.7k words/one-shot - link to tumblr post here and to AO3 here.

Based on this post I made a while ago that has been haunting me ever since or recently-dumped simon riley joins a cooking class chef!reader teaches. you get more than you bargained for.

ask box open for and requests / ideas. Currently planning to write more gaz x reader, though I might be convinced to write ghostsoap. no promises.

[aspentreewrites]

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 1

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: slow burn(ish), fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

✷✷✷✷✷

A/N: In my unending quest to name all of my fics after The Amazing Devil songs, this one is taken from Elsa's Song. If you're reading this on Tumblr, you're getting a unique version of this author's note - hello there! I usually just link to my fics on Tumblr, but this time I've decided to post each chapter in full here!

Any and all comments are massively appreciated, and if I can format anything better for posting here please let me know. I'm aiming to have the next chapter up in 2-3 weeks :)

Huge thanks to my wonderful friend @whenyourfavouritedies (link to their AO3 here!) for beta reading.

✷✷✷✷✷

He’d had a good run, Cody thinks to himself as he faces down the adversary in front of him. Perhaps he could avoid the mortal embarrassment of defeat by defenestrating himself from the nearest window - at least then his death could be ruled as a bizarre, impulsive moment of pure lunacy rather than the alternative of being done in entirely by the man in front of him.

… The man in front of him who evidently seems to be expecting a response to his words. 

Cody, the Marshal Commander of the 212th who has spoken in front of the Council multiple times, who’s renowned throughout the GAR for his prowess at quick-thinking and strategy, desperately tries to muster something. Gingerly, he collects the shattered pieces of his brain from the floor, and attempts to produce something coherent with them.

“... Oh,” he manages, trying to not let his words come out as strangled as it feels like they could in this moment. “Right.”

As it turns out, those two words alone are insufficient, at least judging by Obi-Wan’s look of pure bewilderment. The Jedi tilts his head a little, studying the clone before him.

“Is everything alright, Cody?” he asks tentatively, before glancing back to the mission briefing on his datapad. Cody’s eyes remain glued to one word in particular, practically glaring at him from the harshly backlit screen of the tablet. 

He can feel a headache coming on. 

“If it’s too much, Anakin has offered to spare Rex, but to be perfectly honest–” 

Absolutely not. The only thing Cody can think of that would be worse than going on this mission at all would be someone else going in his place.

“-- I’d rather avoid a repeat of what happened on Corellia, if at all possible,” Obi-Wan murmurs, stroking a hand over his beard. He frowns slightly at the memory, and Cody files the subject away to ask about later, though for the moment he has far more pressing matters to address.

“Right,” Cody repeats, before finally remembering that he does, in fact, know how to string words into a sentence. His eyes snap up from the datapad, meeting his General’s gaze. Discomfort claws its way through his body, constricting his throat a little when he tries to gather himself. “Yes, sir. I’m just wondering, about the aliases-”

Obi-Wan huffs, clearly having his own strong opinion on whatever he thinks Cody is about to say. “Yes, well, I appreciate that the backstories aren’t as detailed as they could be. I did mention it, but the Council did what they could on such short notice.”

“Of course. I’m just wondering if we have to be–”

“Really, it’s a miracle that they even had anything planned, knowing them.”

“-- Married?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a long silence stretches between the two men. He studies Cody’s face again for a moment, before he looks back down at the datapad, his brow furrowed slightly as if he’s only just considering the implications of the mission for the first time. 

Cody stands, steady as ever, though behind his back his fingers twitch anxiously. From the Jedi's telling, it’s going to be a fairly quick undercover stint - a handful of days at most. They’ll be staying at a hotel-slash-resort out in a neutral system, where they’ve been tipped off that a handful of Separatists are meeting for a business deal that could debilitate the Republic if it goes off smoothly.

A tad dramatic, perhaps, but when intel like that is received, the Jedi have to ensure that the call to action is answered. And who better to answer it with than one of their best? 

Unfortunately for Cody, the Jedi’s best has a penchant for dragging him along, too.

This type of mission might be incredibly rote for the General, but for Cody, it’s… An intimidating prospect. He’s a soldier, a strategist - a damned good one at that, there’s a reason he’s been given the position of Commander - if there’s one thing he is decidedly not, however, it's an actor.

It’s likely that the more experienced man hadn’t even given Cody’s involvement a second thought - they’re by each other’s side on most battlefields, after all… This arena, though, is an untrodden one. After some consideration, Obi-Wan quirks a brow and looks back up at his Commander.

“You’re aware that we wouldn’t actually be signing any legal documents for the sake of the mission?” he queries, as if that were at all the issue Cody is having here. Stars, but does this man like to play dense sometimes.

“... That’s not the point, sir.”

“Then what is? Do you not think I would make a fine husband? My dear Commander, you wound me.”

Cody has the quiet suspicion that if anyone had the fortune to wed his General (not that the Jedi were even allowed such things), they would find themselves spending a considerable portion of the rest of their lives having to put up with his unfortunate sense of humour. 

As it happens, Cody is the one who’s taking the burden for that responsibility at current. It’s been slowly driving him up the wall for the better part of the war effort.

“I’m sure you would make a good–” no, that’s not appropriate, “a fine–” he stops short, glowering at the amused smirk that has plastered itself on his General’s face. Obi-Wan seems to be garnering a little too much delight in causing him to stammer like a schoolchild, the victorious glint in his eye evident. Cody shakes his head, persisting despite the flush that he’s sure has appeared on his cheeks. “... You know what I mean.”

Much to Cody’s relief, Obi-Wan takes mercy on him and drops the subject. He glances back down to the datapad with a thoughtful hum, his expression returning to something a little more dignified.

“It was ultimately a logistical choice. We would be sharing a room in the hotel, regardless, and the cover makes it considerably less likely that people would raise questions.” A pause, and then the Jedi’s voice turns a little more gentle. “If it would truly make you uncomfortable, Cody, then we can come up with an alternative.”  

Cody finds himself shaking his head before he even has time to think it through properly. It’s… Fine. He’s fine. The thought of pretending to be Obi-Wan’s… husband, makes something strange curl in his gut, a sense of tightness and discomfort that he can’t quite identify. 

He pushes the feeling away, telling himself that all it is is feeling unsure about going undercover in general - it will be, after all, his first time doing so for more than a few minutes at a time. He’s bluffed to get past guards and to stall enemies, they all have, but he’s practically a shiny in this territory. It makes sense that he’d have some nerves.

“No, I… I’ll take the mission, General. I was just…” he hesitates. He was just what exactly? Cody isn’t entirely certain. “I’ll just need some time to look over the aliases, to prepare. Being undercover is… Not my usual wheelhouse.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“If you’re certain?”

Cody holds the Jedi’s earnest gaze for as long as he can muster with this odd sensation sloshing around in his stomach. He manages a nod, moving to take the datapad from the other man as they prepare to move onto other matters for the morning.

“Yes, sir.”

______________________________

The night before the mission rolls around, Cody finds himself still awake far too late into the night. He’s at his desk, poring over multiple tabs of research, and Stars, there’s still so much to cover before they’re set to leave.

He’s… what is it that an actor would call it? ‘Studying’ the fictional man that is Vidarr Emerin, a wealthy investor who’s gained a frankly ridiculous amount of credits from backing a series of Spice mining projects on Kessel. Vidarr isn’t actually involved in the day to day operations of the creation of the drug directly (and thank the Force for that, because Cody couldn’t realistically describe the process if there was a blaster to his head), though he has his fingers in many metaphorical pies of Kessel’s ‘industry’, if one can call it that. 

Vidarr is ruthlessly efficient, cutthroat, and has more money invested in the black market than Cody has ever seen in his entire life.

His favourite colour, the document notes, is brown.

They’re hoping that, due to the planet they’re travelling to not having seen hide nor hair of the war as of yet, Cody can blend in as a regular human without issue. If he were to be clocked as a clone however, he and Obi-Wan have come up with a story that fits. A benefit of their cover is that if any clone were to defect from the GAR, Kessel would likely be a decent option for them to run to, due to its relative distance from the war and the objective difficulty in getting to the planet. It would be easier if he didn’t have to out himself, but it never hurts to be prepared.

The Commander is about three cafs into his nighttime research, and is showing no sign of slowing, currently skimming through a holonet article about Kessel’s southern equator. He’s trying to take notes on as many details as possible about the habitable section of the planet: the names of local wildlife, parks, various points of interest… It’s unlikely that anyone would want to talk to him about the geography of the local rivers, admittedly, but what if he’s caught out unexpectedly? 

No, Cody reasons to himself, taking another gulp of caf. Not worth the risk. He’ll just have to memorise the relative locations of every tributary and estuary in the local area that Vidarr is from. It’s the only way he can walk into this prepared.

It’s even later when his chrono beeps at him for attention. His eyes have been struggling to focus on the various screens for too long to ignore, and Cody’s attention turns to the empty notepad page to his right. The one that’s been staring him down all evening.

He narrows his eyes at it, sizing the offending object up. One moment passes, then another. The man groans, running a tired hand over his face and silencing his alarm. He may as well get this over with.

He returns his datapad to the page about their aliases, scrolling until he hits the ‘marriage and relationship’ section. Cody pulls the notepad over, reluctantly beginning to scribble down some bullet points. 

Renne Emerin, née Cardall, met Vidarr at a soiree attended by a handful of various small-time investors for the Pyke Syndicate, and the two began courting not long after. Three years into their relationship, they got engaged. A further year, and the two were married. This little trip together is a celebration for their second wedding anniversary.

They have a bonded pair of tookas. They’re considering adopting a child. They’re a regular, normal couple in love.

Cody turns off the datapad, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

For the life of him, he doesn’t know why he feels such a mental block in regards to… all of this. Obi-Wan had been incredibly accommodating - between them, they’d laid out expectations, negotiated how they were going to approach this, and the Jedi had promised to not push too hard in the name of making a good cover (though Cody had insisted he not hold back on his account - he’d be damned if his own incompetence compromised a mission).

And yet… The anxious feeling persists. It’s subtler now at least, having spent the last week preparing and researching, but it remains under his skin, simmering away. 

It worsens when he thinks of the marriage they’ll have to upkeep.

His chrono beeps a second time, a harsh, needy trill that tells him he really ought to be getting to bed now. Cody grumbles to himself, turning the blasted alarm off again, before finally flopping down in his bed and flicking off the light to his room.

It’ll be fine, he thinks wearily, forcing himself to take a deep breath and settle his mind. 

If there’s one thing he trusts implicitly in this Galaxy, it’s that Obi-Wan will have his back. Discomfort be damned, they’ll get through this in one piece. Soon enough, this’ll just be a funny story to tell when sufficiently drunk.

Clinging onto that thought like it holds the last vestiges of his sanity, Cody drifts into a fitful but desperately needed sleep. 

______________________________

The Commander wakes early, exactly as he was trained. A fast shower, an efficient shave, and his bed made neatly behind him as he dresses.

At 0600 hours exactly, he leaves his quarters, fully clad in his newly issued armour - shiny, pristine, bright white plastoid that catches in the harsh, fluorescent lighting lining the hallways of the Venator. He is precisely as he should be: the perfect example of what the Kaminoans created.

When he reaches the briefing room, he raps his gloved knuckles against the door once, twice. Cody feels confident as he waits - every single choice he makes matters today, and a good first impression is vital. Yes, he thinks, mulling it over in his mind: a single knock would have been insufficient, and three would be bordering on informal. Two was the right answer, Commander. Good work.

It takes precisely six seconds for the door to slide open, revealing the Jedi he had met briefly before in holocalls, though never face to face. The Jedi he’s going to dedicate his life to. 

Auburn hair catches the light, and clean, cream coloured robes settle tidily about his form. Curious eyes settle on him, inspecting the clone likely as much as the clone is analysing the Jedi. Cody is quietly grateful for his helmet giving him the tactical upper hand in this endeavour.

The blue of the Jedi’s eyes reminds him of the Kaminoan ocean, though he’s unsure whether or not that association is a good or a bad one. The man in front of him looks methodically put together, neat and organised, as a member of the famed Jetii should be… Perhaps a little tired, though, as the faint bags under his eyes might indicate.

Cody decides it doesn’t matter. It’s surely just a sign of his new General’s commitment to his work ethic that he would stay up late to prepare for today. Something they’ll have in common, then.

The Commander’s back is, naturally, ramrod-straight as he salutes sharply, his voice strong and even as he speaks.

“CC-2224, sir. Ready for our briefing.” He knows the Jedi should have remembered his designation number from their fleeting introductions over holocall, but it never hurts to be cautious. The man has a lot to familiarise himself with over the coming days, after all. It wouldn’t be a slight if it took him a while to remember something so small.

General Kenobi pauses at that, before offering a small, if hesitant smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course.” He steps aside, allowing the clone entry into the meeting room. It’s a tidy, organised space, yet something about it is almost eerie in its quietude. Cody’s eyes sweep over neat stacks of datapads and consoles with no fingerprints yet on their keyboards, no dust yet accumulated on the cables filling the room. A tactical space, ready to handle and catalogue so much violence and death - years of it, more. 

And yet it is, at present, still and empty. Lying in eager wait for the blood to start spilling, to see the use it has been designed for. Today, the Commander supposes, is the day. 

The General sweeps through the room, posture so exact that it almost makes him look as if he’s gliding rather than walking. He sets up the holotable at the centre of the room, watching as the agenda for the day flickers into being, a list nearly a mile long. General Kenobi scans over the file with a quiet sigh, before he glances over to meet the other man’s gaze.

“Would you care for a cup of caf? I quite find I struggle to focus so early on in the day.”

The Jedi’s voice is gentle, softened at the edges with tiredness - not at all the tone the soldier is used to from authority. Cody frowns to himself. And he’s… Offering him caf. Not an order or command. An unexpected start to their working relationship.

Part of him can’t help but think it could be a trap. A test of how much he’d be willing to take from him, perhaps. A measure of his discipline?

Kenobi looks progressively more awkward as time presses on. He speaks up again, evidently trying to search for any hint of emotion in the clone’s expressionless helmet and drawing a blank.

“Or… Tea?” he tries, tilting his head a little. “I can make tea instead, if that’s more to your liking.”

The Commander hesitates, trying to figure out the right answer to this puzzle in front of him. Would it offend the General if he said no? Could he say no, if he wanted to? How much of a choice does he get here?

Regardless, he can tell his prolonged silence is unnerving his new General, and the last thing he wants is to make a bad impression.

“Caf… Caf is fine, sir. Thank you.” 

That, at least, seems to placate the Jedi. He smiles, a little more sincerely this time, before disappearing off to the corner of the room and busying himself with making some drinks.

Cody takes the opportunity to get a headstart on the agenda for their first day, looking over the list at the holotable with a critical eye. There’s much to do, and he’s anxious to get to it and prove himself.

“Right,” Kenobi begins as he returns, passing a steaming mug to Cody before sipping at his own. “Let us get started, hm?”

The briefing is quick, and efficient. They move through all the matters of the day - introductory training with the men, preparations to oversee supply requisitioning, and early drafts of strategy for the 212th’s first upcoming mission in the field together.

The caf is nicer than he expected.

“Before we go, Commander,” Kenobi says as the two turn to leave for the first training, his tone thoughtful. He looks to the clone in front of him, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “I was wondering if I could have your name.”

… What? 

“My… Designation number, sir?” He asks, with a little uncertainty. The Jedi’s mouth twitches - not quite a frown, but something close to it. He attempts to disguise it by passing a hand over his beard. Cody tenses instinctively.

“No, you greeted me with that when you first came in,” he reminds him, voice gentle. “I meant your name. Your actual one.”

CC-2224 glitches. 

He’s not sure how long he just stares at the General, but it’s long enough to prompt Kenobi to speak again.

“... If that would be alright?”

No, no it would be decidedly not alright. This is against everything the Commander was expecting, everything he’s spent his whole life preparing for. He’s almost indignant at the impropriety. As he continues to hesitate, a flash of something like worry flashes across Obi-Wan’s face, followed by a sheepishness unbefitting of someone of his station.

He raises his hand, cutting off Cody as he finally opens his mouth to answer.

“No, no, I apologise, Commander,” he says quickly, sounding a little ashamed. “Names are… important to your brothers, aren’t they?”

At Cody’s stupefied nod, he continues on.

“I should not have asked something so personal of you,” the Jedi murmurs, bowing his head briefly in apology. “Forgive me.”

The Commander doesn’t quite know what to do with that. A brief mumble of ‘it’s alright, sir’, and an evening spent puzzling out who, exactly, his new General is, will have to do.

That night, Cody finds himself staring up at the ceiling as he tries to find sleep.

Perhaps the Kaminoans were wrong about the Jetii. About what would be expected of them. But then, if that’s true, then what else were they wrong about? 

It’s an unnerving thought, and it’s one that plagues him for the coming weeks.

______________________________

In the half-light of the ship’s artificial morning, Cody stares down his reflection in the mirror, wrinkling his nose slightly as he tugs a battle-worn comb through his hair, gently teasing the curls apart. He glances back down to the holonet vid he found, the projector balancing precariously on the edge of the sink. Making a swiping gesture in the air with his free hand, he winds back the video yet another time. The helpful, yet slightly too-fast-speaking Kiffar woman in the vid enthusiastically explains how to loosen one’s curl pattern, and Cody repeats the actions she demonstrates, his brow knitting together unconsciously as he focuses. 

The 212th doesn’t exactly have access to the myriad of supplies the vid-blogger eagerly shows the camera, but Cody’s scoured the supply shipments to source some decent enough conditioner - combined with the comb with a handful of missing teeth that he’d uncovered earlier in his room, they’ll have to do. The steam from the shower he’d taken minutes earlier permeates the room, and Cody has to pause in his delicate work every few minutes to wipe down the mirror.

He continues working methodically from the ends of the strands up to his scalp, becoming progressively less clumsy with the action as he goes. It’s strangely meditative, though it helps that his attention on this is effectively holding off the nervousness that the mission ahead of him today brings. 

By the time he finishes up, the Commander just… stares at himself for a long moment, noting the unfamiliar sensation of his still-damp hair falling a short way across his face. It’ll need to be slicked back, certainly, but it looks… Fine. Not like him, though. Not at all. 

It’s a funny thing, that sensation that other sentients would refer to as not recognising yourself in the mirror. When your face is the same as millions of others, it’s more like seeing another one of the vode. One with that same scar across the temple and with considerably less sternness about adhering to the GAR’s hair-length regs, clearly.

Cody sighs, gesturing to power down the holoprojector, finishing towelling himself off and finally heading out of the ‘fresher to get ready for the day. Regardless of his feelings on the subject, it’ll help him blend in better as a deserter, so longer hair it is.

Longer hair and an almost merc-like uniform, according to the tailored cloak and boots that wait for him in his room. Cody grimaces.

He just hopes that if Waxer or Boil see him, they’ll keep their mouths shut.

By some mercy of the fates, he’s able to steal through the Venator and make it up to the docking bays without catching the eye of any of his men (mostly, at least; he’d brushed past Helix outside the medbay but the medic hadn’t even looked up from his work). 

He jogs up the ramp to the ship to join his Jedi - already waiting for him and re-reading today’s mission details with a mug in hand, of course.

Cody spots the second mug of caf that Obi-Wan had prepared sitting over on one of the consoles and beelines for it, already knowing he’ll be needing all the stimulants he can get his hands on to feel at all ready for today.

“Ah, Commander, I was wondering when you were going to–” Obi-Wan starts, but the comment dies on his tongue. Cody glances over to see his normally so eloquent General taking a moment before finishing his sentence, his friend’s gaze flicking briefly over his appearance. The Commander raises a questioning brow, and Obi-Wan clears his throat quietly, before offering Cody a slightly short nod.

“... When you were going to arrive.” His eyes linger for a moment, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, before he turns away, busying himself by inputting the coordinates into the console. “The hair suits you, by the way.”

Cody feels strangely warm at the compliment, self-consciously reaching up to push back some of the strands.

“I’ve written up some of the boys for shorter,” he comments dryly, stepping up alongside the Jedi and taking a sip of his caf. Obi-Wan snorts in quiet amusement, giving him a sidelong glance.

“I’m sure.”

A calm silence briefly blankets them as the ship’s autopilot gets them away from the Venator and into the familiar black ocean of space, and Cody feels some of his tension ease. Of course it feels normal. He was a fool to think that this would feel any different to their usual missions. 

His eyes idly track the various indicators that display the wellbeing of the ship as he exhales slowly, lips curling up into something more reminiscent of a grimace than a smile - but nonetheless, he tries.

“You feeling ready for this?” he asks, feeling selfishly a little comforted by the thoughtful hum he gets in response. That’s a ‘not quite’ from the Jedi, and it at least means they’ll be walking into this together with some uncertainty. Cody hates feeling like he’s on the back foot.

“You can never be too ready for an undercover mission,” Obi-Wan says evenly, staring out ahead of them as the ship prepares to enter hyperspace. His fingers tap idly against his mug. “It always comes down to improvisation. A slip of the tongue here, an unexpected question there,” he murmurs. Catching Cody’s eye, the ghost of a smirk flits across his features. “... Not to worry you, of course.”

“Mm, right. You’d never do anything to cause me worry,” Cody quips, settling down into the pilot chair and buckling himself in. Obi-Wan follows suit, nodding serenely.

“It definitely hasn’t happened before, no.”

The trip through hyperspace is largely uneventful, the two falling into a companionable silence. As his thoughts stray to the mission ahead a little way into the flight, Cody realises his mind must feel a little frayed through the Force, because Obi-Wan turns to give him the look.

‘The Look’ is something scrutinising that happens whenever the Commander hasn’t quite managed to maintain his mental shields enough to conceal his emotions in a time of stress - the Jedi Order had, en masse, taught the vode how to do it in the early days of their partnership, in the interest of maintaining privacy for the troops, and as a gesture of goodwill. Cody does it well, for the most part, though it’s harder for him with Obi-Wan than with others, he finds. The man always seems to be able to see right through him.

“You’re still anxious.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and Cody wishes, not for the first time, that the General wouldn’t draw attention to his vulnerability like this. He levels Obi-Wan with a frustrated look of his own, brows knitting into a frown.

“It’s fine,” he insists. Obi-Wan looks at him flatly. Cody relents immediately, knowing that it’s useless trying to lie to any Jedi, but especially this one in particular.

He course corrects.

“It’ll be fine once we’re actually in the thick of it. It’s…” he grimaces, shaking his head slightly. “It’s the unknown of it all. At least if it’s a firefight, you can face down the enemy with a rifle.”

Obi-Wan reaches out to gently squeeze his Commander’s shoulder. The action soothes, the familiar warmth of his hand providing an anchor point of calm. “You’ll be wonderful. If I didn’t have full faith in you, I wouldn’t have asked you to join me,” he says, sincerely.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan adds, a playful glint in his eye, “if it all goes sideways, then you can happily be in your comfort zone while we blast our way out.”

A huff of amusement escapes Cody as he rolls his eyes, reaching up to cover the hand that remains on his shoulder.

“My comfort zone of keeping you from getting yourself impaled or shot? Yes, I’m unfortunately very familiar,” he mutters, exasperated yet fond.

Obi-Wan tips his head back and laughs.

______________________________

The first time he hears Obi-Wan laugh - properly laugh, not that wry chuckle he occasionally hears during briefings - it’s also the first time they’ve stayed up late together to finish up on  paperwork in his quarters. Cody has been regaling him with a tale from his youth on Kamino, relating to a particularly memorable incident involving Wooley, Boil, and a few mouse droids, and Obi-Wan laughs, eyes creasing at the corners and shoulders shaking with mirth.

At this time, it’s been about six weeks since the battalion’s first deployment in the war. The group is beginning to feel less like a random selection of soldiers and more like many parts of a functioning whole. Most notably, a handful of the men have recently started on their armour decoration. After much debate back and forth about the colour they should choose to accurately represent the battalion, Crys organised a (debatably) official vote in the mess hall with swatches of the strongest contenders.

The General had politely abstained over lunch, telling the vode that it wasn’t his place to influence their choices on such matters. Waxer indignantly declared such a position as ‘fence-sitting’, and Cody had sharply warned the young trooper that if he were to accuse High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi of centrist tendencies again, it would be KP duty for a month.

The vote had come out strongly in favour of a colour they’d henceforth started referring to as ‘212th gold’ - a handsome shade that glowed like the sun when caught by natural light. As his duty dictates him to show the way for his men, the Commander was among the first to adopt it, beginning with the sunburst on his chestplate. It felt right, even with those first brushstrokes, to be able to claim something as truly theirs. Cody hopes that one day, 212th gold will represent a spark of hope across the Galaxy. A mark made entirely in their name.

A little romantic of a thought, perhaps, but it brings him a spark of pride whenever he sees the newest shinies brought in, eager to earn the paint stripes they see displayed by those in command.  

In these last six weeks, a considerable amount has changed for the men, and it’s been a lot of adjustment. Both Obi-Wan and the vode serving under him have had to figure out how to adapt, to work alongside each other effectively. The General is kinder, more human than the Kaminoans had warned he’d be - he watches out for them on battlefields, mourns alongside them when their brothers are lost… in turn, the vode are beginning to slowly open up, too, starting to share parts of their culture with the Jedi.

He’s even been learning to speak Mando’a, though Cody is privately grateful that he’s been able to warn the boys ahead of time to watch their tongues when the General is floating around. They mean well, but he knows what they can be like if they think no one can understand them… The last thing he wants is to have to deal with writing up half of his troops for discussing too liberally what happened during their most recent trip to 79’s.

Once Obi-Wan gathers himself again, he looks over at Cody with a thoughtful glance, his expression softened with a grin. 

“It doesn’t sound altogether too dissimilar to the way we were raised in the temple, you know,” he says, “... mischief and all.” 

Cody watches him from his position sat on the edge of his bed. He thinks the relaxed, genuine smile suits the other man greatly. He privately hopes he’ll get to see it again after tonight. 

The Jedi hums to himself, before adopting a fond, faraway look. “All younglings can be particularly trying in large numbers, regardless of origin,” he continues, “I do not envy the crechèmasters for the duty they have to perform.”

Cody’s interest is piqued at that. The datapad in his hand is ignored for a moment, attention turned fully to the man sitting at his desk.

“You were raised communally?”

Obi-Wan nods, pausing briefly to make an amendment to the report in front of him, slender fingers moving quickly across the screen. Stars, Cody thinks to himself with a little annoyance, the man can even make paperwork look elegant.

“Yes. Well, from a certain age at least. I was brought to the Temple around age 4,” he explains. His eyes are still a little distant, lost in the memory of a happier time. “I still have a deep fondness for my crèchemates, despite… Differing opinions with a handful of them.”

Cody nods slowly, studying the Jedi for a beat.

“I get that, General,” he says, returning his attention to his datapad. “I’m the same with my batchmates. I just… Might have had more of them than you.” 

“An understatement I’m sure, Commander,” Obi-Wan chuckles, before his tone turns softer, more sincere. He glances over at Cody, choosing his next words carefully. 

“It seems like… A wonderful thing, the family you and the rest of the vode share.” He gives Cody a small smile, though there’s something else to it, a heaviness that settles behind his expression. “... It’s a shame that such a thing was created for the unworthy purpose of war. I can only hope that once the fighting is done, you’ll be able to thrive as all other sentients do.”

The two lapse into silence for a little while, the only sound filling the room the soft tapping of keys. Obi-Wan has spoken a little about his feelings on the war over the last handful of weeks, and to be truthful, it’s not a subject that Cody trusts himself to speak about. Neither the 212th, nor Cody himself for that matter, have been deployed for very long, and the clone doesn’t quite understand all of the weight behind his General’s words. Perhaps he will come to, in time… for better or worse.

Cody has reckoned with his own adjustments in the past few weeks. He’s found himself relaxing considerably around Obi-Wan, no longer feeling the burning need to watch himself as if his General is considering decommissioning him if he puts a foot wrong. He didn’t particularly know her, but from what the other vode say, Shaak Ti was similar back on Kamino.

It took a week and one mission in the field before Cody decided that the Jetii were not the dictators they’d expected. A further week and he was convinced they had no choice in this whole matter either, and were evidently suffering for it. Like a good Commander, he'd kept those observations to himself.

As soon as he’d allowed himself to be… Well, human, around the Jedi, he and Obi-Wan had started to become closer. Cody isn’t particularly adept at it yet, but if he finds himself arriving early to their morning briefings, he’s started making the General his tea in the way he likes it. It’s something small, but judging by the way Obi-Wan’s eyes had widened the first time he’d done it, a pleased smile crossing his face, it’s something that seemed to mean a lot to him.

They’ve become… Friends, or something approaching that, at least. It’s a thought that has him steeling himself to speak now, clearing his throat in the quiet space.

“... Cody,” he says, forcing the word to come out casually. Obi-Wan glances up again with a raised brow, a questioning look in his eyes. Cody finds it in himself to meet his General’s gaze, offering an affirmative nod. “You, uh… asked me for my chosen name, when we first met,” he explains quietly, ignoring the way his stomach wants to twist as he holds out this olive branch of trust, “it’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan’s expression goes from confusion, to surprise, to something incredibly warm.

“Cody,” he repeats softly, as if testing out the sound of it on his tongue, before giving an approving nod. A smile remains on his face even as he returns to his work. “Thank you, Cody,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the datapad at his desk. The Commander is grateful for it - he feels as if the vulnerability of further eye contact might make him combust right now.  “It’s a fine name. I’m honoured to know it.”

If Cody feels his heart react to the softness of his Jedi’s tone in that moment, he doesn’t mention it.

______________________________

“Mister and Mister Emerin?”

Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance at the call across the docking bays. They’ve barely been parked for a minute, and they’re already out of time. 

“I suppose that’s us,” Cody says with a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly. He looks at Obi-Wan, tilting his head with a silent question of ‘ready?’ and the Jedi nods, bringing the last of the bags with him down the gangway of the ship.

A tall, pale Nautolan woman with a checklist in hand approaches, teeth flashing a perfect, artificially white smile as Obi-Wan steps forwards to shake her hand. 

“Charmed,” he drawls in a smooth, Outer Rim accent, his voice low with lazily drawn out syllables - a stark contrast to the sharp, crisp Coruscanti voice that Cody’s used to hearing. Beside the Jedi, he forces on a smile.

“You’re here to check us in?” he says, hoping that his voice comes across not nearly as unsure and out of place as he feels. The Nautolan nods, making a scribble on the flimsi paper she’s carrying, pocketing it and taking the bags from the two of them without asking.

“Here, I’ll get these for you and show you to the main building. Is this your first time staying with us?”

The woman chatters away to them as they make the walk from the docking bays to the resort itself. Obi-Wan is as content to make conversation as Cody is to let him. The clone hangs back a little, taking in the planet around him. Brilliant light beams down on the building ahead, even as it nears the start of sundown, making him squint a little. It’s…

Excessive is the primary word that comes to mind.

The docking bays themselves are massive, on an elevated platform above a calm looking ocean of tropical blue. The bridge they’re now on connects to a few perfectly sculpted beaches that are teeming with people even at this hour, and more pressingly, a building the size of the damn Senate. Cody’s far from an expert on architecture, but it’s clearly a recent build - large windows and extravagant relief work carved into the stone of the imposing structure, of various people or mythological beings that Cody imagines he probably should recognise but doesn’t.

It all seems to be purpose-built with the intention of making the space feel welcoming to those in a certain tax bracket. 

Cody is undeniably not part of that tax bracket.

This area of the planet itself has almost definitely gone through some extensive terraforming by the looks of things, and he feels a little dizzy as he imagines the cost - coming from a corporation, no less. Part of the background provided for this mission detailed that Miphena, the planet they’re standing on, is essentially owned by the resort managers with no government to speak of. To call it ‘bleak’ would be underselling it.

They’re ushered inside by the woman with the increasingly grating customer service voice, brought through a pristine foyer tiled with marble underfoot. Cody is sure to make a mental note of that - that’s very slippery when covered in blood, so if they’re having to fight their way out, they should find another point of exit than this one.

He continues to sweep the rest of the room with an analytical eye. The main desk could be used as cover in a pinch, though it’s not in a particularly tactical location - the presence of stairs, an elevator, and double-doors through to the main events hall makes this an undesirable position to have to defend with too many points of ambush.

… Granted, it’s exceedingly unlikely they’ll be forced to stage a firefight here, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

The receptionist leads them up to the seventh floor (with a lot of small-talk in the elevator that feels entirely unnecessary), hands them their keys for the room, drops their bags off and thanks the two profusely for their custom before leaving them alone once more. Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance, and the former smirks. 

“After you, darling husband,” Obi-Wan says easily with a flourishing bow, still holding onto the accent despite the fact it’s just the two of them. The amused gleam in the Jedi’s eye only gets stronger as Cody rolls his eyes, pushing past him to enter into the room. 

Much like the exterior of the hotel, it’s certainly extravagant. A large bed takes up most of the space, crisp white sheets with elaborate gold embroidery detailing the edges, and a plush red carpet beneath it. Every surface has some form of decoration, a vase of fake flowers here, a small metal sculpture there. A fairly incomprehensible piece of abstract art hangs above the bed, though what it’s intended to represent is entirely lost on Cody.

The two share another glance, silently communicating with one another, and get to work searching the room for any listening devices. 

Cody heads directly for the mirror, carefully unhooking it from the wall to see if the garish item is the result of the need to obscure a bug of some kind, or if it’s just the result of terrible taste.

Hm. Terrible taste it is.

Once they both signal the all-clear, Obi-Wan relaxes a little, setting both of their bags down on the bed.

“Well,” he says mildly, glancing around with a disapproving gaze. “It’s certainly expensive.”

Cody snorts, following his eyeline. “Just how much did the Republic spend to send us here?”

Obi-Wan peers closely at the strange painting, letting out a soft hum. “I shudder to think.” He pauses as Cody wanders over to check out the balcony. “This surely can’t be an original work,” he mutters to himself, passing a hand over his beard and frowning in thought. 

Cody can’t help but glance back with a raised brow. 

“... Sir,” he says, and the Jedi interrupts him with a wave of his hand, still narrowing his eyes at the artwork.

“It’s Obi-Wan when we’re alone, Cody, you know that.”

“Obi-Wan,” he starts again, amused. “Please tell me you’re not critiquing the art–”

“If it’s there, it should be there with purpose. This is soulless. It’s nothing-”

“In a resort, Obi-Wan.”

The Jedi lets out a rather contemptuous scoff, before drawing back to meet Cody’s gaze. He folds his arms, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “If you’re not the type to appreciate a critique of art, my dear, then whyever did I marry you in the first place?”

Cody lets out a long suffering sigh, not missing a beat. “I ask myself the same thing every day, darling, believe me.”

That draws a laugh from his Jedi. Cody steps out to the balcony proper as Obi-Wan begins to unpack his bag. 

The sun is drawing lower on the horizon now, painting the sky in picturesque golds and oranges as people slowly move in from the beach - a steady stream of holiday-goers and families making their way back to the hotel for the evening. Cody idly watches them, leaning out over the railing as he takes in the myriad of species, genders, and ages of the people who’ve come here for an escape. One thing seems to bind them all together despite the differences - that distinct aura of wealth that seems to permeate the very air here.

He can’t really put his finger on what it is. The way they carry themselves, maybe? The sea of perfect skin and hair, the precision in which they choose to dress… It’s all fairly alien to the Commander. None of it really feels real in the way that people tend to be. Give him the flawed mess of the Lower Levels any day.

“I’m going to go for a little wander,” Obi-Wan calls through from the bedroom. “Get the lay of the land, so to speak.” 

Cody turns, stepping back into the lavish room and stretching slightly. He sighs as he feels a pleasant ache in his muscles.

“I’ll probably stay in,” he yawns, “get an early night. Didn’t sleep well last rotation, and I’d prefer to feel rested for tomorrow.”

Even though he technically hasn’t been awake for all that long, Cody figures it’d be best to get started on adjusting to local time as quickly as possible. They’ll need to be up at dawn, regardless of if they’re ready for it. The Jedi hums in response, slipping on his cloak and heading to the door.

“That sounds wise. I’ll try not to return too late - if you’re already asleep, I shall endeavour to join you as quietly as possible.” His gaze falls to where Cody stands, offering a small smile. “Feel free to claim either side of the bed. Comms are on, I’ll see you in a little while.”

With that, he’s disappeared off into the night, leaving Cody with the question of whether or not he should take the floor tonight dying on his tongue. 

He blinks, a little stupidly, after the now closed door. It’s as if there wasn’t even a question of whether they would be sharing the bed in the Jedi’s mind. Which… Cody supposes there shouldn’t be, really. 

He and Obi-Wan have shared tents before in the field countless times, slept closely on the ground when there hasn’t been space in various quarters they’ve been given. Hells, during a mission on Mygeeto two months ago, he’d had no qualms with combining their bedrolls together for warmth.

A real bed just… feels different. Cody isn’t quite sure why.

He gives a wary sidelong glance to the offending furniture, as if expecting it to bite him. The bed, for its part, stares back at him unblinkingly, its exorbitant number of pillows providing more fuel for Cody’s growing resentment of the damn thing.

The Commander shakes his head. He’s being ridiculous. With a sigh and a mental slap upside the head, he unpacks his own bag, glancing out every now and again to the progressing sunset as he changes into his sleepclothes.

He’s almost loath to admit it, but the view is gorgeous. The twin moons slowly rise into the sky, basking the ocean in an ethereal glow. If it weren’t for the fact that he can still hear tourists partying outside, he could be tricked into actually enjoying this.

Cody sets aside the outfits he’ll need for tomorrow - something casual for the day, and something more formal for a party that’ll be occurring in the evening - before putting his suitcase down on top of Obi-Wan’s, near the door.

Sinking down into bed, he’s further frustrated to find out how comfortable it feels, reluctantly admitting to himself that perhaps the richest of the rich in the galaxy do get some things right every now and again. Rarely.

He lets out a deep exhale, pleased to find that his mind feels considerably more settled now that they’re actually here at the mission location, a little more peaceful.

It’s a relief, to be certain - Cody doesn’t really know who he is if not for the calm, collected strategist that always has an answer. His lack of certainty as of late has been… Disquieting, to say the least.

He grasps the feeling of quietude with both hands, allowing it to pull him into the alluring drift of near-sleep.

He stirs a little when he hears Obi-Wan return, the door clicking closed ever so gently. The Jedi seems to be true to his word in keeping his movements as soundless as possible- 

Well, that is at least until he takes a step further into the dark room and walks directly into the suitcases in front of him, letting out a hiss of pain. 

Cody can’t quite conceal his ensuing huff of amusement. Obi-Wan seems decidedly less pleased, grumbling something under his breath. 

The other man pads over to the other side of the bed, and Cody hears the distinctive rustle of clothes being removed. He lets out a slow breath, ensuring to stay stock still, facing the other way. Not that he could really see what was going on even if he did roll over, but…

“Sorry. I tried.” Obi-Wan’s whisper cuts through the darkness, genuine regret in his tone. 

“You’re fine. Is your foot alright?”

The Jedi huffs. “Mortally wounded, I’m afraid. Amputation likely.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

The bed dips gently behind him as Obi-Wan gets in. Cody is suddenly very grateful that everything in this hotel is oversized - it at least means they can do this without threat of the two being close enough to touch. For one long moment, he’s hyper-aware of every shift, every slight movement from his Jedi, before he forces his eyes to close.

It all falls quiet after that, apart from the gentle sound of even breaths behind him. Cody unconsciously finds himself matching them, slow inhales and exhales that serve to soothe his suddenly racing heart. He tries not to think too hard about why his heart might be racing.

Cody swallows. Thank the stars he knows how to shield, because he has no idea what Obi-Wan would say if he could sense this… Whatever it is that’s gotten into him.

With a long exhale, he uses what his General had once taught him of meditation technique to forcibly quieten his mind. He’s not allowing himself to do this. Not again.

To his immense gratitude, with a little effort (and time spent visualising the movement of the ocean outside), the calm of earlier finds its way to him once again, soothing his mind and slowing his breaths to match that of the lapping water.

As he finds himself on the precipice of sleep once more, he hears a quiet murmur from the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Cody.”

Cody pulls the covers up a little tighter to himself, yawning as he does so. It takes him a moment to find his voice, and when he does, it’s uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

(chapter 2)

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 2x04 Victory (Part 2)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Alright, guys, we're getting into the return of Marina. For better or worse, let's do this!

Lady Crane

Colin is very serious in his carriage ride over to see Marina again. Is he nervous, anxious, unsure of what he's going to get once he's there? All of that - yes?

I love his tophat, though, notice in Season 3 they don't bring that back? Because they didn't want to ruin Colin's hair ;)

Also, is it just me or does the carriage almost look like the backseat of a car here?

I have no deep meta for this. I just wanted to get a better look at his outfit. Just going to throw out there that there was a recent-ish interview with the costume designer that stated the pastels were for a younger version of Colin, and that Season 3 he gets darker, solid colors to signify that he's grown up. Interesting, right?

It's always amusing to me when the level of detail put into things like costumes, props, acting choices, etc, etc, are more thought out than the writing. Because, I may adore this show, but I can't claim the writing is blowing anyone away.

Anyway, Colin does do a little tug on his coat and takes in a deep breath before heading inside - he's ready to face whatever is waiting for him. (And technically, nothing is waiting, since he's arriving unannounced.) Just another instance of how chaotic Colin can be.

Okay, I kind of love the Crane house. It's nice and bright and open and rather inviting. It also looks like the nicest warm day there.

Anyway, so Colin is a bit restless as he waits. When Marina finally arrives, he immediately forgets himself - and calls her Marina, and then Miss Thompson, and then finally Lady Crane before remembering to bow. (Now, the whole bowing thing is going to be phased out, but it's a nice touch here to show he's forgotten himself a bit.

And this is what I think is interesting -- Marina doesn't look unhappy to see him. In fact, she seems amused if nothing else. I don't think a visit from Colin is necessarily a problem. It's when he starts to get too clingy to a romanticized idea of what could have been that she gets annoyed. But I also think -- she and Colin wouldn't have made a good match, and she knows this. Colin's brand of uniqueness just isn't her cup of tea, and that's fine, but Colin has to recognize this.

I will say, he is enamored with her baby. So, it's the second time in two episodes that he's going to be cooing over a small child. I think he's going to be be just fine becoming a father at a young age.

He's also taken aback by the fact that she has twins, though not necessarily in a bad way. And he comes over to say hello to Oliver and comment on his -- wigglyness. Which is a kind of funny delivery. This whole sequence starts out in such a light manner. I can only imagine that Colin, himself, was probably a pretty wiggly child.

Interestingly, Marina is pretty chill about the whole thing. Colin is still acting rather nervous, but I have to hand it to Marina that she's handling all of it in stride. She informs Colin that Sir Philip is not around at the moment, since he is out studying flowers. Colin stumbles over an apology for not extending an invitation.

(Like, my dude - how scandalous would this have been? A young bachelor showing up at someone's house while the husband was away. Colin does what he wants and answers to no one, truly.)

Colin states that he just wanted to check in on her after everything that went down the previous year (season? time makes zero sense in this world). Marina does seem happy with her life (and her wiggly baby - she looks like she's about to break, if I'm being honest, but that's not a bad thing - I'm glad Marina looks happy). And she says she's happy to see Colin. He's delighted by this and joins her for tea.

I honestly love the moment he sits down and just says 'hello' to the baby. Idk why, it cracks me up every time. He may still be on his journey to discovering it, but one of Colin's purposes in life is fatherhood. It really is.

Tea Time

We cut away for some time, and come back to Colin and Marina enjoying some tea. And I kind of love some of the subtleties in this little moment. Colin is telling Marina about all the things he experienced in Greece. He's excited to tell her - because she's someone new who will listen, and not his family, who seems to be over his stories.

When Marina states that it sounds like a 'remarkable' journey, Colin makes the pun that it's remarkable in that he has plenty of 'remarks' about it. Which is... such a dad joke. (I mean, we're gonna get that olive pun in a moment, I didn't realize just how much they were pushing in on the geeky!dad vibes they're giving to Colin this season).

But then there's a very - youthful - moment, in which, Colin pulls himself back in, feeling like his excitement is too outlandish, and he plays with his teacup awkwardly. It's such a small moment, but a nice acting choice, as it shows Colin's discomfort for the situation he's in, and how young and inexperienced he is dealing with emotions and relationships. I mean, Colin is a very empathetic character, but not an experienced one, and the crossroads of the two is on display right here.

And then Marina assuages his discomfort by stating, soundly, that she likes his 'remarks'. And I do think she's sincere, that she probably did enjoy the moment away from being strictly a mother and a wife. But she is quick to thank him for stopping by and is kind of ready for him to go. She can entertain him for a few hours, but that's about all she can handle -- for whatever her reasons are.

When Colin stands - he does ask about Sir Philip. Colin hasn't really made his actual intentions for being there clear. I mean, he says he wants to check in on her. But what he's really looking for (in my opinion) is a sense of purpose. If Sir Philip is a dick, then maybe he can rescue her again -- and that romantic fantasy he's been entertaining since he met her can come into play. It's one part -- his hero complex, if he isn't saving someone, well than what use is he? And one part being caught up in romantic fantasy, which Colin has a tendency to do.

At that moment, however, Sir Philip does show up. And you know what? He's actually a delight. He's all smiles, and seems totally fine that his wife has a male suitor, and the minute Colin says 'Greece' he is all in wanting to hear more.

And of course -- we get one of Colin's most famous lines... 'I oiled my way in... that was an olive joke.' I love this ridiculous pun. I love the look Marina gives him like... dude, you are an awkward little bean, aren't you? And I love that not but a few episodes earlier, Penelope was grumpy because no one was appreciating her ridiculous plant puns.

Cause here's my thing... so many of these love stories happen, and I don't know that I fully understand them -- other than, two people are hot and want to bang. And when they actually show two people who are cut from the same cloth, that match each other's freaks, that make sense being in a relationship based on commonalities -- then I really appreciate that. Colin and Penelope don't need to be in the same scenes to get an understanding that the two of them very much have things in common, and undoubtedly appreciate, enjoy, and understand each other's personalities. It's one of the things that endears me to them so much.

Sir Philip doesn't seem to care about Colin's terrible taste in jokes, he's too busy geeking out over plants. Marina rolls her eyes, because my god, she does not care one bit about plants. But Colin definitely seems interested in hearing about the history of said plants in relation to Greece. He jumps on the chance to hang out with Sir Philip.

And this is where I say -- this universe does not have enough friendships. Like, Colin needs a friend. He's got Penelope - who is clearly his bff, but she's going to fill other roles, too. Sir Phillip seems like he could use a friend, as well. Both of them seem a little starved or actual attention and genuine interest. And I do find it kind of hilarious that Marina entertains him for, like, ten minutes but Sir Philip is going to have him over for hours.

How Colin doesn't wise up to the fact clearly, one of these two people he'd rather spend more time with, I don't know. I love him to death, but sometimes he's kinda dumb.

And... that's where I'm stopping for now! More with Penelope attempting society, as well as the end wrap up of Marina :)

[a-kinda-boring-writer]

Hey.

I'm not pro-ship nor anti or whatever. Both sides sound very silly to me. I frankly care very little about any of that discourse. May throw out some takes for shit and giggles, but I won't debate people on anything related to that. I just don't care enough. I'm only here for the funnies.

I can be a bit of a negative-nancy sometimes? So, like, expect me to have very critical takes about stuff on occasions. Oh and I'm a bit trigger happy when it comes to blocking. Just so you know <3.

Anyways... look at this cat! :D Not fully sure what to do with her character yet, but isn't she precious :3 (ignore what she has on her mouth 😉 don't worry about it 🙌)

(This is a commission I got from Sparklehounds. Go check her out!)

Also, I'm an adult (You should probably be one too if you're planning to keep reading any further 👇👇👇).

I write fanfics sometimes.

📖🐈Warrior cats fics!🐈📖

Rated between T-ish to M. Editing and spell-checking are against my religion lmao. And I think mildly suggestive humor is hilarious, so you'll find plenty of that in there, but no outright smut. They're still kinda boring, tho. And unnecessarily long. On the flip-side, there are lots of gay kitties in them too.

So... yeah. You'll find them here, if you wanna check them out, for whatever reason. Mind the tags, tho. PLEASE mind the tags.

[-----------]

Getting into specifics, my main thing is a Power of Three in RiverClan AU/Rewrite. This includes:

-the Three being Feathertail/Crowfether kits, raised in RiverClan (duh) -Med cat Hollyleaf, Warrior Jayfeather, and Lionblaze... well, he's there too, doing his best. -a bunch of headcanons (both personal and popular fandom stuff) -community jokes taken seriously (exactly what it says on the tin) -complete lack of interest in making a "better" arc than the original, just the desire to have fun and explore whatever theme is in my head at the time. -actually, I kinda take the canon and make it worse tbh.

Here is the link to the series. Again, please, mind the tags. It gets heavy at times.

[-----------]

Some one-shots I've written:

-And tender was the flesh: Hollyleaf being a cryptid and also a cannibal, but Cinderheart is into that. -Vamos a punguearle a esta vida amarreta un ramo de sueños: An AU of the RiverAU, in which Jayfeather and Pouncetail get their happily ever after. -Mercy is ruthlessness upon ourselves: Stonefur x Blackfoot. Sad and doomed old man yaoi 😔 -Heathertail's Harem: Pretty self-explanatory. The princess of WindClan gets her well-deserved harem 🙌. Not serious at all. -Why should we try to rebuild our broken bridge, if all we have is rotten wood?: This one is hard to explain. The jest of it is that Holly and Squilf try to reconnect after the former returns from the tunnels, but their relationship soon turns quite unhealthy.

[-----------]

Also participating on the Year of the OTP 2025. I'm writing 12 one-shots featuring Frostdawn x Whistlebreeze! It's one per month and all of them will be here. Ratings and themes will vary substantially.

[-----------]

And some WIP one-shots that I'm currently workshopping and/or working on include:

-Squirrelflight x Mothwing x Leafpool. (A soldier and a nun abandon their religion and become Farm Girls for pu-... for love, of course) -Lionblaze (PPD, yay!) -An epilogue for Ravensight (oc. He just keeps getting worse) -Mothwing x Icestar (Very old woman yuri) -Jayfeather x Kestrelflight (Bird bois deserve to be happy) -Leafstar x Firestar >>> Leafstar x Squirrelflight (bit unhealthy) -Tawnypelt x Nightcloud (fuck it) -Ivypool x Hollytuft (Hollytuft and sibs are CinderHolly kits!) -There's a Ashfur Mpreg one too (that one is hard to explain...) - Something with Spottedleaf (it`s the ciiiiiircllleeee of... abuse...)

[-----------]

That's all for now.

<3

[gareleia]

THE KNITTING SAGA CONTINUES

update: my co-writer friend FINALLY got a tumblr account, so I can tag them now!!

previously: part 1

next: part 3 part 4 part 5

a continuation because I have no impulse control and am in dire need of more Aeolus content

first of all, let's establish one thing - and I think we can all agree on that - Aeolus loves to fuck with people. they are a benevolent(-ish?) trickster deity, and they revel in harmless pranks

as a consequence, they are on pretty good terms with Hermes. while Hermes doesn't care much for the 'small fry' and doesn't pay that much attention to the wind god most of the time, Aeolus has their winions follow the messenger god religiously (pun intended), because? where Hermes goes, shenanigans always follow.

so when they get the tea that he's apparently hanging out on that one random Greek island, playing nanny? oh, they know it's gotta be good. so naturally, they go to check it out.

well, turns out that Athena is also there, and both of them are sooo bad with babies, it's hilarious

Athena, holding baby!Telemachus: Ehhh, shouldn't it be eating more meat? it's body is so weak, it can't even hold a spear! Hermes, exasperated: oh my me, 'thena, that's not how humans work!! babies eat liquids first!! how can you not know that!! here you go, champ, drink some wine!! Aeolus, hiding in the leaves: holy shit these guys are dumb

so now they can't just leave Telemachus alone with Athena and Hermes! they might not be an expert on child rearing, but surely they can do better than those two dorks! and the baby is adorable.

so they decide to stick around. just for a little bit. a week tops.

fast forward a few years, and they have been raising the prince of Ithaca

Aeolus: *shocked pikachu face*

and Aeolus is the much needed chaotic good influence to Hermes' chaotic neutral and Athena's lawful neutral.

the thing is, Aeolus is really good at hiding. so good, in fact, that no one but Telemachus had even realized they are here. everyone else just thinks that the prince has an invisible friend which, well… they're not wrong?.. and it's not like other kids are exactly lining up to be his friends anyway, cause everyone thinks he's weird (or their parents don't want to catch the attention of the suitors)

and the gods think that it's because they hang around too much and Telemachus can't make friends because of them. so maybe they try to spend less time in Ithaca, for his own good. which only makes things worse, because now the boy is upset, and Aeolus and winions have to try extra hard to cheer him up, which pisses them off.

Athena & Hermes: oh, goodness us, we shall try not to interfere too much with the mortal affairs, so that the young prince grows up healthy and happy ¯_(ツ)_/¯ Telemachus: (T⌓T) Aeolus: ヾ( ･`⌓´･)ﾉﾞ

and then they have to subtle bully the two dumb fucks to come back.

on a less serious note, Aeolus also has a sweet tooth, especially for marshmallows (idgaf there weren't any marshmallows in Mycenaean Greece, they're a god. they can make all the damn marshmallows they want)

and of course, since they are sooo generous, they always share with Telemachus.

what they don't know(?) is that winions, who all get their own treats, also collectively share them with the baby, because they are secretly evil adorable little freaks.

which results in a very hyper prince sugar rushing seemingly out of nowhere.

Telemachus, running all around the palace and crackling madly: I AM SPEED- Penelope, unimpressed: and who, pray tell, had given my son sweets right before dinner? Athena, equally unimpressed: yes, I would also like to know. Hermes, sweating nervously: heyyyy, why are you all looking at me like that???? ( ಠ‿ಠ ) Aeolus, from behind a tree, unseen by anyone: (｡•̀U-)┘

Hermes always gets blamed.

It's the only time he doesn't do the thing

and he's seething, because nobody believes him.

[aristotle97]

suffering bc an oc i made inspired by a writing-prompt-s "ur power is being average at everything and never worse than average" post isn't good enough for a marvel rp server i'm in so im gonna post them here and see if anyone wants to rp with me qvq

(p.s he's named mercutio bc i'm growing into my new pref. name)

also tagging @kohyuuu / @kohyuu2 and maybe @mercutiosblog bc they might find this oc neat

_ _ -# " hAVE AT THEE, BOY! " ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ … ⠀ Mercutio⠀ 𓏴 ⠀ Master of None

info

full name . Mercutio Riccio alias(es) . Merc, Tio, etc. age . 18 date of birth . 3/16 gender . Trans Male sexuality . Pan occupation . Vigilante

mutation

(the main gripe of these people in the discord i'm in. also said his strengths/weaknesses were traits more than anything... YEAH. BECAUSE HIS POWER IS BEING AVERAGE!?!?!?)

Mutation: Jack of All Trades, Master of None - Average at everything (but extremly bad at taking care of himself), isn't neccesarily an expert at anything, but tries his hardest anyways. Physical health could be better, definitely in an average/healthy range, though. Can run average distances, eat normal amounts, etc.

Strengths:

Consistency - His physical abilites are extremly consistent thanks to his averageness. Ex. He could run a decent distance without stopping, but would be huffing and puffing like the average person afterwards.

Flexibility - Again, average at everything, he knows how to at least administer basic level first aid, he can cook some okay tasting food if asked to, and otherwise can step in as the 'doctor' or 'fighter' or 'distraction' if needed.

Stealth - Typically an unassuming/average joe in his civilian getup. If he ever needed to tail someone or blend in, he could actually very well do that due to, well, looking like an average joe!

Weaknesses:

Lack of Specialization - He can't be asked to have expert knowledge at anything. Ex. He could totally sew someone's wound shut, but he physically CANNOT give someone a lifesaving surgery

Terrible Leadership - He doesn't have a particular amount of charisma as his everyday civilian self. He doesn't know how to lead people into battle, or anything like it. He prefers an equal playing field, hence his building of a small 'commune,' as it could be called, out of the people in his apartment complex.

Very bad at self care - Can't care for himself very well, which is hilarious, considering the fact that he is average at everything else. He's tried everything, from sticker charts to self-care apps like Finch, Amaru & Voidpet garden, but nothing works. He just tries his best™️, only washing his hair when he remembers to, brushing his teeth when he reminds himself too. Cannot build good, healthy habits for himself to save his life.

appearence

height . 5'4 eye & hair color . green eyes, black hair description . black hair, green eyes, baby-ish face faceclaim . John Eyzen, performing as Mercutio in Romeo et Juliette 2001 in Paris. (faceclaim self explanatory if you looked at bro's name)

persona

likes . Crocheting, colorguard, napping, cooking dislikes . Track, long range combat, loud noises. overview . A typically closed off, standdoffish young man out of costume, and a kind, selfless, danger-defying hero in costume. He doesn't let the hard exterior fall in front of friends, and especially never in front of romantic partners; he can't have another Romeo incident.

misc

background . Ran away from home at age 16 after his childhood friend 'Romeo' (fake name), betrayed him by outing him to his family. His mutation had manifested three years before this, but Mercutio didn't realize until he was attacked by a Sentinel. Thanks to his total averageness at everything, he somehow just managed to escape it. He now resides in New York under the hero name 'Master of None' and tries to keep his peace/take care of his community.

notes

started a community garden on the roof of his apt. complex

runs a free mini library

crochets baby hats/blankets/etc. for homeless shelters in the winter.

has a habit of befriending stray animals

carries a backpack with snacks, a first aid kit, small crochet project, water bottles, and about $200 in cash with him on every patrol

[snippychicke]

Eliza's Library of Fics

Because I am a writer of various fandoms and dozens of stories now, I'm going to put them under a cut to save space.

**NOTE THAT SOME STORIES ARE 18+**

Many of my stories, and just my blog in general, are meant for mature audiences. I am a full grown adult writing some mature themes at times. Viewer discretion advised. I do my best to tag common triggers, but I'm also bad at it. So, yeah. Read at your own risk. If it seems sketchy, please back out. I don't want you traumatized because my brain felt spicy when writing.

Tag list for my various fics here

»Moon Knight «

Moon Stone: Before Marc and Steven, before Arthur Harrow, Khonshu had another avatar. Well, hundreds of thousand of others, but this is the story of one in particular that Khonshu was fond of. (Khonshu/Reader; Mature Readers only; Complete)

»Mairimashita Iruma-kun/Welcome to Demon School, Iruma«

For the Sake of a Smile: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen. And the fact your coworker was a child. Suzuki Iruma. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but smiled despite everything. And you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a demon and signing your life away. 

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew. And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life. (Balam/Reader; Found Family Fic; Revision in progress)

Original Un-revised masterpost

Drabbles

● Balam-Centric

Jealous Balam

● Kalego-Centric

Jealous Kalego (Back in his school-days)

Jealous Kalego again. (Mature, NSFW 18+)

5 sentence NSFW (Mature, 18+)

Collab with Pun

Happy-fun-times with multiple kinks (Mature, NSFW 18+)

Pillow-princess Reader(nsfw)

And more Kalego smut!

● Robin-Centric

Reader confesses to Robin (pt. 2)

● Dali-Centric

Dali Finds out Reader is human (Pt.2)

● Lord Sullivan-Centric

Deal with the Devil (pt. 2) (pt. 3)

» One Piece «

Kinktober 2023

A bunch of oneshots featuring Buggy, Sanji, Kuro, and Garp. All very NSFW

Cats & Ships

It started out as a means to get information as Khaladore. Who would be better to provide information regarding the high seas than Syrup Village’s Harbormaster? Except, for the first time in a very long time, Kuro found himself trusting, and even liking, the young woman he shared tea with every week. 

And then the Straw Hat Pirates arrived and ruined his plans. Except fate decided his story wasn’t done there. 

Nor was yours. (Captain Kuro (Klahadore)/Reader; hints of Kaya/Usopp. Explores the fall out after Syrup Village Arc kinda?)

A quick NSFW Moment

A small Klahadore/Reader smut. Stand alone (for now)

Devil-fruit!Reader/Kuro

Gardener!Reader/Klahadore

Cook!Reader/Kuro

Reader/Kuro and the crescent moon

Soft!Dom!Reader/Kuro with bondage

~*~

The Legend of the Selkie and the Pirate

Even in a world of monsters, devil fruits, pirates, and fishmen, selkies were considered a myth. Especially in the East Blue where the waters were too warm for seals to live anyways. Even in a world of monsters, devil fruits, pirates, and fishmen, selkies were considered a myth. Especially in the East Blue where the waters were too warm for seals to live anyways.

Except that myths were always seeded with truths, and stories always had a habit of coming to life.

Buggy/Selkie!Reader.

Alternate Summary: You thought it would be easy to follow the stars home to the Arctic when you ended up far too south. Unfortunately, you were wrong.

Fortunately, another kind of star kept pulling you in-- the Flashy Fool: Buggy the Clown.

Unfortunately, this also leads you to question where 'home' really is.

(Meanwhile, Buggy is likewise conflicted. He handles it poorly.)

Random 3 am drabble

Set in the Legend of the Selkie and the Pirate realm some time in the future-ish

~*~

It's Just Business

Rating: Teen so far

Pairing: Sanji/Reader

Warnings: No real warnings, but god, I hope you like pining

Summary: You felt like you had known Sanji forever, considering your family had been the main merchants Zeff used to supply the Baratie. You had a small crush on him, but knew it was hopeless considering you were the one woman he didn't seem to pine over. 

It was fine. Or so you thought until you ended up on the Going Merry as a bookkeeper and supply manager. Being around him 24/7 was a lot more difficult than just a few days a week.  

》Invader Zim《

Catching Flies

Over on my sideblog we have a delightful found!family fic between a nonbinary reader and Zim... as well as a slow romance between the Reader and Professor Membrane

》Five Nights at Freddy's: Security Breach《

Feeling so Bright

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Freddy/Reader (?)

Summary: After the infamous night of a ten year old child being stuck in the Pizzaplex overnight and causing untold chaos to the place in less than six hours; Vanessa understandably needed a few days off, and you were happy to fill in (not that you were given a choice really.) Except the main technician for the Glam Rocks had been fired (or disappeared, depending on who you asked) and so you were also assigned to their restoration as well as maintenance and upkeep of the staff bots.

As if that assignment isn’t large enough, Freddy tells you his version of the Incident, which makes things even more complicated as you start piecing puzzle pieces together. The bear animatronic, after seeing all his friends be warped by a virus and taken down by a child he cares for, becomes rather protective of you. Especially as things… develop.

These feelings are just because you’re both lonely, right? Once things go back to normal, surely they’ll fade away.

»Undertale«

To be posted: US!Papyrus/Reader

»The Umbrella Academy«

Aftermath

Rating: Teen to Mature

Pairing: Otto of the Swedes/Oc

Summary: Raymond Chestnut gets a harsh surprise when he realizes the body in his living room isn't actually dead. Now he has a severely injured white man, who tried to kill him, to deal with. Thankfully he knows a friend who might be able to help.

Lorelei was used to people coming to her for medical attention. But when Raymond brings Otto to her home, nothing could prepare for how her life was about to change.

---

Poppy Playtime

Poppy Seeds

[slasherbat]

Rating Werewolf Designs (TV Edition)

I'm back to chat more about werewolf designs and give my honest opinions. If you want to see my thoughts on some werewolf movie designs, you can check that out here.

Today I'm looking at werewolf designs in TV shows, but only for five shows. Over a show's run, there will be a lot of changes, and this heavily applies to TV shows. Granted, only one of these shows has very drastic werewolf changes from its first and second appearance, so more on that later. If you looked at the tags beforehand or happened to see this scrolling through the show's tag. You'll know what exactly I'm talking about.

Starting off I'll be taking a look at Doctor Who, specifically the series two episode Tooth and Claw. As far as I am aware, this is our only werewolf sighting in Nu-Who.

I've seen better CGI werewolves, granted this episode came out in 2006, but still. It looks oddly photoshopped in, the right paw looks strange from this shot as if it only had two toes instead of four. The arms look a bit patchy with the fur. I've never seen a werewolf so dog-like and alien-like. Also a bit shiny with the fur. It's not something truly awful, I have seen worse werewolf designs and Doctor Who isn't exactly a horror-centric series. Yet if it ever does decide to bring werewolves back, I can only hope it looks better than that and maybe, just maybe. Pratical.

Wednesday Netflix

It's something. It looks more like a saber-tooth tiger than anything else. I can see the vision, but the incredibly long canines feel out of place.

I feel like this would be a very solid design for any other were-creature if decided, maybe change a few things to look like it. This design does have potential to be a solid werewolf, or any other kind of were-creature. A couple of changes can go a long way in design.

Going to the transformation, I have to say. Enid in her mid-transformation state is a solid werewolf that leans on the more human side. Add some more fur, werewolf ears, yellow eyes, fuck her spine up to make her taller and a bit hunched, go for more wolf-ish legs, add some rips in the clothes to reveal the fur. You'd have a good balance of human and wolf. Maybe change the snout a bit also.

(apologies for such poor quality)

The werewolf designs in this show have potential, and I would not be upset if they made some changes in season 2 to it.

Teen Wolf

I'll only be taking a look at three werewolf designs due to just how many designs these shows monsters and creatures had.

The actual wolf design is nothing special to me. I've never liked it when films and shows had done stuff like that, it lacks uniqueness and it's nothing special to me. Go join David Kessler in the London Zoo.

Onto Demon Wolf Peter Hale, it's funny. It's silly, it is not that great, but it did serve it's purpose for the arc. If anything, it looks like a Hell Hound design if it was in anything else besides Teen Wolf.

Now onto the actual werewolf design. It took me some getting used but since I went into the show not knowing what the werewolves looked like. There was a bit of disappointment on my end when I saw that was it, but I've grown to like the design. I will say, that the Teen Wolf werewolf design serves as some pretty solid inspiration for a mid-transformation werewolf look.

Escape The Night

Shown in the season 2, episode Full Moon Slaughter, we got these guys, and they are my favorite monster in this show, Full Moon Slaughter is my all time favorite episode of that show. So I will be brutally honest when I saw this. I kinda hate how the werewolves look. They look off, the face feels a bit flat, the torso's look at bit strange, and it's just not that great of a werewolf design, but as I said before. It serves it's purpose.

Buffy The Vampire Slayer

As of right now I am only on Season 4 Episode 1, so I will only be looking at the werewolf designs from season 2 and 3. Due to the fact I don't want to end this post with an awful design. I'll be talking about the season 3 design first.

Now,

WHAT. THE. FUCK?

TALK ABOUT A DOWNGRADE. This is quite possibly the worst werewolf design I have on this list for TV shows. How do you massacre something that was such a perfect design? That is not a werewolf, why is the face a bit to human? I swear, if there are human ears like AAWIP, I'm done. I'm walking out.

They had done Oz, so dirty with this design and the fact we had to see it so much. It's awful, the worst fucking thing I have ever seen. Why? Why did they have to go that route?

To end this post on a good design, and one of my favorites. The season 2 Buffy the Vampire Slayer werewolf is so amazing. I love him, this is one of my favorite designs in a show for this beautiful beast. I wish it stuck around, and I can see elements of it in the werewolf design for The Cabin In The Woods.

This design is just amazing and lovely. There are no flaws. I love a well-done practical werewolf, and it's something you can 100% tell actually what it's supposed to be. I'll never be over this design, it's perfect to me. My 3rd favorite werewolf design following the one in Cabin and David Kessler from AAWIL.

Anyway, that's my rating and review of werewolves in TV shows. Maybe I'll do werewolves in video games next who knows? Until next time everyone!

[florencemtrash]

i love love love your work and reading it has gotten me back into my love for acotar (and azriel shhh). im so inspired/tempted to start writing my own fics on here but i have no idea where to start or how to maneuver anything lol .do you have any tips?!

WRITING FANFICTION - my thoughts on how to get started (and others please feel free to chime in in the comments)

AHHHHHHHH YOU SHOULD TOTALLY DO IT!!! I encourage everyone who is interested to write fanfiction, even if you don't want to post things online, because I feel like fanfiction is the perfect avenue to a) have fun and b) practice any and all aspects of writing in a low stress way.

*cracks fingers* get ready for a brief rant about the glories of fanfiction writing

Fanfiction is such a beautiful way to get invested in a story. We already have our own interpretations of how characters look/act/their inner turmoils and struggles that might not get a lot of page time in the canonical works, AND for me personally, I'm always trying to find ways to insert myself into any media I read so fanfiction just feels like a natural extension of that and it honestly has improved my daydreaming skills for better or for worse.

It helps me escape my own thoughts and any troubles I have and I feel like I can grow as a person through the characters I read and write about.

Fanfiction is also great because you can pick and choose what aspects of writing you want to focus on improving. For me personally, I've always had issues with writing dialogue, but if I were to write something from scratch I would have to go through the efforts of creating a whole universe/characters/plot etc. etc so I would always get overwhelmed and just not write at all.

BUT! With fanfiction writing I can just take existing plots/characters etc. etc. and only write the dialogue for a scene I could make up in universe. AND because I'm writing existing characters that I "know", I have a framework for how they speak and can better gauge whether what I am writing sounds natural/realistic. Sometimes if I'm getting stuck on the dialogue I'll just write the lines for each character so I don't lose momentum and then later on I'll go back in and add the setting descriptions, dialogue tags, actions.

More concrete tips/steps you could take

So, I suppose if you're looking for a place to start and have a specific aspect of writing you have trouble with, you could always write short blurbs focusing on that skillset.

If you have issues with dialogue, just write dialogue. No descriptions/scenery. Nothing. If you have issues with describing settings you can always take the dialogue/actions from a scene of a book verbatim and then write around them. OR maybe if you have issues with characterization you could also take a scene from a book and then write from a different character's perspective. I just think it's a neat way to practice and something I've done in the past.

2. Write shameless self inserts. You know yourself better than anyone else and if you're interested in writing fanfiction, you're probably already a chronic daydreamer who's imagining what you would do in a fictional universe. May as well just write it down for the practice.

3. Start with short oneshots - I only started posting online about 7-ish months ago but I've been writing fanfiction since I was in middle school (so about 10 years now) and that's how I got into writing... and also I started out by handwriting the beginnings of trilogies but never getting past page 10 because I realized I was just copying the Hunger Games.

4. Don't be precious with your writing (see #3) and especially in the beginning I think people should prioritize quantity over quality. I think my writing has drastically improved since graduating college because I now consistently have time in the evenings to just write, even if it's "bad" writing. I also have a document titled "Dump it into the fires of Mordor" for my shittiest ideas and bits that I've cut out from other writing projects.

Other Tumblr-specific tidbits

Keep a google sheets to organize fics/taglists. I like to organize this way because unless you have a masterlist (which most people don't in the beginning), tumblr just has everything on one long scroll. So to get around this I have a google sheets where each column is one writing project with one row dedicated to links to the tumblr page, one row to commonly used tags, and the rest of the rows in the column are a list of anyone on my taglist for that project

Include more paragraph cuts than you think you'll need. This is a personal preference of mine, but because I read fanfics on Tumblr predominately on my phone where the width is narrower, extra paragraph cuts a) help me keep track of where I am in the story better and b) look more visually appealing - at least in my opinion

I'm still getting used to Tumblr myself and everyone approaches writing and using the platform differently.

BUT PLEASE DO WRITE IF YOU FEEL INSPIRED TO! Writing and posting fanfiction, and generally getting to interact with people, has been so much fun and I highly encourage anyone and everyone to do it.

Hmmmm, this ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be. Whoops. Hope it was helpful though!

Love,

Florence B.

[bossboudicca]

20 Questions for 20 Writers (where did the other 10 questions go?)

thank you for the tag @twinsunstars !

Is writing a hobby or way of life?

hobby for sure. it would be wicked to actually publish something original but who am i kidding haha

2. A journal full of writing notes or a clean, completed manuscript?

oh my god my system is such a mess. i have texts i send to myself, notetaking apps on my phone, google docs, libreoffice, physical paper notes, screenshots of old notes- its chaos.

3. Who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

all the weird shit i read and watch, and people i chat with who put ideas in my head

4. Which is worse: someone you "idolize" reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

listening to me sing, im awful. i like people who i think are better at stuff than me critiquing my work, it can be embarrassing but i think it helps

5. Has writing from someone else's POV ever changed your own perspective?

i dont know if it changes my perspective entirely, but it definitely puts me in a different mindset for awhile, which is cool

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

back in the day, livejournal and ffn. my old shit is probably still floating out there lost in the void. nowadays its ao3, and i think i've put like one thing on tumblr.

7. AO3 wordcount, and are you satisfied with it?

81,745. not bad considering i started posting in january of 24

8. What movie/book/fic gripped you irrevocably?

SO MANY fics i cant even list them all. star wars will always have a chokehold on me, but some of my first works were actually for the Band of Brothers fandom which i've just gotten back into recently (15 ish years later, WOW)

9. What's the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

honestly any comment makes me happy. this is weird but also when people say it made them sad or horny lmao

10. What defines your writing style?

semi colons, run on sentences, em dash. my adhd ass cant stop typing to save my life.

no pressure tags <3 <3 <3 @a-gassy-antelope @ithinkabouttzu @little-zabrak @theweirdgoodbyes @executethyself35 @teabights @bleedingcoffee42 @1waveshortofashipwreck @dontirrigateme @mstiemountainhop I KNOW IM FORGETTING SOME OF YALL IM SORRY just comment if you see this ill tag you