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jungkoode · 17 days ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

"He didn't picture himself ever begging for pussy... but alas, here he is."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

content: wet sloppy kissing, jungkook being too horny for his own good, vibrator usage, masturbation (f), jerking off while eating kitty (idk what possessed me but i had to), vanilla kink (are we surprised), begging, slight praise kink, comfort, endearing moments, these two being stupid as always, post-orgasm sharing bed (yeah sleeping together), thinking about maybes.

✧ author's note ✧

LISTEN. You’re so lucky I have multiple FMU chapters backlogged right now, because if I didn’t? I would have thrown an actual tantrum, declared a two-week hermit arc, and told you all to fuck off while I moved to the mountains. BUT. Thankfully, I’ve written up to around Chapter 23-ish and just need to edit, so you can all calm the hell down.

First of all, no—I still haven’t updated the update post, because I’ve been too busy prepping this chapter for release. I’ve had zero time to sit and ponder. That said, the only valid suggestion I’ve gotten so far is to keep the Tumblr note goal but ALSO require the Wattpad goal to be hit—so that’s what we’re trying this time around.

Also—BIG ANNOUNCEMENT—we now have an official Kiki Nation Community on Tumblr (yay!). That’s where you little gremlins can finally scream together in one place, throw theories at each other, and insult Jungkook and Nix in a safe, protected space. (Mainly Jungkook. Because he’s a man. And this is a matriarchy. HUSH.)

So please check it out! Join, comment under the official Chapter 18 discussion post, and if you feel inspired to make a meme or TikTok or post your spiral—DO IT. If it makes me laugh, I will absolutely reblog it.

NOW. About this chapter.

BAHAHA. Okay. First of all—I am so proud of the kiss. I wanted it to be sloppy and wet and messy and borderline excessive, and I think I delivered. It’s so long. I really put my whole kikussy into it.

And of course… it was time. The vibrator had to make its appearance. It’s literally law. I don’t make the rules (but I do).

Also: Rogue begging. crawling. STILETTOS. Why did I like this chapter so much. It was delicious. I love sexually down bad men. Wait until he’s romantically down bad. It’s going to be so satisfying. Trust me.

And the ending?? Made me soft. Actual progress?? Kind of??? They’re still filthy, but they’re also edging toward something stupidly endearing and I hate how much I love that. The way this story is progressing is so slow-burn it makes my bones hurt, but I’m obsessed with it. We are maybe… possibly… inching toward friendship territory. MAYBE.

I’m really looking forward to the next chapters—soon, we’ll meet a new LI on Jungkook’s side (YES!). Things are gonna get messy (eventually). Reminder: they have zero romantic feelings right now. ZERO. What you’re seeing is just… subconscious tension, subtle shifts. We’re nowhere near falling.

So please. I beg you. If I start getting asks about them being in love, I will throw my laptop out the window and revoke my dictatorship. Don’t test me.

Enjoy the chaos. Let me know how hard you spiraled. Love you forever.

OH. I said it before but I will say it again. This chapter is entirely based on the song "get on your knees" by Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj so. Do with that what you will. Listen to it. Enjoy.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

Your back hits the wall as his mouth crashes into yours—not gentle, not careful, just hungry. Like he's been starving for the taste of you since Tuesday.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, a question that isn't really a question at all, because you both know how this ends. You part your lips anyway, granting him access because denying him feels like denying yourself.

His hand comes to rest on your neck, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. It's a strange, suspended gesture—like he can't decide whether to pull you closer or hold you exactly where you are. The indecision is so unlike him that it makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue flattens against yours, and any thoughts of indecision evaporate. He's not kissing you so much as he's tasting you, licking your flavor directly from the source. The sensation is filthy and intimate as his other hand comes to your cheek, fingers splaying across your skin, holding you in place for his exploration.

"Fuck," he breathes against your mouth, the word more vibration than sound. "Missed this."

Not you. This.

The distinction matters, even as his tongue circles yours in a slow, deliberate drag that makes your knees weak. He's coating himself with your saliva, savoring you like you're some expensive whiskey he's been saving for a special occasion.

You should probably be grossed out by how wet this kiss is, by how thoroughly he's claiming your mouth.

Instead, you find yourself pressing closer, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Because this is what you've been missing too—not him, not really, but this. The way he makes your body respond without even trying. The way he kisses like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.

And then his lips close over yours—soft but firm—like finishing the kiss just to start it all over again. Chained kisses. One bleeding into the next, seamless and endless.

You follow him because how could you not? The way he kisses—it’s not just skill; it’s instinct. Like he knows exactly what to do to keep you hooked, alternating between tongue and lips so perfectly that you never get tired of either.

Not that you could ever tire of him.

You’re pretty sure you could never erase the way he kisses—or fucks—from your mind even if you wanted to.

Maybe it’s him knowing what he’s doing. Or maybe it’s just the two of you—two mismatched pieces of completely different puzzles that somehow fit together anyway.

Just like your mouths do now.

Just like when your tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip in a kitten lick that has him hitching against you, a small, desperate sound escaping his throat. His hips stutter against yours like his body is telling you to stop messing around and get your tongue back inside his mouth where it belongs.

So you do.

You push forward, tongue meeting his again in a slick slide that has him groaning into your mouth. Then you close your lips to transition into another kiss and he follows, tongues forgotten for three, four open-mouthed kisses before he’s lost patience.

He moves his tongue against yours, seeking more, always more. Because when it comes to you, Jungkook is just this eager.

But this time you catch it. Suck it into your mouth in a soft suction that makes him freeze for half a second before his hand tightens on your neck.

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

You suck harder, dragging your lips down his tongue before releasing him with a soft pop that leaves both of you panting against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t let the pause last long—doesn’t let you last long—and dives back in with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like consuming.

Tongues forgotten for other five or six kisses as his lips move against yours with bruising intensity—open-mouthed and messy—but he easily grows impatient and his tongue is soon back, sliding against yours like he wants it there.

You catch it once more—suck it again—and the way his hips jerk against yours tells you everything you need to know about how much he likes it.

Filthy sounds fill the space between you: wet kisses, soft moans, the occasional hitch in his breath when you do something particularly good with your tongue.

And when his teeth graze your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look at you?

You realize there’s no winning here—not for either of you—because this isn’t about who takes control or who gives in first.

It’s about this. About mouths fitting together perfectly even though nothing else about this situation should make sense. About tongues sliding together and lips bruising from too much pressure but neither of you caring because fuck—it feels good.

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

Your back hits the table near the entryway, and honestly? You never thought a piece of furniture could be an accomplice in your bad decisions, but here you are. Pressed against the entryway table. The one that holds your keys, Yoongi's forgotten mail, and now, apparently, your dignity.

Jungkook hasn't stopped kissing you—not for air, not for sanity, not for anything resembling common sense. It's like he's on a mission to consume you entirely, starting with your mouth and working his way through the rest of you.

These are not the kisses you exchange with people you tolerate. These are not even the kisses you exchange with people you like. These are the kisses of people who might actually hate each other but have found a much more interesting way to express it.

Your lower back presses against the edge. Hard wood digs into soft flesh, and you're about to complain when—

Fuck.

He lifts you. One hand. One fucking hand curves under your ass and hoists you onto the table like you weigh nothing, while his other plants itself firmly on the wood beside your hip. The display of casual strength makes something molten pool in your stomach.

Unfair. Completely unfair how stupidly hot he makes stupid things look. Lifting you shouldn't be attractive. It's basic physics, not foreplay. But your brain has apparently liquefied, pouring out your ears while he steals the oxygen straight from your lungs.

"Fuck, Nix," he mutters against your mouth, the words more vibration than sound. "Been thinking about this for days."

His mouth is relentless—wet, demanding, precise in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and—god—applies just enough pressure to sting, like he's trying to extract something essential from you. Like he needs to squeeze you dry, drain you of whatever it is that keeps him coming back.

Didn't even know your bottom lip was an erogenous zone until Jungkook decided it was.

It's too much. The heat, the closeness, the way he seems to have forgotten where you are, who you are.

You push against his chest—not hard, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, chest heaving. "Let me breathe, you animal."

He grins at that—a scorching, self-satisfied smile that makes you want to either slap him or pull him back in.

Maybe both.

He bites his lower lip, swollen from your kisses, and immediately leans back in like your need for oxygen is a minor inconvenience to his plans.

Your palm against his chest stops him, firm this time.

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

Not because you want to stop—god no—but because your brain is finally catching up to your body. And there's something you want. Something specific.

His eyes find yours, dark and questioning. Patient, despite the hunger radiating off him in waves. He's holding himself back, you realize. Letting you dictate what happens next.

Your eyes drop, hair falling across your face as you gather your thoughts, your courage. When you look back up at him through your lashes, his breath catches audibly.

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

His reaction? Pretty funny. Like watching a computer crash and reboot. His entire body goes still—processing, processing—then his eyes widen a fraction. He blinks once, twice, tension visible in the way his jaw ticks.

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

Something about his reaction makes hot satisfaction curl through you. You like throwing him off balance. Like matching his chaos with your own.

"The vibrator," you repeat, slower this time, savoring each syllable. "The one you picked out. Go get it."

His eyes dart toward your bedroom door, then back to your face. For a moment, you think he might refuse. Might challenge you. But then:

"Yeah," he nods jerkily, already stepping back. "Yeah, I will."

"Will you?" you press, because you can't help it. Because you like the way his pupils dilate when you push.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, already moving toward your bedroom with a kind of urgent, stumbling grace that would be comical if it weren't so hot.

You watch him go, breathing still uneven, lips still tingling.

And you think—not for the first time—that there's something dangerously addictive about the way Jungkook responds to you. The way he matches your energy, then amplifies it, reflecting it back at you until you're both caught in some kind of feedback loop of bad ideas and worse self-control.

Roommates with benefits, you remind yourself. That's all this is.

But as you hear him rummaging through your things, drawers opening and closing with increasing urgency, you can't help but wonder if "benefits" is too mild a word for whatever the fuck is happening between you two.

He sprints.

Jungkook doesn't walk to your room—he fucking jogs, like the vibrator might disappear if he doesn't get there fast enough.

Like this moment has an expiration date he can't afford to miss.

No shame. Not a single ounce of it as he bursts through your door, scanning the bedroom impatiently. The same room he's been in a couple of times, but never with this specific mission, never with this frantic energy coursing through his veins.

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

No. Not a girl. You. Where would you hide it?

Under the pillow?

He lifts the edge of your pillowcase, peeks beneath it. Nothing. Definitely not there—you like sleeping too much, and having a hard plastic toy jabbing into your cheek all night would be uncomfortable as hell. You're smarter than that.

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

No way. Too far from the bed. You're too practical for that kind of inconvenience. If you wanted to get off, you wouldn't want to climb out of bed and trek across the room.

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

The drawer slides open with a soft sound. First thing he sees: a messy stack of panties, some lacy, some cotton, all of them instantly triggering mental images he doesn't have time for right now.

He fights—really fights—against the urge to pick one up. To feel the fabric between his fingers, to imagine it hugging the curves he's already memorized with his hands, his mouth. Maybe even bring one to his nose...

Focus, dickhead.

Pushing the underwear aside (what? sue him for wanting to fuel his imagination), his fingers brush against something solid. Hard plastic. Smooth curves.

There it is.

He pulls it out, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he examines his find. It's exactly as he remembers from the store—sleek, purple, designed for both internal and external stimulation.

Still in its original packaging, which means you haven't used it yet.

Something jittery and hot coils in his stomach at the thought of being the first to see you use it.

He grips it tighter, already imagining what it'll look like pressed against you, already wondering if you'll let him control it or if you'll insist on doing it yourself.

Either way, he's about to witness something fucking spectacular, and his body knows it. His cock strains painfully against his jeans as he heads back to you.

He takes a deep breath before rounding the corner from the hallway.

Tries to center himself, to cool down just a little.

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

You're naked on the table. Completely, gloriously naked except for those high heels that make your legs look like they go on for fucking miles. The dress is gone—discarded somewhere on the floor—and your panties dangle precariously from one ankle like an afterthought.

One leg bent at the knee, heel resting lazily on the wooden surface. The other straight up, creating a perfect right angle that showcases everything he's been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

And your hand—Christ—your hand is between your thighs, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit.

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

He's never particularly cared about shoes before, but something about the way they elongate your legs, the way they make your calves flex, the dangerous point of those stilettos against the wooden table-it's doing something to him. Something unexpected and intense.

He nearly stumbles. Actually has to catch himself on the wall because his knees go weak at the sight of you touching yourself, waiting for him, spread open on the goddamn entryway table like the world's most perfect welcome home gift.

His grip on the vibrator tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces his face into something resembling control—a smirk, he hopes, though it feels more like a grimace of restraint.

"Needed it that badly?" he manages, trying to sound casual and cool, though he guesses he fails spectacularly at that.

Your eyes meet his, challenging. "Didn't you?"

The question catches him off guard, but he doesn't falter. Not much, anyway. Just a slight hitch in his breathing that he hopes you didn't notice.

"Yeah," he admits, the word barely audible. Then, louder: "Yeah, I did."

He starts walking toward you, vibrator clutched in his hand, but you stop him with a single raised palm. The universal sign for wait.

"Crawl to me."

His feet halt. He opens his mouth. Closes it.

What?

"What?" he asks, not sure he heard correctly.

"You heard me." Your fingers never stop their gentle circles. "Crawl."

He doesn't know why he does it. Doesn't pause to analyze why the command sends a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He just... does it.

Drops to his knees, then to all fours, the vibrator still clutched in one hand.

Maybe it's the novelty—you taking control like this when usually he's the one calling the shots.

Maybe it's the way your eyes darken as you watch him approach, like seeing him on his knees for you is doing something for you too.

Or maybe—most likely—it's just the promise of getting his head between those fucking glorious thighs again.

Whatever the reason, he crawls to you across the hardwood floor, too turned on to care about how it looks, too desperate to worry about his dignity. All he can think about is how wet you'll be, how good you'll taste, how he wants to make you come on his tongue before introducing the vibrator.

He's almost there—close enough to smell you, close enough that if he stretched forward just a bit, he could press his mouth to your inner thigh—when the sharp heel of your stiletto plants firmly against his forehead.

The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop his forward momentum. To keep him back.

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

There's no way you're genuinely stopping him when he's this close, when you're this wet, when everything about this moment has been building toward his mouth on you.

Right?

"The vibrator," you say, extending your hand, heel still pressed lightly to his skin. "Give it to me."

His throat works as he swallows, suddenly parched. "Don't you want me to—"

"The vibrator, Ro."

The nickname, combined with the firm tone, makes his cock make a mating dance against the zipper of his jeans. He places the toy in your outstretched hand, watches as you examine it with curious eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, studying it like it's a puzzle to solve. Your brow furrows slightly as you locate the power button, press it experimentally, and soon enough its low hum fills the space as the toy comes to life, vibrating gently in your hand.

"I've never used one before," you admit, and he already knew.

You told him that much before buying it.

Nonetheless, the idea that he gets to witness this first for you—it does something to him.

Makes him feel special in a way he has no right to feel.

"Let me help," he offers, voice strained. "I can show you how—"

"I think I can figure it out," you interrupt, but there's uncertainty in your eyes as you look at the different buttons, the various settings.

Fuck, you're adorable. Even spread-eagle on a table with a vibrator in your hand, there's something so endearing about your determination to figure this out on your own.

He watches, mesmerized, as you press another button. The vibration intensifies, making you jump slightly at the change. Your finger slips, pressing yet another button, and suddenly the toy is pulsing in a rhythm that has him imagining it pressed against you, imagining your reaction to that particular pattern.

He can't take it.

"Here," he says, reaching up, a bit desperate, a tad impatient. "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, you nod, removing your heel from his forehead and allowing him to rise up on his knees. He takes the vibrator from you, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls.

"This button cycles through the patterns," he explains, demonstrating as the toy shifts from steady vibration to pulsing to waves. "And this one controls the intensity."

He presses it, the vibration becoming stronger under his thumb.

"Start low and work your way up."

He hands it back to you, then you glare at him and okay, he immediately settles back on his heels, waiting. Watching. Fucking aching to see what you do next.

You take the toy, reset it to the lowest steady vibration, and then—God help him—you bring it to your breast first. Circle your nipple with it, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible over the hum of the vibrator.

He shifts on his knees, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. His jeans have become a torture device, constricting him painfully as he watches you explore.

The vibrator trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He can see them form on your skin, can see the way your muscles tense in anticipation as the toy moves lower, lower—

And then it's there, pressed against your clit, and the sound you make—a soft, surprised gasp followed by a deeper moan—nearly ends him.

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod, eyes still closed, hips already starting to move against the vibration. "Good. Really good."

He leans forward instinctively, mouth watering at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He wants to taste you, wants to feel the vibrations against his tongue as he licks around the toy.

Wants to be part of this moment in a way that's more than just watching.

But as he moves closer, your eyes snap open, fixing him with a look that stops him cold.

You extend your leg, the one that was dangling off the table, pressing the point of your stiletto against his chest this time.

"Just watch," you command, voice breathy but firm.

He blinks, sure he's misheard. "What?"

"I said watch." You adjust the vibrator slightly, finding a better angle that makes your breath hitch, toe of your shoe pressing more firmly against his sternum. "Don't touch. Just... watch me."

Is he dreaming? Having some kind of bizarre hallucination? There's no way you're asking him to just sit here while you get yourself off right in front of him.

No fucking way.

"You're joking," he says, but the steady look in your eyes tells him you're not. "Nix, come on. You can't expect me to—"

"I can," you interrupt, increasing the vibration intensity with a press of your thumb. The change makes you gasp, hips lifting slightly off the table. "And I do."

He blinks, eyebrows tugging upwards in a cross motion. "Do you want me to bust untouched? Is that it? Because that's cruel, even for you."

A smile curves your lips, mischievous and knowing. "Maybe I just want to see if you can behave for once."

"I behave," he protests, even as his eyes remain fixed on the vibrator, on the way it glides through your wetness, on how your thighs have started to tremble already.

On those fucking shoes that, for some inexplicable reason, are making this whole situation at least ten times hotter.

"Prove it," you challenge, and fuck—he's never been able to resist a challenge from you.

Never really been able to back down when you push him like this.

So he stays where he is, on his knees, hands fisted at his sides, watching as you explore the toy, as you find what feels good, as you experiment with different patterns and pressures. Your foot still rests against his chest, not pushing him away now, just... there.

A point of contact that feels both like ambrosia and agony.

It's torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture to be this close and not touch you. To smell your arousal and not taste it. To hear your moans growing louder and know he's not the direct cause.

But it's also—strangely, unexpectedly—one of the hottest things he's ever witnessed.

Because you're not performing for him. You're genuinely discovering what you like, what makes you feel good. And there's something incredibly intimate about being allowed to witness that, about being trusted enough to see you this vulnerable, this real.

"That's it," he encourages as your movements become more focused, as you settle into a rhythm with the vibrator that has your breathing turning shallow. "Just like that. You look so fucking good, Nix."

Your eyes meet his, heavy-lidded but alert, and for a moment, he can’t help but stare back.

Then you close your eyes again, lost in the sensation as the vibrator buzzes steadily against your clit. Your free hand comes up to your breast, pinching your nipple in time with the pulsations of the toy, and he groans at the sight.

Your foot presses harder against his chest, whether intentionally or as an unconscious reaction to your growing pleasure, he doesn't know.

Doesn't care.

"Cruel," he mutters, because he needs to at least let you know. “You're fucking cruel, you know that?"

His eyes are fixed on your pussy like it's the only thing in the universe worth looking at. Maybe it is. The way you're working that vibrator against yourself, the little circular motions, the way your hips lift occasionally when you hit just the right spot—it's driving him fucking insane.

His dick is so hard it hurts at this point, and he thinks it's going to start a mutiny. He shifts his weight, trying to get some relief, but it only makes things worse. His forehead thumps against the corner of the table in frustrated surrender.

"God fucking hell," he groans, the wood cool against his skin. "Nix, I need to lick you. Please. Just—let me taste you."

You look down at him, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with amusement. Your stiletto traces a path down his chest, and when it reaches his stomach, you press slightly, the point digging into the muscle there.

A warning.

A tease.

He's not sure which, but it makes his cock throb painfully either way.

"What was that?" you ask, lifting the vibrator just enough that he can see how wet you are, how your pussy glistens in the low light. "I didn't quite hear you."

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

"I said I need to lick you," he repeats, louder this time, pride completely abandoned. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good."

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head like you're weighing your options. Meanwhile, he's about to combust from the inside out.

"I don't know," you muse, trailing the vibrator up to circle around your clit, making yourself gasp. "I'm doing pretty well on my own, don't you think?"

Your stiletto moves again, tracing along the inside of his thigh. He tenses, breath catching as it moves higher, closer to the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Phee,” he bites back a groan. "You're doing amazing. Fucking incredible. But I can make it better. You know I can."

"Hmm." You press the vibrator directly against your clit again, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before fixing back on him. "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Is this really happening? Are you really making him beg? His cock twitches at the thought, answering that question with an emphatic yes.

He swallows, throat dry.

"Please," he says, voice rough. "Please let me help."

The word lies suspended between you.

Please. Such a simple word, but one he doesn't use often—not like this, not with this much raw need behind it.

Your eyes widen slightly, like you weren't expecting him to actually do it. To actually beg. But then a slow smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

"Since you asked so nicely," you say. "Go ahead."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He surges forward, hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider as he buries his face against you.

The first swipe of his tongue makes you both moan—you from the sensation, him from finally, finally getting to taste you.

You taste amazing.

Like always.

Like something he could get addicted to if he's not careful.

"Fuck," he groans against you, the word vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "So fucking good."

He could honestly cum like this. Right now. Just from the taste of you on his tongue, from the way your thighs tense around his head, from the little gasps you make.

He knows he's got blue balls at this point. Knows his cock is probably leaking precum into his boxers, making a mess he'll have to deal with later. But he doesn't really care.

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

Looking up at you, genuinely confused, he asks, "What?"

Your answer is a knowing smile and a slight increase in pressure as the heel traces the outline of his cock through the denim. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make him incredibly aware of how hard he is.

"I want you to get yourself off while you eat me out, Ro."

Jesus Christ.

When did you get so fucking bossy? And why is it turning him on so much?

"Yeah," he says, almost to himself, fumbling with his zipper. "Yeah, okay, absolutely I can do that."

His hands shake slightly as he undoes his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It springs up against his stomach, hard and flushed and so sensitive that even the brush of air against it makes him hiss.

"Shit," he warns, wrapping a hand around himself, already knowing this isn't going to last long. "Just a heads up, but this might be embarrassingly short."

You laugh, the sound turning into a gasp as he dives back in. Your leg dangles over his shoulder now, heel pressing slightly against his back.

"That's okay," you manage to say between breaths. "I'm pretty close too."

Thank fuck for that. Because the moment his hand starts moving on his cock, he knows he's on borrowed time.

The vibrator hasn't stopped. That's the thing that's driving him absolutely fucking insane. You've got it pressed right against your clit, humming on its lowest setting while he licks at your lips, tasting every inch of you except the one spot you're keeping for yourself.

It's maddening.

It's genius.

It's the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

His tongue traces your entrance, dipping just slightly inside before retreating to lick broad strokes along your folds. He's taking his time despite his own desperation, despite the way his hand is working his cock at a steady, measured pace.

Because he wants this to last, wants to savor the privilege of having his face between your thighs while you take your pleasure so confidently.

"More," you breathe above him, and he's not sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

But then your fingers move, pressing a button on the vibrator, and the hum intensifies. The sound changes pitch, grows deeper, more insistent. Your hips jerk in response, a gasp falling from your lips that sends blood rushing to his already throbbing cock.

His fist tightens instinctively, pace quickening to match the vibrator's new rhythm. It's like his body is syncing with the toy, with your pleasure, his own arousal tied directly to yours.

"Fuck, Nix," he groans against you, the words muffled but still audible. "You're so fucking wet. So fuckin’ good, I swear—I swear I could do this for hours.”

“But you won’t last hours,” you tease, rolling your hips against his face. “Will you?”

He shakes his head, not even bothering to deny it. Not when his balls are already drawing up tight, not when each stroke of his hand brings him closer to the edge.

“Nngh—no,” he admits, the word punctuated by a particularly firm stroke that has his hips bucking into his fist. “Not gonna—ah—not gonna last long at all.”

Because the truth is, he’s dizzy with it—your taste, your scent, the sounds you're making above him. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, a sensory overload that makes his cock pulse in his grip, precome slicking the way as his fist moves faster, more urgently.

You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it for better contact, and your free hand finds his hair. Fingers tangle in the strands, not quite pulling but definitely directing, holding him exactly where you want him.

"Inside," you command, voice breathless but clear. "I want your tongue inside me."

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't even think. Just obeys, tongue pushing past your entrance, delving into the wet heat of you while the vibrator continues its relentless assault on your clit.

The angle is awkward, his neck craned to accommodate both the toy and his mouth, but he doesn't care.

Can't care about anything beyond the way you clench around his tongue, the way your thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way your grip tightens in his hair.

His cock throbs in his hand, so sensitive now that each stroke sends sparks shooting up his spine, and fuck he's close—so fucking close—but he's determined to make you come first. Wants to feel you pulsing around his tongue, wants to experience every tremor of your orgasm firsthand.

Above him, your breathing has grown ragged; little gasps and moans that tell him you're getting close too.

"Don't stop," you gasp, basically riding his face at this point. "God, don't stop."

As if he would.

As if he could tear himself away from this even if the building were on fire.

Your thighs start to shake in earnest now, little tremors that grow stronger by the second. The hand in his hair clenches, your stiletto digs into his back, the pressure increasing as your body tenses, and now he just knows; knows how close you are to the edge.

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling back for air. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t stop,” you command, lost in a whine. “Don’t you dare stop.”

And he feels it the moment you start to come—the way your inner walls flutter around his tongue, the sudden flood of wetness, the sharp cry that tears from your throat. His name, maybe. Or just a sound of pure pleasure. He's too far gone to tell the difference.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you're coming on his tongue, coming while he tastes you, while the vibrator buzzes against your clit, while his cock throbs in his hand, so close to his own release that he can feel it building at the base of his spine.

He pushes his tongue deeper, wanting to feel every pulse, every contraction of your orgasm. The vibrator keeps buzzing, prolonging the sensation, pushing you higher and higher until your hand finally yanks at his hair, pulling him back when it becomes too much.

"Fuck," you gasp, voice wrecked, vibrator still humming in your grip though you've pulled it away from your oversensitive clit. "Fuck, Ro."

The sound of his nickname—that stupid nickname you’ve given him—paired with the sight of you flushed and trembling from an orgasm he helped create, is what does it. What finally pushes him over the edge.

His release hits him then, stealing his breath as his cock pulses in his hand, spilling onto the hardwood floor in hot spurts that seem to go on forever.

He groans against your thigh, face pressed into the soft skin there as his hips jerk, chasing the last waves of pleasure.

“Ffff—shit,” he slurs as he strokes himself through the aftershocks. “Holy sssh—oh—fuck… Ahhh.”

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breathing, harsh and uneven. The vibrator still hums softly, forgotten in your hand until you fumble for the off button, plunging them into sudden silence.

Jungkook rests his forehead against your thigh, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.

His hand is sticky, his knees ache from the hardwood floor, his back tingles from the trail your heel left across it, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at the entryway table the same way again.

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

He pulls back, gasping for breath, his hand still loosely gripping his spent cock. He probably looks a mess—hair wild from your hands, face shiny with your wetness, expression dazed and satisfied.

"Christ," he breathes, looking up at you with something close to awe.

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

A moment passes where you just look at each other, both trying to process what just happened. Then, because he's Jungkook and he can't help himself, he grins.

"So," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. "I guess you like the vibrator I picked, huh?"

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance there. Just a kind of fond exasperation that makes his chest feel weird and tight.

"It's alright," you say, casual as anything, like you weren't just having what looked like the most intense orgasm of your life. "Could've been better."

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

Your lips twitch, fighting a smile. "Maybe."

He sits back on his heels, suddenly aware of the mess he's made on the floor. "We should, uh, probably clean up before Yoongi gets home."

You nod, both legs dangling off the table. “Wouldn’t want to scandalize him.”

"He's seen worse," Jungkook says without thinking, then flinches. "I mean—not with me. Just, you know, in general. Living with roommates and all."

You give him a look that's equal parts amusement and skepticism. "Right."

Awkward silence falls as the reality of what just happened settles in, because this? Yeah, it was sex. But this time you took control, you made him beg, you saw him at his most desperate and needy.

And he... liked it. More than he probably should have.

"So," he says, tucking himself back into his jeans with as much dignity as possible. "That was fun."

You snort. "Such a way with words, Ro."

"What can I say? I'm a poet."

He gathers the dress from the floor and gives it to you. You throw the dress at his head, but you're laughing, and he thinks—not for the first time—that he likes that sound. Likes being the cause of it.

He doesn’t analyze it further than needs to be.

He catches the dress, handing it back to you with exaggerated chivalry. "Your garment, m'lady."

"You're an idiot," you say, but there's no bite to it. Just that weird, fond tone that makes his stomach do strange things.

Fully on both legs now, he places both his arms between your spread thighs, his face hovering close to yours, tilting to the side.

"Yeah," he agrees, because sometimes the simplest truth is the easiest to admit. "But I'm an idiot who makes you cum really fucking hard, so..."

And there it is—that flash in your eyes, that hint of heat that never seems to fully dissipate between you two.

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

Too late, he thinks. Way too late for that.

He stands there with the taste of you still on his lips and he can't help but feel satisfied.

Good.

“Does this mean we’re not fighting anymore?”

You laugh, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet room. “I guess not.”

“Good. Because that was a fucking stupid fight anyway.”

“It was,” you agree. “But the makeup sex was worth it.”

“Always is with us.”

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? No matter how much you argue, no matter how much you drive each other crazy, this thing between you—this chemistry, this connection—always brings you back together.

No strings attached, just pure, perfect understanding of what the other needs.

It’s not love. It’s not even like, most days. But it’s something.

Something that works for both of you.

And then, Jungkook feels your forehead press against his shoulder, which catches him off guard. Not because it’s heavy or anything—it’s not—but because it’s you.

You, who usually keeps your distance unless you're actively trying to rile him up. You, who just made him beg on his knees like some desperate idiot a few minutes ago.

And now you’re here, leaning into him like this is normal. Like this is fine.

It’s... nice. He hates that it’s nice.

His lips twitch upward despite himself, a soft smile breaking through the lingering haze of post-orgasmic bliss. His hand moves before he can think better of it, sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate stroke. His palm presses lightly between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying out as he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

Your back is warm under his touch—soft in places, firm in others—and he thinks about how strange it is that he knows what you feel like now. Not just your skin but the way you move under his hands, the way your muscles tense and relax depending on what he’s doing to you.

It’s intimate in a way that makes something uncomfortable stir in his chest if he lingers on it too long.

So he doesn’t linger.

“Cleanup?” he asks, voice low and rough from everything that just happened.

You grunt. Not a word, not even a real sound—just a grunt. Like the idea of moving is physically painful to you right now.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through both of you.

“Alright,” he says, hand still on your back as if that’s going to keep you from sliding off the table and face-planting onto the floor. “Let me get some wipes.”

Another grunt. This one sounds more annoyed than tired, but he can’t tell for sure because your face is still buried against his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me…” He pauses for dramatic effect because he knows how much you hate when he does that. “You’re a cuddlebug?”

That gets a reaction. Your head snaps up so fast he almost flinches, and then you’re shoving at his chest with both hands like you’re trying to push him off the planet.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it. Your hands stay on his chest for a second longer than necessary before falling back to your sides.

He snorts, stepping back and giving you space because even though he likes teasing you (maybe too much), he knows when to quit.

Most of the time, anyway.

“Stay there,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward his room. “Don’t move.”

You don’t respond this time—not even a grunt—but when he glances back, you’re still perched on the edge of the table looking thoroughly unimpressed with life.

Very you, indeed.

Then he's stepping into his bedroom, and of course, it is dark when he steps inside, the only light coming from the hallway spilling in behind him.

He grabs the container of wet wipes from his nightstand (don’t ask why they’re there; that’s none of anyone’s business) and heads back out before his brain can start overthinking anything.

When he returns to the entryway, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still sitting there with both legs dangling off the table.

And for a moment, he can’t help but think the sight is oddly cute.

“Alright,” he says again as if this is some kind of official business meeting instead of… whatever this is. “Let’s get this over with.”

He crouches down first, wiping at the floor where his cum has left an embarrassing mess that Yoongi would absolutely kill him for if he saw it later. The hardwood glistens faintly under the light as he scrubs at it with more force than necessary—partly because it needs to be cleaned properly and partly because maybe if he focuses hard enough on this task, he won’t think about how close your legs are or how good you smelled earlier or how fucking soft your skin felt under his hands.

When he's done with that part (and only when he's sure it's spotless), he straightens up and turns toward you.

Your eyes are on him—soft but unreadable—and it makes something twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger or exhaustion or anything else logical.

“What?” he asks because apparently silence makes him nervous now.

You shake your head slightly, lips curving into something that might be a smile if it weren’t so small and fleeting.

“Nothing.”

He doesn’t believe you—not for a second—but decides not to push it because pushing things with you in this state never ends well for him.

Instead, he steps closer until he's standing between your legs again and tilts his head toward yours like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking without actually asking outright.

"Hold still," he murmurs after a beat of hesitation that's barely noticeable but feels significant anyway.

The wipe is cool against your skin as he starts cleaning you up—gentle but thorough in a way that surprises even himself. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—watchful but not wary—and it makes him feel weirdly self-conscious even though there’s no reason for it.

When he's finished (and only when he's sure you're clean), he tosses the used wipe into the trash can by the door without looking away from you entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks after another moment of silence stretches between you like an elastic band ready to snap at any second now if someone doesn’t say something soon enough.

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

Jungkook blinks at you like he’s not sure he heard right.

Not because it’s weird—okay, maybe it’s a little weird—but because you said it so casually. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask to sleep in his bed after everything that just happened.

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s not used to this part—the after part. Usually, there isn’t an after part. It’s just sex, then goodbye, then see you whenever.

But this? This feels different in a way he can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his brain stutter for a second before he finally manages to respond.

“Uh… yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sure.”

You don’t say anything else, just lift your arms slightly like you’re expecting him to do something.

He stares at you for a moment, confused, until it clicks.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, rolling his eyes but already stepping closer. “You’re not serious.”

You just raise an eyebrow at him, and yep—you’re serious.

“Lazy ass,” he grumbles under his breath as he bends down to scoop you up.

Your arms loop around his neck automatically, and your legs wrap around his waist like this is something you do all the time instead of… well, never. He tries not to think about how natural it feels or how warm you are against him or how your breath brushes against his collarbone when you settle into his hold.

It’s fine. Totally fine. This is just… practical.

Yeah.

Practical.

He carries you with ease because let’s be real—he could probably bench press you if he wanted to—and nudges his bedroom door open with his foot.

“Alright,” he says as he approaches the bed and leans forward slightly to deposit you onto the mattress. “Here we go.”

But instead of letting go like a normal person, you cling tighter for half a second before finally releasing him with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like reluctance. He doesn’t comment on it because honestly? He doesn’t trust himself not to make it weird if he does.

You flop onto your back with all the grace of a drunk cat and immediately start wiggling around like you’re trying to make yourself comfortable in record time. Jungkook just stands there for a moment, watching you with an expression he doesn't even know how to describe.

“You good?” he asks once you’ve finally stopped moving and are lying still with your eyes closed like this is your bed and not his.

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

He shakes his head but doesn’t bother arguing because what’s the point?

Then he’s going to lay down too, but you sprawl onto his bed like you’re claiming it for yourself, arms and legs stretched out in every direction like some kind of human starfish.

Jungkook snorts, standing at the side of the bed with his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent.

“Move,” he says, nudging at your foot with his knee. “I want to sleep too.”

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

“Then sleep,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your face is half-buried in.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, gesturing dramatically at your starfish pose. “Not unless you move your limbs out of my personal space.”

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.

He sighs—long and exaggerated—before climbing onto the bed anyway, shoving at your leg until you reluctantly curl up enough to give him room.

He flops down beside you with all the grace of someone who’s been awake for far too long and immediately starts adjusting himself into what he considers optimal sleeping position.

Except there’s one problem: his arm.

It’s stuck under him, bent awkwardly against his side instead of stretched out under the pillow where it belongs. He tries shifting around to fix it but quickly realizes there’s no way to do that without encroaching on your territory.

“Hey,” he says, nudging at your side with his foot now.

“What?” you snap, voice sharp despite how tired you sound.

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no,” you repeat stubbornly, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Figure it out without bothering me.”

He stares at you for a second like he can’t believe what he’s hearing before deciding that negotiation is clearly not going to work here.

So instead, he does what any reasonable person would do in this situation: he forcefully shoves his arm under your neck like it belongs there.

You jerk upright immediately, twisting around to face him with wide eyes and an expression that screams 'what the actual fuck'.

“Bro,” you say, voice incredulous as you try—and fail—to push his arm away. “Get off me.”

“Bro,” he says simply, already settling back down like this is perfectly normal behavior between roommates who occasionally hook up but definitely aren’t friends yet (or whatever this is). “You’re in my bed. Shut up and act like a plushie or something.”

“A plushie?” You sound so offended that he almost laughs but manages to hold it back because laughing right now would probably get him kicked out of his own bed.

“Yes,” he says firmly, pulling the blanket over both of you with one hand while keeping his other arm firmly in place under your neck. “A plushie.”

You open your mouth to argue—because of course you do—but he shuts it down with a loud, drawn-out “SSSSHHHHH” that’s so over-the-top, so him, it stops you cold.

“Sleep,” he adds a second later, voice low, eyes already shut like the matter’s settled and he’s the authority on bedtime now.

The room stills. One of those dumb, drawn-out silences where neither of you wants to move first. Like shifting even an inch might make it real. Might make it weird.

But then you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. Flopping back down beside him like you’ve just made the ultimate sacrifice.

“Fine,” you mutter, sharp as ever, head hitting the pillow with a thud. “But if I wake up with a crick in my neck because of this stupid arm thing—”

“You won’t,” he says, already drifting, smug and certain and way too casual for someone who just turned a routine argument into a full-body tangle.

You mumble something under your breath—probably rude, definitely deserved—and go quiet.

And for a second, he just lies there. Listening to your breathing even out. Feeling the slight pull of your body next to his.

The ridiculousness of the situation should hit harder than it does.

But it doesn’t.

It actually feels…weirdly good.

Not in the usual way. Not in the easiest way.

Just—solid. Like he hasn’t fucked it up yet.

Which is a surprise, considering he really thought he had.

After Tuesday.

After the whole Jason thing—the fight that was never really about Jason. The way the guy had looked like every goddamn red flag Jungkook had ever ignored. Too neat, too careful, too condescending behind a smile that felt fake even from a hallway away.

He’d projected. Hard. Got scared on your behalf. Angry in that twitchy, irrational way he hates. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of you falling into something he knew could break you.

But that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t his choice. You’re not fragile. You’re you. You can make your own calls without his fears bleeding into them.

And he should know better by now. Should’ve remembered that you’ve survived things he doesn’t even ask about.

Instead, he snapped. Like he always does when things get too close. Like he’s got some built-in timer that detonates as soon as someone sees more than they’re supposed to.

So yeah. He’d assumed it was done. That he’d pushed too hard, too fast—again.

That whatever fragile thing had been building between you would crack right down the middle, just like every other almost-connection he’s tried to hold onto.

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked.

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him.

And tonight, he thinks—for the first time in a long, long time—he feels…comfortable. With a woman. With you.

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

It’s not some life-changing moment. Not some movie scene epiphany.

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

Maybe he can have this. A woman beside him. No pressure. No angle. No romantic feelings. No attachments, no entanglements. Not drama, not hurt.

Just a dumb, chaotic almost-friendship built on late-night arguments and questionable sleep arrangements.

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

So he lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the warmth settle. Lets the thought linger.

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

goal: 500 notes, but the wattpad goal has to be reached too

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occamstfs · 3 months ago

Text

Conjuration: The Call

Ozzie begrudgingly plays a thinly disguised trading card game and finds some fun teaching his meathead friend a lesson.

Something between a role reversal and devolution! Jock -> Twink and Nerd -> Brute! Hope you enjoy this tale of a wishful role-player growing to dominate a try hard, Best! -Occam

Ozzie absolutely hated trading card games, he missed the boat and loathed being made to feel stupid like they always end up doing. Perhaps some self-reflection could see him giving Conjuration: the Call a fair shake, when a game of CTC was thrust on him instead of the DND session he was coming to play, the man was in not so charitable a mood.

Prepped to play his Druid all night, Ozzie is sulking in the kitchen when his friend Lily, patient zero of getting their group playing CTC again, brings over a proxy deck she made for him. “Heyyy babe~ Sorry about the bait and switch, I thought we were going to play DND too but apparently Mark’s sick and Alex thought this would be a great chance for you to learn how to play!”

His scowl quickly shifts between Lily, her half-hearted olive branch, and their friend group’s surly Adonis, Alex, who winks before returning to set up the table for their game. Ozzie sighs, not wanting to make a scene, he reaches out to inspect the printed deck in her hands. She perks up, “perfect! You’re gonna love it I swear!

The hitherto hater sighs, “ughh. You guys are just going to steamroll me like always! Is the deck too complicated to learn on the fly?” Her eyes glimmer as she slyly makes sure Alex can’t hear, “Not at all! I’ll be right there if you need any help and-“

Before she can explain, the man at the table interrupts, “you ladies done yet?” In their running campaign the impatient Alex plays a barbarian which mimics both his stature and nature out of game quite well, in Conjuration however he’s emerged as quite the rival to Lucy. Which Ozzie knows as she begins to explain, now at a whisper, “okay so it’s actually a deck to counter Alex’s.”

She immediately goes to defend her ulterior motives as Ozzie’s scowl returns with a vengeance, “oh c’mooon Ozz, I made this whole deck for you! I found the commander in the bulk bin and thought it sounded like your thing!” Shuffling through the box he checks it out, Loggan the Brain, nice and holographic. He pauses to appreciate how it feels in his hands, heavier than expected and almost warm to the touch. After a moment he looks up to find Lily has already gone to join the rest of the party at the table.

Finishing up his huffing, Ozzie sits opposite Alex who performatively flexes as he shuffles his deck, “Ready to get schooled by the man?” They’re friends at the end of the day so Ozzie doesn’t try to hide his irritation as he responds, “oh I’m sure there’s nothing you love more than beating newbies huh”

Alex takes a few seconds trying to think of some clever reply but after a few playful jibes from Lily and Tim, their fourth player, he decides to save any further taunts for the game. It’s not Ozzie’s first time playing Conjuration, how else would he hold it in such blatant disregard. Resolutely he refuses a tutorial from Alex and Lily. The pair make eye contact as they try to push down the urge to take candy from the new player and instead scheme how they can both use his inexperience to their advantage.

The first couple rounds go by in a flash, the other three begin setting up decks they are clearly incredibly familiar with while Ozzie races to read the little cheat sheet Lily made for the deck before performing a decent opening few rounds himself. Ozzie figures Alex must be running some kind of counterspell deck as Lily’s notes make it very clear that this proxy is a counter-counterspell deck, as it were.

Lily would never be able to play this deck as it relies on someone counterspelling the Loggan the Brain without checking the specifics, and Alex would never do so to someone with as firm a grasp as her. When Ozzie goes to summon his commander though there's a glimmer in the jock’s eyes as his fingers go to counter the summon before Ozzie even announces, and in doing so he falls into the trap of the deck.

Alex reaches over to push Loggan back off the board only to be stopped by Lily, almost shaking from excitement as she bursts out into laughter and explains the situation. She points to the ability text Drain: Start of the round gains one “Devolution” spell card. When “Devolution” is used to counter an offensive spell on yourself, put a token on Loggan the Brain. After ten tokens are placed on Loggan the Brain, replace him with Ogg the Brawn.

Hearing his opponent groan from an easily averted own goal he finishes his turn to see Alex scratching his chest and complaining, “I’ve never seen these stupid cards before, are you sure these are legal?” His eyes narrow at Lily who shrugs and tries to taunt him into casting a spell at Ozzie, “Who knows man, maybe it’s not even that good? You should cast a spell at him to see what it does!” With a wry grin she meets Alex’s scowl. For now he stills his hand as they prepare to deal with the quiet Tim as he quickly becomes the biggest threat on the board.

When it comes back to Ozzie’s turn the fun begins at last, launching a spell at Alex who has no choice but to counter, which is of course met with the new player’s own “Devolution” counter. Ozzie and Alex both open their mouths to complain, about the game being convoluted and unfair respectively. Before they can lash out however both men see a token appear on Loggan the Brain without anyone reaching to put it there.

Only Alex and Ozzie seem to notice the board changing without any human aid, before they can react however they are both filled with an alien warmth. Alex’s hands shoot to his crotch and his face flares with embarrassment. All eyes fall to him as he almost squeaks as his meaty hands struggle to hide the fact that he’s getting obscenely hard at the CTC table, “GrheEEK! AH- hEM” the macho man tries to hide the voice crack from the table, failing to do so they all incredulously stare.

“Psh jeez- can’t a dude sneeze? Fuck!” Knowing they have most of a game still ahead of them no one goes in too hard on Alex, even as his complaints sound decidedly whinier to their ears. Were they to look even a smidge closer at the sscowling man’s face they’d surely see its hard edges begin to soften as his scratchy perma-stubble starts thinning. Alex flips through his bulky hand wondering how he’s going to overcome the pair of opponents, ignorant as his arms are slowly drained of the strength he has honed for over a decade at the gym.

oes Ozzie fail to see how he too begins to shift over the next round. When all hands go to counter a spell cast once more the situation ends once more with Alex being rebuffed by a Devolution card Ozzie drew. Thin fingers go to cover his mouth as he tries to quiet his laughter at Alex’s lips pulling into a pout, looking plumper than usual. Ozzie ignores the flitter at finding that exciting to instead taunt the man looking mousier but is distracted as he scratches his cheek, “Ah c’mon there Aluh- hm.”

Ozzie pauses as he hears his fingers scratching at, well it sounds like stubble? After a few more strokes he speaks up again, “Uhh guys did I need to shave when I came in?” The party is focussed on his question so they take no heed of his voice sagging deeper with every word. Instead they narrow their eyes at his jawline. It takes him quite a while to grow any kind of facial hair so it’s not like it just sprouted up all of a sudden? Right? Alex laughs and rubs his own face, “Ah Hah! Followin’ the lead of your favorite role model huh! Heehee! Er-”

All laugh as Alex giggles uncharacteristically, cuing him up to go all out and defend his fragile masculinity. Ozzie sits back and watches as him and Lily tag team their fourth player into an early knock-out. All the while though he begins to feel odd? His palms are sweaty, upon closer inspection he realizes his whole form is sweaty.

Eyes off him he airs out his chest and yelps as he accidentally grabs a tuft of chest hair. He looks down his shirt, slightly obscured by a stubbly little mustache poking out of his upper lip and barely quiets a gasp from shock as he sees a few curls sticking out the center of his bony chest. His inspection then falls onto the hand still grasping at his tee, almost imperceptible blond hairs that have humbly decorated his wrist have lengthened, darkened, and spread into a truly thick jungle on his forearms.

Needing to draw a few more cards to get his target out, Alex can’t help but shoot a couple more spells out at Lily who then redirects them to Ozz. Returning his focus to the board he grunts and prepares to take the hit before checking his hand to find two more copies of Devolution in his hand. He tosses them clumsily on the table and guffaws and shouts in his gruffer voice, “Hah! When’re you gonna learn to not target the man, fucker!” Ozzie reclines once more as Alex ignores his taunts and continues to take his turn.

Half-way to switching out his commander for a card he hasn’t read yet he tugs down his shirt as he feels a breeze on his exposed midriff. There seems to be a volley of new curls stretching above his waistline, briefly making sure no one’s watching he scratches at the pubes slowly inching into a dense treasure trail and almost moans at the distracting pleasure. With each quivering new sensation the blonde curls he has long been proud of darken and recede to something choppy and brown, shrinking back as from every inch of his form curls of the same pervasive brown race to assert his primal masculinity.

With each drag into the growing garden of hair on his waist the urge to vocalize his pleasure grows more difficult to ignore. The stubble on his face continues to thicken, growing into something more than five o’clock shadow that would put Alex’s to shame at its best. Speaking of, as his usual ungroomed stubble continues to fade and shrink into a face shifting as smooth as porcelain he can’t help but stare at Ozzie’s face with jealousy, his cock pulsing once more in his gym shorts and he grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the game and not on how Ozzie’s sleeves almost seem to be hugging his arms.

Ozzie similarly doesn’t see as his eyes are closed to be almost obscenely lost in the fulfillment of scratching his itch. Though he feels it. His arms slowly edging larger, straining his sleeves almost to tearing with each meagre movement. He feels stubble slowly growing up past his neckline, giving him a few stray curls that would need a turtleneck to hide as his chest begins to amass new weight and muscle itself.

In his death throes Tim follows Lily’s lead and forces Alex to toss a few more spells that will hopefully be blocked at Ozzie. Still lost in the reverie of his changing form, Ozzie doesn’t even check his cards as his hand quickly shoots up from his crotch and tosses two cards onto the table. Without looking two more tokens appear on Loggan the Brain and both Alex and Ozz clench the table as they are struck with another wave of changes.

The other two players at the table are suddenly engrossed in checking their hands, as if compelled to not notice as Alex is suddenly swimming in clothes that he chose explicitly to highlight how built he was looking today, his neckline droops low enough that it should expose his burly-hair covered chest. The only thing it shows now however are two spray-tanned pecs that seem to be shrinking.

Alex doesn’t notice as his shoes almost fall off of his feet as they drop a few sizes, no instead he bites his lip and stares hungrily at the man who was supposed to be his quarry. His cock feels wanting his balls blue, more than that though for the first time in his life his ass almost feels empty, in need of something- or someone. He doesn’t put two and two together as he continues to stare at Ozzie growing hairier.

The once mousy man finally fills his nerdy tee enough that it begins to fray and tear. Similarly do the slacks he threw on for game day find themselves more than filled with meaty thighs and a package that has blossomed into an absolute veiny beast. His eyes widen in wonder as he takes it in for the first time. His thicker, rougher hands reach downward and with the slightest touch his hips buck and his zipper blows out as his cock strains it to the breaking point. Barely contained in his briefs Ozzie has to ignore the wet patch of pre staining through them and put all his energy towards not cumming then and there in front of his friends as the game remains ongoing.

While the two were distracted by their changing tastes and bodies, Tim was officially knocked out of the game leaving everyone worse for wear. Though after another couple rounds it becomes clear that Alex is very much off his game. His white teeth continue to chew at his plumper lips as he’s lost in thought.

Ozzie similarly chews his lip, champing at the bit as he stares at the shrinking man. Fuuuck, he’s real cute when he works himself up. His inner monologue sinks deeper in tone to match his new voice as his thoughts grow rougher, simpler. Under the table his hand can’t help but go to his crotch as images of some massive beast of a man dominating the twink push to the front of his mind. Drool dripping from teeth bared onto Alex’s back as he arches up into heavy pecs, as if he were made to be under the man, if he were made to be under Ozz- Fuck.

Alex shivers as the table shakes from Ozzie rutting into it, gasping as his own ass fills out. He’d never really spent dedicated time crafting the perfect butt, or no- is that true? His phone suddenly fills with nudes taken of his sculpted, smooth butt and sent to- Ozzie’s bearded face forces itself to the front of his mind. Alex can almost feel his sweaty muscular chest against his own, his fingers curling around hair that inches up from his ass and down from his shoulders. He can almost feel the phantom cock he’s bouncing on before across the table the only player not lost to their lusts clears her throat.

“What is up with you guys?” There’s forced confidence but something is clearly throwing her off her game. Something’s not right. Is it? Oggie- Er, Ozzie? He’s always been a tank, it’s why he’s been so against playing right? And Alex, well shoot that twink is obsessed with Conjuration since it’s the only game or sport that he can beat his- She clenches at her head as she’s seized by a migraine. Perhaps that’s how she falls into the trap that Alex has been setting since turn one.

“Ah HA! Finally biitch! You played right into my hands!” His voice cracks higher, something in the back of her mind swears she’d never let Alex call her a bitch but as she looks at the twink she can’t imagine why. The cocky sneer remains on Alex's face as his hair lengthens into a floppy garden of dirty blonde curls, after looking at the board it fades a little as he struggles to recall how exactly he’s supposed to finish her, “Uhm?”

He scratches at his head and the sleeve hanging on his thin bicep slides back, revealing his pit as the last few hairs remaining of his once proud tuft fall away, leaving behind a fruity scent that will never quite fade instead of the heady musk that could never be quenched. Ozzie didn’t realize he was staring at the twinks pits as they finished smoothing. Looking to his own pit stains on a shirt that seems moments from bursting off his form, he grins toothily and figures he produces well enough stink for the both of them. His canines almost feel larger in his mouth.

After the song and dance of Lily walking Alex through her own defeat, accompanied by a fair share of giggles from a man who wouldn’t be caught dead speaking even vaguely ‘like a chick’ before the game, Lily heads off with Tim to go grab pizza before the next game. Leaving behind Alex and Ozzie as the game nears its close. Both men struggle to decide on their next moves, or rather if they care enough to even make them, as the other players depart. Ozzie scratches the back of his head like an ape, apathetic to his arm finally bursting free from its sleeve and exposing a hairy pit that Alex eyes hungrily.

Drooling and wanting to be done with the game as soon as possible the once jock eyes his hand filled with spells and wonders why he has so many? Was there a reason he wasn’t using them? He hesitantly throws one down and is immediately met by a counter. Ozzie grunts as his form bulges larger, brow jutting slightly over blue eyes that don’t quite look so bright any more. He tears off his shirt with one meaty fist before moving to scratch at the carpet of hair covering his torso as if it were a shirt itself.

Ozzie’s own eyes glaze over as he drops his cards on the table, he want game over. His underwear is filled to breaking and he grimaces before going to tear them off just like his shirt. Grunting he punches the table in shock as the elastic band snaps back against him. Veins bulge everywhere across his form as rage fills him enough to rival his hunger for the twink sitting across from him. Struggling to control his breathing as he sits stewing in lust and anger he speaks in a gravely town as his stomach begins to bloat, “Your turn,”

Alex similarly is lacking the focus to continue the game, tossing his hand down his eyes flash as the remaining tokens stack onto Ozzie’s card. Neither man notices as a final line of text appears at the end of the dense paragraph, “If you lack a copy of Ogg the Brawn in your deck, become one.” He doesn’t read the card of course, nor will he chase the urge to read much of anything anymore, but as the ability is activated OzzOgg obeys the instructions to a tee.

Spit drips between gnashing teeth as Ogg stands to his new height. Waist filling out as he pounds onto the table and he grows into a true brute. The elastic band digging into his waist acts like a flank belt as he glowers at Alex and bucks into the table, making a mess of the organized decks as he feels his mind unable to focus on any pursuit other than chasing his hunger.

Alex stands and his pants fall to the floor, unable to remain on his thinned waist, “O-Ogg?” he squeaks out, what was was a tight muscle tee now hangs off a shoulder, perfectly framing a hard nipple and hiding the noticeably smaller bulge where his dick must be. Ogg knocks the table over and tackles the twink with power he never imagined or desired to have.

Grunting, Ogg can’t control his hips as they continue to rock and thrust as he struggles to position his twitching cock over Alex who endeavors to roll over and present his perky ass. Ogg forces his face down into the nape of Alex’s neck, breathing in his scent, magically alluring and the diametric opposed to the bestial musk that steams off the man whose eyes dull to a dark brown as his stomach bulges into a massive muscle gut.

Underneath, the twink’s mental faculties grow similarly vacant as he feels the hairy stomach scratching against his back, as Ogg’s massive cock finds purchase and fills him with far more powerful pleasure than what Alex has inflicted on many a partner throughout the years. His moans fill the air, rivalling Ogg’s grunts as the pair leave sweat and cum stains on the cold tile.

The air of the apartment is filled with Ogg’s primal, almost proto-human musk which only makes Alex hungrier for the man he is evermore to be obsessed with. When his face is shoved into Ogg’s jungle of pit hair he wonders how he lived before now as his cock is pressed up against Ogg’s bulky, curl-covered torso.

Eventually their preternatural lusts absolve themselves and in a brief refractory period Alex rushes to clean up the worst of their mess before the other two return with pizza. Ogg of course is no help as he throws on a pair of boxers Alex would’ve sworn were his own and goes to sit on the couch, arm behind his head to air out his steaming pit and continue to rile Alex up. After righting the table and wiping away all the stains he could see the twink indeed goes to nestle up alongside the man on the couch as he throws on some nature documentary.

Alex doesn’t notice as his head finds itself almost immediately in the man’s crotch as his cock starts to poke out the leg of his boxers. Well, when in Rome- Before they can get up to too much fun, they hear the door being jostled. Alex jolts up and swallows the pool of pre-cum filling his mouth before doing a poor job of hiding the rock hard rod in Ogg’s boxers. The brute grunts in irritation and grasps at his needy balls, apathetic to the return of the other platers.

Setting down the pizzas Tim looks over at the clearly worked up pair and rolls his eyes as if this is normal, “Well are you two horndogs up for another game?” Eying both Alex and Tim something besides the Id in Ogg rears up, still seems like there’s a lot left he can drain from the two men. Bulge already inching larger, he stands and goes to pick up Loggan from the floor. Time for round two-

#male tf #mental change #hair growth #personality change #devolution #twinkification #straight to gay #muscle theft #male transformation

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pi-creates · 3 months ago

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I can’t stop being upset about Veilguard’s writing, and apparently the only way I can get it out of my thoughts is to put it down in words, so here we go…

I’m frustrated, I’m upset, and the longer I think about the way this game was written, the more problems present themselves… and I bloody hate that. It feels like a first draft writing effort, and every time I’m reminded that this game was in development for so many years, I cannot fathom this being the end result. Dragon Age 2 had 16 months of development, and it feels more cohesive and put together writing-wise. I can see the years of polish in the visuals, but the spectacle of the game doesn’t blind me to all the problems in the writing.

Naturally, these are personal opinions, I am genuinely thrilled for people who have played the game and enjoyed it – I wish I could be there enjoying it with you – but clearly these things get under my skin more and spoil the experience for me when they aren’t problems for you. And I also acknowledge there are genuine good parts of the game which I enjoy, but those moments aren’t enough to overshadow the negative experiences that irk me.

And because this post has apparently gotten away from me… I’m gonna put some headings to summarise the problems I’m having, because otherwise this is just a massive rant with no structure.

Show me things, stop just telling it to me.

So much of the game feels like writer’s notes where they put “what the player should take away from this scene” and instead of being creative with how they do that, they just say it verbatim. My immersion in this game was being broken by the game reminding me it’s a video game – which yes, I know it is, but I want to be invested in this world and feel like I’m part of it.

Varric and the game’s own pop-up system is the main problem that’s consistent through the whole game – constantly dropping narration or mission summary where they have zero problem dropping exposition on us and/or spoiling future content. Forget letting me explore these things and reach my own conclusions, the game is going to make sure I know exactly the interpretation I’m meant to have for every moment.

And it’s so damn frequent, I feel like they don’t think I’m paying attention and therefore need to constantly poke me with reminders instead of trusting me to reach my own conclusions. Do they not trust me to have an attention span long enough to go on a walk with Davrin without reminding me at the end of the walk that I did that?

To add to that problem, I absolutely hate how the writing just has people know things – they shouldn’t know this, they shouldn’t be talking to us about this, all evidence points to them not being able to know or be ok discussing this, but for some reason they do.

The Veil Jumpers suddenly just know how to translate and interact with ancient elven artifacts, ignore how the Dalish have been trying to do that since the fall of the Dales (and realistically, even before that) and their efforts over those hundreds of years were a scrap, a pittance of what could be known. But I guess the Veil Jumpers are just better than those hundreds of years in the few years they’ve been active.

Oh, and the scary reputation of the Dalish is just gone? These people just go to the elves they have deemed “savages” because they simply know these ones have good intentions? This world has been established as very untrusting of the intentions of other groups, but that’s simply gone now for this one – I wish I was shown how this started in some way instead of just being told it’s chill now.

And don’t get me started on Strife and Irelin and their seemingly endless knowledge that they shouldn’t have. I read the comics, I get that they’d probably know about the Dreadwolf and have a vested interest in learning more once that particular bit of information was revealed to them – but they somehow also just know about the mask Cyrian is wearing? They know it will influence him but not control his will? Why do you know this with no doubt whatsoever?

Why can’t these things just be presented as theories? Or give us something to find and reference where that information comes from? I want to learn things without just having characters tell me things they know.

And overall, I hate how this game decides to just exposition dump information on us, then we sit around and talk about the exposition dump – it’s overwhelming in magnitude. It feels like such a passive way to have us engage with everything, and this is supposed to be an interactive experience. Instead of being force-fed exposition in big chunks, drip feed details, let us put the puzzle together, let us gather and discuss what we learn with multiple interpretations like the RPG this is meant to be.

And this exposition problem also ruins the stakes in the game for me. Personal interpretation, probably, but the stakes in this game feel artificially inflated to me via having characters constantly tell Rook they are going up against the biggest threat ever. We bring in past heroes of the series to reiterate that, how they think we’re up against worse things than they faced… and I don’t feel that. Telling me constantly how hopeless things are, but every obstacle ends up being overcome relatively easily and without great losses… no, I don’t feel the stakes are real.

Oh, and hearing the talk of how all of Thedas is in trouble, there is so much destruction and only Rook can save them… why don’t you find a way to show me that? Because I’m not feeling that, I’m not seeing it, and I’m starting to think the Inquisitor is making stuff up so Rook doesn’t ask them to get involved again when they’re so busy.

This is a lore problem in the series…

Plot holes and wonky lore can happen, it’s not surprising… especially when there are three games prior to this as well as several books, comics, and other branches of the universe. There have been inconsistencies since the start, and a lot of it doesn’t matter – I don’t care if the second moon is forgotten about, the moon not being there isn’t going to make a problem with the way the story is told since that moon is never something elaborated upon in the plot.

This game though… it has problem that are both related to information in this game not being consistent with previous games, and information within its own contained plot contradicting itself.

I’m not going to beat the dead horse of “this isn’t how the previous games did it/explained it”, people who played the previous games are aware, I don’t see a point of elaborating in detail all the instances of this. Just take some dot points of the one’s I noticed:

The Crows are a horrifying organisation that are suddenly presented wholesome

The Qun offering to rehabilitate Karash is horrifying and it’s presented wholesome

Slaves are meant to be everywhere in Tevinter, but we don’t see that

Racism is supposed to be rampant in Tevinter (and other nations, but particularly here for any non-human), and we also don’t see that

Handling pure lyrium is fine now (unless you’re Harding)

Adult Dalish without vallaslin (Elgar’nan’s captives)

Fenharel’s agents are just gone now – as are all signs of mass elven exodus from cities

Solas’ opinion on blood magic is suddenly negative instead of neutral

Spirits dying is given the same weight as people dying

Flemeth…….just everything about Flemeth and Morrigan

Re-write of the after credits scene in Inquisition to recontextualise the Flemeth and Solas interaction

Isabela’s attitude towards Shathann sending Taash away without their knowledge (the comics make me doubt she’d be cool with this)

Non-Dalish elves knowing things about ancient elves and elven language

Blight sickness and how darkspawn are “born” (some leeway for this one since the blight is overall just different in this one, but it does feel less interesting this way)

Morrigan naming the Crossroads in lieu of the true name being lost to time, but everyone uses the term now

Crossroads looking different through elven eyes

You can’t just make people be magic/not magic (me side-eyeing Illario and his random ability to do magic now)

This is a contained problem in this game…

What troubles me more is the inconsistencies within the same game… that isn’t just deciding “this is how it works now in this iteration”, this is a problem that they wrote into existing, then either didn’t notice or didn’t resolve appropriately. And granted, some of these things aren’t inherently plot holes, but when you put certain aspects under inspection, it doesn’t make things look good.

For starters… I have to talk about Varric. Or more accurately, not-Varric.

I’m under the impression that not-Varric is simply Rook’s memory of Varric being projected for them. I personally don’t think there’s some extra level of Solas interference in what Rook is seeing moment to moment… and I feel the need to state that because Rook’s memory cannot conjure up information that Rook doesn’t know.

So why does not-Varric point out that the ritual dagger is the dagger from DA2?

Rook could not recognise it, there is absolutely no reason for Rook to even theorise that – so not-Varric should not be able to impart this knowledge to Rook. And what makes this worse for me, aside from being an impossible situation as the plot presents it, is that this observation doesn’t matter in the slightest. They put this backstory to the McGuffin Dagger and I don’t know why since all it does is create a plot hole. The only purpose I can see for this moment existing at all is to bolster the illusion that not-Varric is real and trying to help with the cause in whatever way possible.

Then there are other issues with Varric not being alive which makes other character’s lack of talking about him feel awful. Like, it’s not natural the way people avoid mentioning him when it would be very appropriate to do so – and I understand that to an extent, the game’s gotta game – they want to surprise us and therefore the characters aren’t going to blatantly give the surprise away early. But the Inquisitor doesn’t ask after him at all? Doesn’t mention how Kirkwall is coping now that the viscount is dead? Dorian doesn’t say anything after learning Varric found Solas in his city and then died? Isabela has nothing to say about Varric until after the illusion is broken for Rook?

It makes it feel like Varric’s friends (aside from Harding, the only person who seems to actively mourn him at the start of the game) don’t give two shits that he’s gone.

That’s not even accounting for how characters don’t bother to check in with Rook who is constantly talking with the companions about their various issues of mourning, hearing voices or apparitions, and just checking in with them overall – but none of that is seemingly reciprocated.

Frankly, this makes me feel awful. I feel awful for Varric being seen as so disposable that his friends don’t mention him or his absence. I feel awful for Rook who is apparently not worth the direct effort that they offer others.

And I try to think of how a new player to this series would feel about all of this – because Varric was just some guy who walked us through a tutorial in this game. Most of our time with him is fake, any connection I saw form between Rook and Varric in this game isn’t real – but then Rook mourns Varric more than he mourns the companions we have spent most of the game with.

I don’t like it.

And I don’t like the utilisation of returning characters. Morrigan, or as she’s utilised in this game deus-ex-Morrigan, has a new view of Flemeth and therefore she will take on Mythal’s soul fragment so she can again swoop in and save the day by handing us the means to get a reconciliation type ending… it couldn’t be something that characters in this game figure out, just have a returning character provide us with the magic solution. Also ignore how the whole reason Morrigan was afraid of her mother in the DAO and DAI was that her body would get taken over by her spirit… but I guess that doesn’t happen now. We can just create new rules for this iteration because it’s easier to tell the story this way.

Solas is also just… I’m so upset by what was done with him. He was a character in DAI who told half-truths or lied by omission, leaving others to assume false information without him actually saying it – it was never just blatant lies to take advantage of others. And his motivations were about restoration of something he felt he had robbed the world, it was about righting what he viewed as a mistake which lead to such a cascade of problems that he needed to somehow rectify it. Whether you agree with his point of view or his desires doesn’t matter, his principles remain the same in terms of what motivates him.

Then this game happens and he’s just a liar constantly, and not even a clever one if you can apparently just trick him up with a “woopsie, this isn’t the real dagger”, and he also apparently has no insight into the idea that Rook would anticipate that.

They make him act like the worst interpretation someone could have of him, the thing he actively was trying to tell us was a false interpretation in DAI and the comics. But history was written and remembered by those who experienced the negative outcomes of his choices, and they remembered that as the greatest evil in comparison to what else could have been. But apparently in this game, that’s the truth now. His motivation is about his desires and he cares nothing for the people who has hurt or will be hurt. But it’s ok, because just as easily as his motivation changed between DAI and Veilguard, it will be changed again at end game if you listen to deus-ex-Morrigan.

Then there are smaller things, but things that really would have been caught if someone was just paying a little bit of attention…

Like Harding and Emmrich going camping in Fereldan… which if we’re to believe the things the Inquisitor was saying about Southern Thedas, I don’t think you’re going to have a fun trip. But I’m glad they’re able to find some time for a vacation while the refugees are getting blighted all over.

Or Rook actively saying “I should talk to Varric” directly in front of characters in the lead up to end-game, and those characters choosing to completely ignore that.

Or in Neve’s companion story, Aelia deciding to interrogate the witness to the red lyrium deal right next to where it happened. She didn’t need to be in the area, she was puppetting the smuggler, and she clearly has insight into what the person is seeing and doing while puppetting them. So I guess she’s just there so we can figure out she was involved.

Or the game telling us that Anaris need Cyrian to perform rituals for him since Anaris doesn’t have a physical body to do them himself… except he apparently doesn’t because he can kill Cyrian when he disobeys. I still would like to know if Cyrian ever died originally, by the way, and if so how he’s back and seemingly normal – this game likes to answer big lore questions like it’s nothing, but they just gloss over details like this.

Or how in Emmrich’s missions, Manfred’s spirit dies and can just be brought back to life… so I guess spirits dying means nothing if they can be brought back with their memory and personality intact. So that Solas flashback where we were supposed to be appalled that spirits died? Apparently there was nothing lost there, someone just needs to revive them and they can carry on as normal.

Or how the rewrite of DAI’s ending cutscene implies that Solas killed Flemeth/Mythal… before he had the power to do so since the whole reason he has been able to do anything in this game is because he absorbed her amassed power. So Flemeth/Mythal would have to let her power go willingly since Solas should not be able to forcibly take it, but clearly, she didn’t since the dialogue we’re given is her being reluctant. Solas apparently has the power he needs to do things when the plot demands it, but also no power when the plot demands it (aka, when Rook needs to prove they’re better than him).

Or the crew making a fake Ritual dagger near end game. For no reason whatsoever. They just decided to do that knowing it would only be a prop, but they had no plans that even involved a prop at that point – so they just did this because the plot told them they had to.

And speaking of that Ritual dagger… all the old elves want that dagger for one reason of another, but they never seem to try to get it when they can, or they don’t seem too concerned when it’s not in their grip anymore. Solas doesn’t try to hold onto it after Varric gets stabbed. Elgar’nan doesn’t try to pick it up after it kills Ghilan’nain, in spite of him knowing it’s the one thing that can kill him… nope, just leave it there and peace out.

Or my personal most hated thing – Isseya and her stupid motivation making no sense.

I cannot fathom the logic of having Isseya, a warden who was forced to blight griffons, who came to resent this order as she watched the griffons go mad, made it her mission to safeguard a clutch of eggs, takes the blight from the eggs into herself while using magic to put the eggs into status, then goes off to her calling which doesn’t actually end in her death… and somehow, 400 years later, she’s decided that since those eggs have hatched and the griffons are healthy and unblighted, the thing she wanted, but they’re in the hands of wardens which she doesn’t really like, so now she’s gonna go get those griffons to blight them.

Literally doing the thing that made her so mad at the wardens. Because she wants to save the griffons from the wardens and their cruelty… by repeating it… I just… this is nonsense.

If she’s capable of articulating that she’s mad at the wardens for their cruelty to the griffons, then she shouldn’t be repeating it thinking she’s saving the griffons. If she was just keeping the griffons captive to keep them away from the wardens, then I could buy that, but adding the element of her wanting to blight them just makes this nonsensical.

Oh and never talk the First Warden down – it will make the final scenes with Isseya even worse if he tells you about the feather from her griffon and show it to her. Because I don’t even think Isseya dies in that variant of the cutscene, she just says sorry and rolls on the floor while I guess Rook and Davrin let the griffons out…

Who is Rook?

Usually, in a game like this, choices are what make us feel like an active participant in the world. It helps us build up our own character and determine how/why they behave the way they do, and also how the world around them is shaped by the consequences of those moments.

But this game feels so stripped of choice, especially choice which is any way related to morality or priorities that aren’t standard ‘Hero traits’. Rook will always do the right thing, they can’t be motivated by personal desires, excitement, monetary gain, fame, etc…. and when Rook is forced to make a choice, there is no option which would be looked at as unreasonable by companions. They might give us an approval/disapproval pop up, but it never really feels like Rook is capable of being incompatible with anyone, they will always be seen as justified in companion’s eyes. And to me, this makes Rook as the game presents them incredibly bland.

Most of Rook’s unique characterisation happens in the character creator – the game gives us minimal chances to expand or form a personality for Rook that is significantly different from any other person who plays the game. We do the heavy lifting here, we transpose qualities on Rook because the game won’t give us meaningful opportunities to do that.

And not only do I feel like the game lacks choices that would help us define Rook, it lacks decisions that make me feel like I’m having any impact on the world overall. I can defend Minrathous or I can defend Treviso… this is the one choice we make which seems to actually shape the world we play in.

And it doesn’t even come up as something Rook can regret in the sequence about regrets… Rook apparently is faced with only regrets that are the result of other people’s decisions to volunteer to do something. But the one thing where Rook actually has to actively choose something, something they are actually responsible for the suffering on the side they don’t defend… that isn’t something they can regret.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Surely, if Rook should regret anything it should be the thing they feel direct responsibility for, no? But Rook doesn’t. Because Rook doesn’t regret anything they do, because they aren’t written with choices that they can regret since they aren’t seen as responsible for negative outcomes.

Honestly, that sequence might as well have been about mourning or sadness rather than regret, because Rook has to be upset at the loss of companions, we don’t get to influence that. But Rook isn’t regretful – that’s how they get out – but I can’t help but wonder why they didn’t then make us able to actively regret the legitimate choices we make, rather than feeling regret for our companions deciding to risk themselves.

Rook feels like an outside observer to everything that happens around them. They are the mediator, the sounding board, the magic-8-ball for decision making when companions need a push because they’re stuck. Sure, they do things, but for an RPG the way they go about things feels so linear.

And on another note… why is Rook seen as important? They start championing Varric’s cause in his absence, they want to stop the veil coming down and that starts with stopping Solas, then stopping Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. But to the outside observer, Rook is just some guy who says they are on an important missions, and they really need to speak with all these important leaders of factions – just trust them, I’m sure the First Warden is happy to make time for a meeting. And also the First Talon of the Crows, I’m sure they are fine with just some foreign person saying they need to meet your leader.

What I’m trying to get at is that Rook has no title, your group isn’t given any proper title or status which these people can look at and assume Rook is being truthful, trustworthy, or even worth their time. No one has any reason to hear Rook out, but in this game, they either just do, or they don’t and it’s because they’re actually a bad guy.

But Rook is no one special. They realistically shouldn’t be trusted like they are, they should absolutely be struggling to be taken seriously by others but it’s portrayed as unfair when that does happen. But they’re the protagonist, and it’s like everyone in the world simply knows that. I want Rook to struggle, I want them to grow and prove themselves, but it feels like we skip passed that to get straight to the fantasy of being in charge and considered fit for that role.

Pacing and feeling like something was missing…

The start and ending throw a lot at us and expect us to keep on running – but then the middle portion of the game suffers due to the companions putting a stop sign on the plot so you can do their companion quests. And they aren’t shy about telling you “you need to stop and do our quests or we’ll be distracted at end game”… and again, thank you game for explaining game mechanics to me.

I was going to complete character quests, because if I care about the characters of course I’m going to do that. Having to actually pause the plot and have the characters explain to you that you have to care… I don’t know how to explain this, but it immediately took me out of the fragile immersion I was trying to get into. It makes me upset with the companions for reasons I can’t put into words. Maybe it’s because in one fell swoop it made me see them as checklists to be completed instead of people I wanted to know? I’m not sure, if someone had a similar reaction to this moment and has a better explanation, I would love to be enlightened on what it is that makes me so uncomfortable about this.

But I digress, the problem here is that the plot grinds to a halt. We stop doing things which feel like we’re advancing our plan of stopping the big baddies, we just kind of patter around and make sure our companions feel ok. And most of those missions to help our companions aren’t connected to the enemy we’re facing… Aelia, Anaris, Hezenkoss, Illario, The Dragon King, Isseya – they aren’t agents of the big baddies, they are just enemies that pop up at the same time as the big baddies are around, and are therefore making the situation worse.

So yes, we’re still doing stuff, but it feels like fluff. It feels like a detour while we just hope the world doesn’t burn while we stop to go on another picnic.

This is something that happens in a lot of games, the urgency isn’t real because you can stop progressing plot to go for a long walk if you want to – but in none of the other games did it feel so blatant to me. I still felt like most of the little tasks in the interim of plot advancement were at least advancing the cause in little ways… I don’t feel that with a lot of the things that happen in the middle of the game. It just becomes about companion missions; the bad guys will wait until we sort that out, the blight will stop advancing so we can have family dinners and go for walks.

And I really don’t know how to explain this, but it feels like something is missing in how the story progresses. Like extra things were meant to be happening and they are just not there. Maybe this is another part of how the game often just tells me things that happen in scene transitions, or it’s me really wishing there were more actual plot advancing missions in the middle of the game.

This problem I think also is most evident in the romances. Veilguard seems to take its romance pacing more from the Mass Effect games than the previous Dragon Age games – and while it was acceptable in Mass Effect to have very few romance scenes, and predominantly only having one big scene which culminates at end game, but suddenly introducing it in this series makes it feel like a huge downgrade from previous instalments.

It feels like we’re missing things, we’re given banters by companions commenting on the progress of our relationship and our partner can talk about how close they feel to our Rook – we’re given the impression our relationship is strong and established midway through the game. But with how strong the characters talk, it feels like we should have experienced so many more interactions with our partner to substantiate that.

For comparisons sake, in DAI if you enter a romance prior to going to the Winter Palace, you get romantic dialogue with your partner if they’re present, you get a dance, you get to feel like you’re in a relationship as it’s developing into something deeper. You get more interactions as the game goes on, moving from spoken interest, kisses, and intimacy (in most cases). It’s a slow build, and let’s you feel the build up by giving you glimpses of each step as the relationship develops, and then letting you just experience being in the relationship.

This game feels like it gives us the bare minimum in actual content, but has characters talk about how established the relationship is. The heavy lifting is again left to us to interpret all these blank spaces and fill in how this relationship is developing. The problem isn’t inherently with what the game gives us, it's what it doesn’t.

It lets us choose a relationship in the middle of the game, then it doesn’t give us all the progression – rather it gives us the minimal amount of snippets to meet the checklist of “they express interest, they mutually agree to be in a relationship, the relationship is consummated physically”. Sure, we can continue to pick flirt/love based dialogues, but it doesn’t feel nearly as strong as the banters seem to be telling us it is. And over all, we can go a very long time between each progression point.

I love this franchise, and I so desperately wanted to like this instalment… and instead I feel hollow.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dav #dav spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dav critical #veilguard critical #i'm just sad #i don't know how else to articulate it #it looks so pretty but feels so empty #i don't like being negative about things #i'd rather enthusiastically talk about things i love #but i just can't stop ruminating on this

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scottiexmariee · 6 months ago

Note

Hi~ ok so I have a request for a LAD headcannon. One where u wanna learn a new dance trend thats lowkey pretty spicy and if the boys reject then u say ur gonna go ask someone else (preferably someone they know like Greyson. Jeremiah, Thomas, one of the twins). Thank u so so so much and take all the time in the world

LADS Boys vs. Spicy Tiktok Trend

Characters: Xavier x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Sylus x Reader

Summary: How the boys would react to you threatening to ask someone else to assist with a spicy TikTok trend

Warnings: NSFW. MINORS DNI. Suggestive Content, (Implied Smut), Potential Lumiere spoiler if you aren’t familiar with lore

Wordcount: 2.7k

Masterlist

Note: I had way too much fun with this prompt. This is my own interpretation, so I hope this is what you wanted <3

“Well? What do you think?” You asked, studying Xavier’s face as the video you were showing him looped for the third time. He was next to you on the couch, studying your phone as if it were a foreign object, unable to form a coherent thought about what you were showing him.

There was a new couple’s dance trend circulating TikTok, and it was top priority to get Xavier on board with doing the trend. It was…a little provocative, to put it mildly. The dance started off innocent, but had a move at the end of it that included a little bit of grinding on your partner. You had absolutely zero intentions of posting it. Truthfully, you just saw an opportunity to rile Xavier up, and you were going to take it.

By the time the video looped for the fifth time, you waved your hand in front of his face. “Hellooo? Anyone in there?”

As if snapping out of a trance, Xavier finally blinked. Several times, actually, clearly trying to process whatever the hell you just made him watch. His eyes landed on you, and the poor guy looked like he had no idea where to start with his thoughts.

“Uhhhhh….”

“Let me guess,” You began, folding your arms indignantly, “you don’t want to do it,”

Xavier averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I…don’t know how I feel about recording that.” He finally said, finding a very interesting spot on the floor to stare at.

You figured he’d say no. Unfortunately for him, you’d planned ahead. You already had your dialogue choices preselected, and now it was time to roll.

“I’ll just ask Jeremiah, then,”

Xavier’s eye twitched, but he recovered quickly. He gave your thigh a playful squeeze as he shook his head. “Good luck. He knows better,” His tone was light, but you knew he wasn’t joking.

He was right. Jeremiah absolutely knew better. In fact, Jeremiah would likely have a panic attack if you even attempted to ask him to do something like that, simply out of fear of Xavier’s wrath. Jeremiah had once been subtly threatened over a completely innocuous conversation, and the deceptive softness in Xavier’s tone when he made the threat nearly had Jeremiah sputtering. (“You have nice teeth. It may be beneficial to find conversation elsewhere.”) Jeremiah didn’t look you in the eye for weeks after that.

The Jeremiah line, as predicted, was ineffective. With a sigh, you decided to default to your ‘in case of emergency’ tactic.

You stretched, trying to appear casual, doing your best to prevent a smirk from slipping. “I bet Lumiere would do the trend with me,”

Any traces of amusement that had been present on Xavier’s face vanished in an instant. The tension in the air thickened as soon as the words left your mouth. Xavier’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as his eyes locked onto your faux innocent face. The message was clear: you did NOT just say that.

Truthfully, you hadn’t meant to actually piss him off. However, the thought of Xavier essentially beefing with himself was too good to resist sometimes. You thought he’d gotten over this by now.

“I’m not sure I heard you correctly,” He said, his tone deceptively calm. If looks could kill, you’d be dead on the floor. This was a warning. He was giving you a chance to backpedal.

“I’m just saying,” You said, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened with his mood shift.

“You would prefer to do an indecent trend with Lumiere?” He questioned, his tone still eerily even, despite the clear annoyance in his eyes. You needed to be very careful with your next answer.

“I would prefer to do the indecent trend with Xavier,” You teased, cupping his face in your hands and giving his head a gentle shake. He softened slightly at the contact. “We don’t even have to post it,”

He rose from the couch, catching your wrist in the process and pulling you with him.

“Xavier? Where are we going?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“To do the trend,” He responded, his tone much lighter than it was previously. “I’ll do it so Lumiere doesn’t get the chance,

Zayne stared at you with an expression that could only be described as unamused. You had made an attempt to show him the newest couple’s dance trend, quietly tossing in a comment about how you two would ‘look good doing that trend.’ Based on his complete lack of a reaction, you had your answer without him even needing to open his mouth.

You pulled your phone away, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “It’s not that bad,” You said defensively.

That was a blatant lie. If you tried to shake your ass as hard as the girl in the video you’d just shown him, you’d probably throw out a hip. You, however, were on a mission to spice up things with Zayne a bit, and the new trend was a perfect excuse to make an attempt.

….it had sounded better in your head.

“It’s aggressive,” He responded dryly. “I would recommend a psychiatric evaluation if I saw you doing that,”

If you weren’t desperate, his comment would have been hilarious.

“Guess I’ll wait for the pink slip,” You retorted, leaning back in your chair. “because I’m doing that trend,”

“It’s a couple’s trend,” Zayne responded, his expression deadpan. “Do you intend on doing it alone?”

You pursed your lips, searching for an answer. An idea came to mind, and Zayne stiffened upon seeing the flash of mischief in your eyes.

“I wonder if Greyson would try it with me,” You mused. You had no intentions of actually asking Greyson, you were simply just trying to press buttons now.

Zayne's eyes narrowed, and it was the closest thing to a reaction you’d gotten out of him so far. He looked almost offended, and you actually started to feel bad. However, the guilt dissipated the second Zayne responded with his ‘professional’ voice.

“That’s highly inappropriate and unprofessional,” He chided, his brows furrowing as he spoke. “and it would be rather unbecoming of my assistant to participate in something indecent with my significant other.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. That was a bad joke,” You said, reaching for his hand. He allowed you to grab it, but it did nothing to quell the absolute bewilderment your comment had caused.

“If you won’t actually do the trend with me, would you be willing to just practice?” You asked, purposefully lowering your voice to ‘bedroom’ tone.

Zayne’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He was definitely listening.

“I mean, you could consider that as an exercise, right?” You continued, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “And exercise is good for you, right?” Your tone was borderline teasing now, but it seemed to actually be working.

“It is,” He responded. “It increases blood flow, reduces the risk of heart disease, can increase dopamine levels—“

You squeezed his hand, giving him the flirtiest look you could muster.

“Well, Doctor Zayne, could you help me increase my dopamine?”

His resistance was crumbling quickly. Between that look on your face and the tone of your voice, it was getting harder and harder to deny you.

Especially when he knew what your real intentions were.

With a sigh, he softly grabbed your hand and rose from his spot at the table, his initial protests long forgotten.

“Phone stays on the table,” He warned, just to be safe.

As he lead you toward the couch, you couldn’t help but giggle.

Your plan had completely derailed, but in a way, you were still getting what you wanted.

As soon as you saw the newest couple’s dance trend circulating, you knew that you and Rafayel would absolutely OWN it.

You could already picture how hot he’d look with some shirt buttons undone, chest *slightly* exposed, swinging his hips with yours in tune to the beat of that catchy song. You two were going to absolutely devour this trend.

….Well, that was the plan, anyway.

He was willing to hear you out until he saw examples. By the third video, his ears were very pink, and he was staring at your phone like it had personally offended him. The amused smile he’d sat down with was no longer in the vicinity.

When he finally found his voice, the protesting was immediate. “Nope. Nuh-uh. Not happening,” He said, shaking his head vigorously and shoving your phone away from him. He wiped his fingers on his pants as if he’d touched something dirty. He then rose from his seat, very obviously about to attempt a swift exit.

“Raf, please!” You begged, nearly tripping over your chair as you followed after him. You caught his sleeve, tugging him back toward you. He didn’t budge. “We’d look so good. I’ll literally start begging,”

He shook his head vehemently. “I don’t even want to imagine the headlines that would cause. Nooo way, (y/n),”

“When have you ever cared about what the headlines say?” You protested, giving his sleeve another tug. “Please! It’s just one video! I’ll never ask you to do a trend again!”

“I’ll agree to this when I see sharks driving cars,” He responded, skillfully escaping your desperate grip on his sleeve. He began heading toward the kitchen in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and this conversation as possible.

Fine. Let’s see how he likes this.

You retrieved your phone from the table and began typing a phone number. Rafayel paused and looked over his shoulder at the sound of your nails tapping against the screen.

He fully turned around when you hit the ‘call’ button and raised your phone to your ear.

“…who are you calling?” He asked, already heading back toward you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Thomas,” You replied casually. “If you won’t do it with me, then—“

Your phone was confiscated before you could even finish your sentence. Rafayel held your phone above his head, his other hand pressed against your forehead, effectively keeping you an arm’s length away. Rafayel quickly ended the call before Thomas could pick up as you began to protest.

“Oh come on!” You cried out, arms flailing as you tried to retrieve your phone from Rafayel’s air jail.

“Apologize or I’ll swallow it,” He threatened, holding your phone higher above his head. “You can’t call other men or be influenced by dance videos if I eat your phone,”

You stared at him, beyond incredulous. While Rafayel did have a flair for the dramatic, the look on his face alone made you hesitant to call his bluff.

“You’d rather swallow my phone than do a 10 second trend with me?”

“You were calling Thomas! What does he have that I don’t?”

You folded your arms, glaring daggers at the man holding your phone hostage. “I only called Thomas because you refused.”

Rafayel scoffed, his expression nothing short of indignant. “Oh, so you’re just a traitor then? Gooot it. And to think I shared my smoothie with you earlier,”

“If you don’t like me anymore, just say that,”

Rafayel’s mouth dropped open upon hearing you use one of his ‘drama queen’ lines against him. He could not believe you had the nerve to use his own words for your own petty gratification. “You—“

He sighed, releasing your forehead from his palm. Your phone, however, was still in air jail.

Rafayel was silent for several moments, and you could almost physically see the gears in his brain working overtime.

“What if we compromise?” He finally asked, eyes landing directly on your face.

“Compromise?”

“I’ll do the trend with you. But you aren’t allowed to post it. Nuh-uh. It’s for our eyes only.” He finally lowered your phone from above his head, keeping it just out of reach as he continued speaking, “and if you post it anyway I will literally put a curse on you.”

You paused, your eyes flitting between Rafayel’s face and the phone that was still firmly in his hand. You considered your options, and after a small internal debate, you decided that this was as good as it was going to get.

“Okay,” You affirmed, holding out your hand for your phone. “Deal.”

He smiled, finally handing your phone.

As the two of you began to walk to the closet to find a change of clothes for the video, Rafayel spun to face you.

“Also,” He began, “You know how you said you’d never ask me to do a trend again?”

“Yes?”

“I’m holding you to that,”

The day had dragged on. Sylus had spent most of the day holed up in his armory, and the twins were out doing who knows what. Mephisto wasn’t great company either, and his beady little eyes got uncomfortable after a while. You were absolutely consumed by boredom, which lead to you scrolling on TikTok for far too long.

Right as you were finally about to throw your phone out of pure frustration, your algorithm came in clutch and graced you with a video from this week’s newest dance trend, a suggestive little couple’s dance. You bit your bottom lip, already feeling flushed at the thought of Sylus with his hands all over you like that.

It was sexy. It was flashy. And it was absolutely the cure for your boredom.

Your feet were moving before you’d put any thought into it, carrying you straight to the armory.

You all but crashed through the door.

“Sylus~” You chirped, zeroing in on him with a shit-eating grin on your face.

He looked up at you, eyes softening at your expression.

“Well, don’t you just look delighted,” He drawled, patting his lap for you to have a seat. “What’s the occasion?”

As you climbed into his lap, you pulled up the video you’d added to your favorites and held it out for him to watch. He did so without questioning it, but you could see the subtle expression change as he tried to process what he was seeing.

When the video ended, he returned his gaze to you, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.

“Well?” You poked his cheek, searching for any hint of his thoughts in his expression.

“That was….modest,” He said, his voice laced with a level dry sarcasm that only Sylus was capable of.

“Will you do it with me?” You asked, getting straight to the point.

Sylus chuckled, the sound deep, rich, and like music to your ears. As quickly as your hopes rose, they were quickly squashed by his next statement.

“While I’m flattered that you think I’d be a good candidate for…that,” He began, gesturing toward your phone, “I’m going to have to decline, sweetie.”

Short, sweet, and to the point.

“Ugghhh, but I’m so bored!” You whined, tossing your head back in exasperation.

Sylus watched your mini-tantrum fondly, desperately fighting off a smirk. “If you’re bored, you could always hang out with me in here,”

You glanced around the room. It was clear that he’d been down here messing with several different weapons, and by the looks of things, he was nowhere near done.

You loved spending time with Sylus. On any other day, you would have jumped on the offer, just to be near him. Today, however, your boredom had reached its climax and you were certain you would combust if you sat down here and watched him meddle with various weapons.

With a defeated sigh, you removed yourself from his lap and began sulking toward the door. “I guess I’ll just go find the twins,”

Truthfully, you hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. You definitely weren’t going to bother them with the trend, but that was definitely how Sylus took it. You heard the distinct sound of a weapon being set down onto the table.

“No need,” He said gruffly, abandoning his task and rising to his full height. You turned and quirked an eyebrow, not understanding the sudden change of heart.

He closed the distance between the two of you, looping an arm around your shoulders as he passed.

“That…’trend’ gave me a better idea for a boredom cure,” He said, leading you out of the armory.

“Oh? Tell me!” You chirped excitedly.

Sylus shook his head. “It’s more of a show than a tell,”

While you didn’t get to do the spicy TikTok trend, Sylus had cured your boredom in a different spicy way.

You were reeeally thankful for that trend.

Thank you for interacting <3

If you enjoyed, please leave a like or reblog!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace xavier #xavier x reader #lnds xavier #lads xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #lnds rafayel #lnds zayne #lads rafayel #lads zayne #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #lads headcanons #lnds headcanons

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kithtaehyung · 1 year ago

Text

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

title: broken (pt. 1) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell. note: this is only one half of what was supposed to be a whole chapter! broken, pt. 2 will come out after i've had time to make it something i'm proud of. trying to rush everything out didn't do any favors, so hilariously and ironically, broken is broken up into two hahaha. warnings: language, angst, tension, yoongi’s pov is longgg, alcohol consumption, tobacco mentions, bro🥲, yoongi in the studio😩, the studio boys make another appearance👀, …someone else makes their first appearance👀👀, scuffles, tense situations, did i say angst?, water bottles get their own warning, long hair yoongi, basketball yoongi🫠, crying, bro a ha ha, jimin has tats and he’s not afraid to show them, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, honestly he is on another level of warning here don’t perceive me💀, the fluff is fluffing here like what, backstory we’ve been waiting for😗, yoongi on the phone, hand holding :’)), kissing :’)), oh god the kissing❤️‍🩹, there’s just a lot in both parts i'm sorry y'all playlist: broken (lp) drop date: dec 3rd, 2023, 4:00pm est word count: ...19.1k 🚶‍♀️

Words abandon you.

They stand far from your form, pitying observers of your decaying state in front of the man you’ve been lying to. At once, you feel completely alone, not even Yoongi’s lingering presence helping when those eyes are piercing through time and space. Everything you’ve experienced over the past two years slings across your vision, from the first time you left your house in the pouring rain to get to Yoongi’s, to the car ride back you just took with his kiss still on your lips.

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels.

Your feet make lines in them when you move to close the front door, something leaving your mouth before you can judge if it makes sense, “About what?”

Zero sense. Absolute zero sense. Which your brother has absolute zero patience for. The drone in his question hits you like a punch to the gut, “Really.”

“Just out late, is all,” you grumble, trying your best to not acknowledge an atmosphere so tense it’s almost crowded. “Jimin had another party, remember?”

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

Dread launches up your veins, rocketing right to your heart in the middle of a pulse. He was there? You saw his car when Yoongi pulled up close to the house. He was there? When the fuck did he arrive? Oh, fuck, if he got there early enough… did he see you… and Yoongi…

No. There’s no way. Because one, Yoongi parked far down and around the corner. He made sure not to be close just in case you two could be spotted.

With a thought you really cannot afford right now, you also assume he stayed that distance just so that he could pin you against his car. Fucking hell, focus! Upping the strength of your resolve to match cardboard, you lamely stall in your hunt for clarification, “You were?”

“I was.”

The watch on his wrist glints in its twist. When aggravated veins stare back at you, it’s obvious your brother is on the edge. Because he is deathly calm. “So where’d you go?”

You blink, not having expelled a single breath since you stepped foot inside.

Does he not know? Or does he know and he’s just waiting for you to finally spill? With all the hope in the universe, you yearn for it to be the first one. Because you cannot deal with a fallout right now. Not right after what happened with Yoongi.

It’s just not the right time.

“Yuri’s,” you blurt, finally kicking into gear and strategizing how you’re gonna finesse this. “She came and got me.”

Your sibling just stands there, eyes a solid beam before he sighs at clasped wrists.

Here it comes. He’s gonna ask why you didn’t say anything. Like he always does because for some reason you’re still not a true adult to him and he has to keep tabs on you at all times and you can’t just sneak around with his best friend in peace—

“K.” Your eyes shake once. “Just tell me next time.”

And just like that, your brother vacates the foyer, dark dress shoes clacking as he retreats back into his room. Leaving you standing in silence.

All the words around you just as speechless.

Just like that, you’re gone again.

After watching you leave and wishing you didn’t have to, Yoongi shuts his door to rest ponderous thoughts on worn wood. Eyes closed and a storm on his mind’s horizon.

Just a little longer. He hopes you’ll understand. This is just something he needs. More than anything else.

Exhausted, he peels himself from the door, meandering through the bog of his living room. Trudge, trudge, trudge to the dining table, skirting fingers along the edge and noting that it feels different than before.

At least something in his apartment has changed for the better.

Who would’ve thought that table would witness both an end and a beginning. That it would see the worst and best of him. If it was ever called to stand, there’s no doubt that it could recite all his failures and shortcomings. But he hopes that it would also attest to how much he’s fucking tried.

As much as Yoongi wants to throw it out, he hasn’t. Because despite being withered to hell, all it needed to recover was the new company of a familiar face.

And a little bit of summer rain.

It watches as his thoughts move on, and soaks in the blues and pinks of sunrise as he crosses into the bedroom. At the feel of your lingering presence, Yoongi gnaws on his lip.

What the fuck does he do now? The moment you leave, he wants nothing more than to have you back in his bed. It’s the one fact that he has come to fully acknowledge. Because there are many times you’ve caught him slipping. But when you’re lost to your dreams? Visibly at peace and safe under his sheets? That’s when he can’t even think straight.

How your serenity throws him into disarray, Yoongi has no fucking clue.

But he can’t afford these feelings right now. Because how can he want you close while being the reason for this distance? Make it make sense. Don’t be a fucking hypocrite. Tsking, Yoongi once again accepts the consequences, heading to his bathroom before going back the fuck to sleep.

Lies. Who is he kidding? There’s no way his rest will be the same without you. Especially since he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you next.

There is a way to remedy that. To put an end to your time apart. But Yoongi’s been so in his fucking head that it’s chaining him down and pulling taut. No matter how much he struggles, he can’t break free, and it’s driving him to the brink.

But last night? With you? Half moons mar his palms as he stands. Staring. Branding that whole memory into his heart.

After three months of questioning his existence.

All it took was your soft hums to give him a reason.

And you won’t ever know how much that meant to him. Not until Yoongi finally decides to tell you. Which will most likely be never. Maybe that’s why this time tears at his chest more than all the others. Maybe that’s why he stood in his doorway longer than usual. Maybe that’s why he can’t quite carry the weight in his chest.

Dumping himself on dark mountains—creations of his and your design—Yoongi buries his face in those valleys. Inhales those aromas like some hit he can live off of for however many days left he needs.

Desperately grasping for a fading world where only you two exist. Drifting. Dreaming. Disarmed by a vibration on his nightstand.

The fuck.

Who is texting him this early. There are only a few people he has notifications on for wait it’s probably you saying you’re home.

Peeling himself off the sheets with a groan, Yoongi simply shifts his upper body to reach for his phone, squinty-eyed as he checks his screen.

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

Dumbass [07:30]: We need to talk.

…Shit.

Yoongi grips his phone in panic, ice water streaming through his veins and mind set ablaze with potential scenarios.

He’s awake. You went home. And he’s awake. Fuck, did anything happen? Did you say anything? What are the chances this text means he found everything out?

Shit.

Does Yoongi answer now? Or does he sleep and pretend that this is just a text and isn’t a problem at all? Think. Your brother may not even be referencing you, or him. Right? It could be something completely different.

Why can’t he fucking move?

Every regret Yoongi’s kept at bay floods his brain, crashing into assumptions of your mental state and creating a massive whirlpool of dread. Just answer. Don’t answer. Just answer. Don’t fucking answer. Suddenly, another alert lights his home screen and it’s a call oh fuck—wait… It’s Jungkook?

Why not. Sure. What’s one more issue.

Picking up, Yoongi runs hard fingers through his hair as he answers.

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

The what. The session? Oh, fuck. The session. Yoongi completely forgot they had a recording booked today because they were so hyped last night to get a date for the release party shit. Vacating his bed, Yoongi answers with a low, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Yeah, don’t be late. It’s those guys from before.”

Fuck, it’s that one. The dudes that stopped by the studio just as things were wrapping up, shocking everyone when they scheduled some time. Highly successful musicians and performers booking something with a no name studio? Things are rolling in the right direction and coming along fast.

But as things go. If they don’t take this shit seriously, everything can crash just as quickly.

“Heading out,” Yoongi finally says as he yanks a hoodie from his closet, and a loud vibration against his ear makes him flinch.

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?”

“Shit, yeah.” Yoongi grips soft material before his phone hits his desk with a thump. Hastily dressing, he grunts, “Maybe. Might be like two minutes late.”

“Nah, come now.”

He’s heading over? Your brother? If that’s the case, there’s no way he doesn’t know.

Fuck, relax. Don’t overthink. If anything, there wouldn’t have even been a heads-up. Yoongi figures he’d just find out as soon as he’s thrown against a wall. Or the ground. Or right onto his coffee table that this very guy helped pick out. Shit, he needs to know but he doesn’t wanna find out.

But nevermind him. Are you okay? Swiping his device, Yoongi quickly types a text before fast-walking out of his room, going on autopilot when he assures into his receiver, “I’ll get there.”

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now.

As Yoongi breaks into the dining room, he hears a rustling on the line before other voices jut through the speaker. Sounds like Hobi and Joon are already there, and the next thing said further spikes his stress level another peak,

“We’re already cutting it close with the prep.”

Fucking hell, the prep. The mics, the tracks, the setup. They forgot to do all of it. Something inside of him starts snarling and almost pounces through the phone, “Fuck, we should’ve been ready already.”

“Shit, I know.”

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Dude, relax, I get it.”

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get it done but it’s gonna be tight. Hey, where’s the… Damn it, what’s it called?”

Frustrated and rummaging through his pantry, Yoongi knows he sure as hell didn’t think about anything else as soon as he heard you crying on the line. If he had remembered while leaving the studio, he could’ve spared a brain cell to rush everyone back in. “The what.”

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.”

Of course, he’d repeat every decision he made last night. Over, and over, and over again. But any of them should’ve remembered this step before leaving, which pisses him off. The studio’s lack of experience is showing and it’s making him nervous.

And Yoongi still doesn’t know what’s going on with his best friend.

“We need two overheads for drums,” he corrects while swiping a water bottle from the counter. And he’s about to rattle off where they are when he feels another long buzz.

Dumbass: Incoming Call

Of fucking course.

Mind whirring so hard he can feel steam, Yoongi quickly recalls where the mics are, “They’re somewhere in the back by the amps, but I gotta take this so I’ll see y’all there.”

“Wait, where are the—”

Nope. Kook’s just gonna have to figure out whatever he’s asking on his own. Switching calls, Yoongi answers while opening his door, hastily putting out the food and water he grabbed from the kitchen.

“Hey.” Fuck, is his voice shaking? What the hell is he gonna be faced with in the next few seconds? Can he freeze time and rewind and keep last night on repeat? “I’m about to head out.”

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.”

“No, just”—Yoongi dashes back inside before grabbing his wallet and keys from the bar—“You good? I can’t be late.”

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?”

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling.

“We got another project,” he huffs as he meets sunrise again, blazing a trail through his corridor and rounding the corner to his car. “A band’s coming in for a session.”

“Shit.”

There’s a pause on the line. And it’s the first bit of silence Yoongi’s had since he got the first bone-chilling text. Is his secret safe? Are you okay? Should he work extra late and run from a problem yet again? He’s very good at that. Running. If there was a medal for distance ran from issues, he’d be on the podium for both gold and silver.

“Okay, fine.”

Relief is temporary. This could just be him biding his time in order to figure out what to do. Or maybe he truly doesn’t know what’s going on and Yoongi has a bit more uninterrupted time with you.

Delusion is a great place to stay.

In any case, his friend’s behavior is alarming. What’s he doing up this early? And why is he wanting to swing by so bad if not to slice him into tiny pieces? Nerves slow on the downslope, Yoongi shuts his car door and lends his ear, “But serious, are you okay?”

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

He lets his friend go through a series of small sounds on the line, pulling out of the lot and hitting the road with tire squeaks. “What’s up,” he finally pushes, looking sideways and remembering the car ride home.

There was no way Yoongi was gonna say no to you. He didn’t in this universe, and he’d bet his whole life he doesn’t in any other one, either. Not when your wings looked like you hadn’t used them in months.

Pained, Yoongi hopes you’re completely fine and sleeping. Tucked away in a bed that captured part of his heart, visiting him in your dreams so that some version of him can be at your side.

“Everything, Yoong.”

But, as it so starkly turns out, he has to deal with reality. And with the fact that you’re just as far away as you were before last night. Maybe even further out of reach.

So, so far away.

“There’s a ton of shit, but. Fuck. Guess we’ll have to wait.”

Right now, deal with the studio prep and get through the session that will probably take awhile. After that, meet up with your brother and hope to god he doesn’t know. “K.”

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

Then, when all of that is done, Yoongi will be alone. Staring into the night and trying his hardest not to give up on himself again. “Yeah, I will.”

“No running.”

“K.”

When the call ends, Yoongi lets out the harshest breath he’s ever let out in his life. Hoping you went right to sleep without dealing with any of that.

“How did that sound?”

Looking into the recording room, Yoongi raises a thumbs up as Hoseok clicks back to the beginning of the track. At their side, Namjoon hits a button on the console before speaking into a microphone, “Y’all wanna come hear it?”

“We can move on. Wanna get the doubling done.”

Huh? They’re gonna move onto vocal doubling already? With a few blinks, Yoongi think it’d be better if they—

“Okay!” Jungkook agrees from the couch, cutting out any other thoughts. “If any of you need adjustments, let us know.”

“Yeah, actually, can one of you come switch this out?”

Joon throws a suggestion over his shoulder, but Yoongi is already heading for the booth before his name is even mentioned.

Get everything done smooth. Stay disciplined. Be professional, goddamn it.

Entering the soundproofed room will always make him want to occupy the mic instead. That feeling hasn’t gone away, and there have been countless nights where he’s spent time just sitting in this very space, visualizing what it would be like to work on this side of the glass someday. Deep down, Yoongi knows he could be somebody. But imposter syndrome runs deep.

Avoiding cables strewn about the room, he offers his hands without a word, taking a guitar from the lead singer and making his leave—

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.”

What? Where the hell did that come from? Did he even hear this guy right or was he just daydreaming again? Yoongi’s so thrown he can only stare with question marks for eyes.

Amused, the singer simply points to the side of his beaming countenance. “You have an ear.”

Huh. How the hell can this dude tell? All Yoongi’s done is indicate if a recording take was good or not, and given a few minuscule suggestions to the keyboardist and guitarist—instruments he’s well-versed in.

Yet again, he’s so in his head that the man outright laughs, “Relax! You can talk to us like normal, you know. None of us care about etiquette shit.”

“Shit, my bad,” Yoongi finally responds, instrument in his hands proving a little lighter. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Swishing long bangs to the side, the performer rests a hand on his hip. “We’re open to anything. We’d just tell you if your opinion sucks.”

Eyes creasing with his lips, Yoongi puffs out a laugh.

“Kidding. Only a little.”

Even though these people are world-renowned, they’re the first humble group to run through the studio. Everyone else has been either cocky, standoffish, or super opinionated, which made for unproductive hours.

Yoongi likes this change of pace. His shoulders start to feel composed, less scrunched than they had been since you left his place this morning. Comforted, he looks down at the guitar in his fingers.

Choosing not to say what he wants to.

Should he? Nah. These guys know what they’re doing. Despite the nice offer to speak up, it’s not his place. Far from it.

…But what would you tell him to do? What would you be proud of?

Committed to his answer, Yoongi grips the neck and decides without another thought,

“Do the chorus again.”

The whole studio stills. But all he’s looking at is the man in front of him, shaking his head when they ask, “Same way?”

“Uhm. No.” As he hands the guitar back, Yoongi wordlessly checks if he can see the sheet music. When given the go-ahead, he scans the lines before pointing out a passage to note,

“Mm. Here. Vocals are fine as is, but. Ride the build-up quicker and hit the next chord after a bit longer.” When he stops, he has to fight to ignore the eyes on him. There’s no doubt that his extended time in the recording room is being questioned, and his hand movements probably make him look stupid. “It’ll keep in time but hit harder.”

Done. He said it.

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame.

Instantly self-conscious, Yoongi swears he can hear Hobi’s pants shift in the control room through two closed doors shit he took it too far. Fuck, if these guys walk out now the studio is done for and he’ll be the only reason why—

“Well, goddamn. Let’s try that then.”

Huh. They’re gonna take that?

As he steps away, Yoongi feels slightly awkward doused in attention. Yeah, expressions seem like looks of approval, but they could just be polite.

The man hums the chorus with Yoongi’s notes in mind, and his eyebrows tick a bit before he addresses the others in the room, “You heard him?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

“Why didn’t you think of that, Woosung?”

Yoongi can’t keep his amusement under wraps as the singer laughs, addressing his keyboardist with a grin, “Damn, not even Sammy? Straight to Woosung, huh.”

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

Another bout of mirth spreads joy around the recording booth, and Yoongi shares a look with the singer before they both nod.

“Let’s see how it sounds.”

“K.”

Proud and adrenaline-filled, he turns to walk back to the door, head so buzzed he doesn’t know what to do. But when Yoongi can’t see into the control room anymore, he misses a stare through the glass.

A stare that lingers on him just a little too long.

The rest of the session goes smooth, and Yoongi’s relieved that they haven’t asked him for anything else.

After all. He doesn’t wanna push it, or step on Jungkook’s toes. What happened in the recording room only went down because you would have scolded him for not seizing that moment. And the suggestion he gave was lauded after the next take.

It was the first time since you kissed him goodbye that he felt a healthy pulse in his chest. Despite the chaos of the morning, amid the thoughts and worries penetrating his brain, you reached out and kept him steady in just the right moment.

Fuck being his good luck charm. You give guardian angels shame and you don’t even know it.

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

Jungkook holds up an arm while agreeing, “Okay! We’ll save what we got!”

Yoongi’s scanning the tracks when he feels hovering over his shoulder, and he already knows it’s the kid without looking. “Sup.”

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

At this, Jungkook pauses before he sighs. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he clearly lies.

But Yoongi will let him figure out whether to run with that or not. He seems a little bothered about something, and it very well could be what happened in the booth. This is work, and they’re both adults. If he wants to talk about something, Yoongi will gladly have that conversation.

Suddenly, a vibration erupts in his hoodie pocket, and his phone is fished out without him even thinking.

Hustler: Incoming C—

Shit. You wouldn’t call him at work unless it’s urgent. Which is quickly throwing any possible theories about your brother not knowing out the window.

But fuck, he can’t answer yet. There’s no way. Not only is he in very close range to someone you don’t wanna speak to right now, but he’d get blasted for being on his phone during a session. Hoping you can wait just two more minutes, Yoongi turns the buzzing off within his hoodie pocket, anxiously waiting for the take to start.

Hoping to everything that Jungkook didn’t happen to see what was on his screen.

As soon as everyone looks pleased—three takes and thirty minutes later—Yoongi quickly excuses himself from the control room. His head practically overheats on the way out back, but the gust of morning breeze serves to soothe it some.

It’s been chilly lately. A bit grey. But whatever the weather has been outside, it’s no match for the atmosphere of his brain.

Pulling his hood over hair he hasn’t cut in months, Yoongi looks around before ringing you up. Hoping that you’re good and didn’t have to go through a version of his panic earlier.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Fuck, still voicemail. Are you okay? On the phone with someone else? Did your brother actually end up finding out and things are worse than he thought? Clutching his phone, Yoongi glances up while giving it slight shakes, body on alert while deciding what the hell to do now.

Maybe he can at least text you to ask what the hell happened this morning? Typing. Erasing. Retyping. Retrying.

Yoongi [9:02]: Got a session today, doll.

That’s what he had to say? That won’t do you any good, the fuck? Berating himself with a sigh, he takes a few steps while texting a follow-up.

Yoongi [9:03]: Still going, but are you good?

Staring, it takes him a few seconds to decide if this is enough. If these two messages are gonna suffice to help him figure out what the hell he’s getting into later.

It’s not. There’s too much he needs to know.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

When it doesn’t ring a third time, Yoongi gives up, cursing before turning and raking his hood off in distress.

Only to see Woosung materializing out of nowhere—relaxed, silent, and taking a drag.

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

“Been there,” the man empathizes, blowing out smoke into crisp morning. After a swell of early traffic fills the alleyway, he continues, “In trouble?”

Great. With a sound of dejection, Yoongi answers to a stack of random boxes, “Might be.”

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?”

“I do,” Yoongi blurts without hesitation, looking right into eyes that have seen plenty more than he has.

And it’s the first time he’s admitted anything out loud. To a stranger miles above him in status, no less. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he clarifies, “It’s just… There’s something I need to do first.”

Wait a sec. Why the fuck is he talking about this so freely? This isn’t something he does. Privacy is practically his brand. So why is it easy to talk to this guy? It’s him, for fuck’s sake. But what’s done is done. Woosung probably won’t even remember this conversation even happened, or is already annoyed as hell he didn’t get a good read on him.

To Yoongi’s surprise, his alley companion speaks again after another white wisp. “Mmm… Something you need to do?”

Well. Yoongi walked right into this one. Swallowing and knowing he can’t dip out, he sighs, “Some shit I wanna finish.” The smell of tobacco wafts around him when he looks at dulled skies. “Shit I need to get through.”

An amused hum floats through empty space. “Been there, too.”

Yoongi slowly turns to regard his client, watching as Woosung becomes very interested in wet concrete.

What kind of shit has this guy seen? Surely, he could have had some of the same experiences. The slight droop in his confident shoulders tells enough. But would he understand the exact same situation?

No. At least, Yoongi hopes not. Quite fucking frankly, he hopes no one has had to go through the same shit that he has.

“Let me know if you ever need help,” Woosung offers, shocking Yoongi to the point of speechlessness. As he drops his cigarette to squash it out, he runs a hand through wild dark locks. “We’ll be around again.”

Wait. What? Yoongi can only blink. “Serious?”

“Yeah.” The man looks down the outside corridor, watching as people start heading to their jobs through a central courtyard. “Got a good feeling about this place.”

What does he mean by that. What can Woosung possibly mean by that what does he mean they’ll be back? To the studio? To the city? What’s happening. Yoongi simply lets a pause prevail before offering the only response he’s capable of,

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

That laugh has got to be top five in the world. Not as great as yours, but definitely up there in terms of what makes Yoongi feel like things are alright. Not that he’d ever admit that shit to anyone. Ever.

Mercifully, the conversation moves away from risky topics. Instead, there are talks about a tour one is planning for his band’s album, mixed in with mentions of equipment the other is saving up for. Then the rest isn’t about music at all.

Finally, it’s time for them to continue recording, so they know to head back inside. “Don’t wait,” Woosung advises as he turns on his heel.

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else.

“If there’s something you need to get through...”

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

As Woosung shuts the back door, Yoongi’s gaze finds the crushed cigarette at his side. Another reminder of how things were.

And a reminder that he’s still a fucking coward.

Hours later, Yoongi’s car awaits him in the lot.

And when he realizes that you still haven’t responded, he shuts his door just a little too hard.

Whenever his friend comes over for drinks, it’s always the same routine.

Both of them don’t talk much, instead opting for a quiet greeting before someone dumps themselves on the couch while the other grabs a bottle and cups in the kitchen. As soon as glasses are filled, conversation sparks as a game plays out on tv—or a sportscasting show if nothing interesting is airing.

But this time? None of it happens that way. Because when Yoongi opens his door, he’s pinned with a shadowed visage he's only seen piercing through others.

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

Raising a brow and giving space is his chosen course of action. Best to not disturb a beast if they’re already ready to lunge.

And his friend eyes him as he stalks into the house, scanning around in search of something—living room, dining table, even looking into the open doorway of the bedroom.

Fuck. Relax. Don’t assume anything until things are on the table. Yoongi has got to pretend like tonight is normal and fine and that he’s obviously and positively not seeing and sleeping with his friend’s little sister.

And that he most definitely didn’t eat you out where your brother is sitting now motherfucker he needs a drink. Or a smoke. Or both with a plane ticket out of the whole country.

At least the television is already on. If it wasn’t for that ambiance, Yoongi’s head would be jam packed with every goddamn sound known to man. Including the adorable way you talk in your sleep, and how you strain so beautifully when you come fuck, fuck, fuck! Focus.

What’s happened has happened. And what’s going to happen will happen. Whether it’s a consequence of his actions, or nothing to do with any of this at all.

But when faced with everything smushing together at once? Yoongi will probably need to be revived no matter what the outcome. This is the most stressed out he’s been in years.

Not only that, but his stress is more than obvious. Even now in the kitchen, he’s scanning through his bottles with a finger—an action he’s never done while sober since the choices are always predictable. Holy shit, he needs to pull it together.

Has he ever been this panicked? Does he appear just as chaotic and disjointed as he feels? This is too new. This is very new and if he doesn’t regain control there’s no telling where this foreign road leads.

But the silence still remains as he turns. And apparently the road hits a dead end at his dining table. Since it’s occupied rather than the living room sofa.

Sighing, Yoongi ambles to his friend, placing everything down with clinks and ignoring the way his furniture is getting burned through. Both whisky’s are ready. Yoongi’s already holding his. And your brother still hasn’t moved a muscle. Honestly, what the fuck is going on with—

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What.

Don’t react. He’s staring. Don’t fucking react. Take a drink. A sip. Pick up the goddamn glass. Doing so, Yoongi slowly brings the liquid to his lips, not quite following his own instructions as he asks behind a barrier, “How was it.”

His question is met with a laugh that isn’t funny at all. The kind that drags a finger along the chalkboard of your soul. And the next question directed his way pulverizes Yoongi’s denial,

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

He’s sick. Beyond sick. The room is closing in and closing in too fucking fast. Shit shit shit. There’s no way he saw. No fucking way. He parked down the street he deliberately stopped as far away as possible and you saw your brother’s car in your driveway. Did he get there after you left? And didn’t see you while also not hearing from hi—

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck!

Yoongi can’t feel the air in his lungs. Because there isn’t any. Just a barren wasteland of shriveled futures and cracks in the foundation of every relationship he’s had in his whole life. The millisecond before a crash and only his wheels spinning and spinning and spinning—

Your brother shoots out of the chair, making the glass in Yoongi’s palm feel infinitely more solid.

“I mean, fuck! After all the shit we’ve been through? You’re gonna go back to her?”

All the—shit, he can’t even—back to? Back to you? What does he mean by back to you? Does he know about the first ti—

Volcanic, the man interrogating paces beside the dining table. Back and forth, back and forth. A pause. Back and forth.

And Yoongi still feels frozen in time. Is this it? Is this when things come crashing down? Glass suspends in midair all around him; an orchestra trembles beneath his feet, waiting for the moment to rip into his rib cage with swift strokes and a flourish as he’s taken down.

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

When Yoongi finally chooses to speak, what comes out only feels like a horrible attempt more than anything else, “Listen, it’s my fau—”

“What, you just decided to fuck that bitch again? Couldn’t stay away?”

Oh, fuck that.

Wood scrapes into flooring as Yoongi vacates his chair, hard feet planted as he gets into the face of his best friend, his confidant, his day one. Only to speak so low only them two can hear, “How bout you use your fucking words already and I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” They are only a breath apart. But no one’s going anywhere now. “Need me to spell it out for that fuckass brain of yours—”

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

Yoongi’s back connects with the chair behind him, palms flinging back to brace himself through a jolt of pain. And his eyes go so wide they stretch at the edges.

…Motherfucker, what?

Your brother is not done in the slightest, but Yoongi can only stare as he’s being berated for something that is one-hundred percent news to him, too.

“Everyone was happy when you finally left. All of us. Only for you to go and, what, get back with her?”

Nothing makes sense. This isn’t about you? Yoongi’s heart can’t even reset to start beating again. Everything is coming as shock after shock and there’s no way he can keep up at this pace.

His ex? Her? Where the fuck did that come from and why the hell does he of all people think that’s actually true?

“If you’re gonna be with her, you can count me out.”

No. Never again. That would never, ever happen again. “The fuck are you even saying—”

“I’m not fucking joking, Yoong. If you’re seriously back with her then—”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you heard, but I’m not.”

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

He—who? Who the fuck would say that? And when how what the fuck and why? Yoongi stares, chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Because he has a choice to make. Either he trudges into this lie and rubs sludge all over his bones, or he denies it like he wants because it’s not fucking true.

What the actual fuck. It’s already bad enough that someone sent this along the rumor mill. And it’s making him sick thinking about all the implications surrounding it. But it’s even worse that his best friend believes it so easily. He’s coming at him so quick without even asking if it’s true.

The only silver lining—the singular bright spot in this hellhole—is that he can use it as an out. An out to protect you from wrath and further fury from your older sibling because if you were the rumor? He’d be laid flat on his floor next to a broken dining set.

“You gonna say anything or what?”

Truthfully, Yoongi feels queasy knowing what he’s gonna do. But it’s for you. You, you, you. And for that, Yoongi will do anything.

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…”

“No?”

Just hurry up and fucking do it.

Resigned, Yoongi lets the memories flood through. Every moment that’s haunted him from a distance charges forward as he surrenders to the pain of his past. “It’s—” Fuck, he can’t even begin to lie, head thundering, thundering, striking his heart in the rain. “I...”

His friend halts. Tense before his shoulders fall back to normal. “You what.”

What the fuck does Yoongi do? What can he say when his brain is only firing up to beg him to run? Technically, he doesn’t have to say anything. He really doesn’t. But he can deflect. It’s what he’s best at, after all. He’s been doing it to you and he will do it again.

In the most defeated voice he can muster, Yoongi comes up with something that will placate his friend while still prolonging this horrid fib, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“You sure?”

It’s true. More true than anything. “It’s over now.”

A century passes. Then another. Then another. Every piece of furniture waits in silence as the television seeps back into his ears.

Then his friend sighs, not looking back as he slumps into the same chair that you always occupy. And Yoongi hopes his sigh of conflicted relief isn’t witnessed.

Following suit, he rubs his lower back before taking his regular seat again, not giving any shits about waiting to drink.

His ex?

As his throat warms, Yoongi starts to harden the more memories keep crashing into each other like jagged waves fuck he really hates how she was brought into this he swears as soon as he figures out who said this he is going to—

“Sorry.” Haze shattered, he lifts his gaze. “I’m so fucking stressed and hearing that last night just…”

“It’s done.” Yoongi reaches for the thick bottle, pouring more into his glencairn. Wanting to talk about literally anything else, he diverts the conversation, “But something else is up with you so say it.”

It works. The man inhales deep, rubbing his face with weary hands. When he rests elbows on wood, he finally talks about other things clouding his mind,

“Work is shit,” he groans downward. “They’re having me travel again.”

“Domestic?”

“Yeah. But for longer. And I don’t…” Tapering off, he sits back, slowly playing with his glass. As if he doesn’t want to mention the next problem.

When he finally does, Yoongi wholeheartedly understands the hesitation, “I dunno know what’s going on with my sister.”

Oh. Fuck, how the hell does he respond? Keeping his cool, Yoongi just repeats the question, taking out his phone and pretending to check his screen. “Your sister?”

“Yeah.” A sigh is sandwiched between explanations. “The past few months, I feel like.. They haven’t really been themselves.”

A sudden crack splits him through.

“Not laughing. Not eating as much. Like even when they sound happy, I can tell it’s a front.. I don’t know.”

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard.

No. No, no, no. Your texts have been so positive. So encouraging. Other than a few sad calls, you’ve been happy to hear from him just as he had been relieved to hear from you. Even in the car, you must’ve put your feelings lightly.

Your wings. You’ve been enduring all that? For him? Yoongi’s heart rears its head, snagging one of his breaths and slamming both lungs into the floor.

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

“They finally went out last night, but. Didn’t come back until this morning.” Running rigid hands through his head, the man looks so pained. So helpless. “Same clothes, dude.”

And Yoongi can only stare, feigning nonchalance but raging and tearing himself apart inside. “Mm.”

“I just… I know I suck at this, but. I don’t know what the hell to do. Or if I even do anything.” Your brother finally takes a swig, wincing at how much ethanol coats his tongue.

Relax, relax, relax. As much as he wants to erupt on himself right now, Yoongi has to stay calm.

Not like he doesn’t know how. That’s usually how he operates, anyway. It’s hard to tell he’s struggling unless you look deep enough. And almost no one thinks to do so because his surface is all they want.

But right now? He doesn’t think he can sequester this anger any longer. At him, his past, and his stupid present decisions.

“Like I tried to say something but I just.. I felt like if I push too hard, they’re gonna shut down even more. Ever since that fight with Kook, it’s like..”

Seeing an opening and keeping a neutral stance, Yoongi asks the most ironic question to date, “Are they seeing someone?”

At this, his friend shakes his head, eyes glued to dark amber liquid. When he answers, all the breaths in the world cut at once,

“I think she feels all alone.”

This hit is the strongest. Straight to the gut, breath stuttering and muscles clenching so hard they lock. It’s almost severe enough to affect how Yoongi feels around his eyes.

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

Yoongi’s heart lurches, deflating and slipping out of the crack in his chest. Piercing on the jagged edges before slumping down onto a table that continues to judge him.

You’re hurting. Your brother’s hurting. And it’s all his goddamn fault. Why can’t he just break free and admit shit? Why is he still haunted by the phantoms of his past? Why is he still so fucking weak? It’s clear that he hurt you. For months. You’ve been cheering for him that whole time while you’ve been visibly broken and it’s all because of his dumbass decision to—

“I’m heading out again.”

Yoongi raises his eyes. Because he can’t seem to move anything else. “When.”

Your older sibling takes a slower, more measured sip. Looking towards the channel playing in the living room, he answers, “After our game. Dinner Friday, game on Saturday, fly out Sunday.”

“Mm. We’ll still be here,” Yoongi assures, keeping things as normal and neutral as he can. “Just like last time.”

How ironic. How hypocritical. He hasn’t been there for you in the slightest so how the fuck can he say that with a straight face.

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot for y’all but..”

Not at all. Yoongi is more determined than ever to make everything up to you. It’s the least he can do after putting you through something he decided on the fly.

On the run.

“Don’t worry about that,” he vows into his drink. Honestly, if you’ve been having second thoughts about this whole thing, he doesn’t blame you. Absolutely doesn’t blame you if you realize you’re better than this. But Yoongi’s at least gonna apologize in every single way he can. As soon as he possibly can. “We got it.”

“K.” The man finishes his glass and goes to pour more. “Did I ever mention that she liked you?”

Now what— Coughing on whisky is a bitch and a half. Hitting his chest while both eyes squint from burn, Yoongi croaks out his exact thoughts, “What.”

At this, his friend finally breaks into his regular smile. Setting the bottle down with a hollow clunk, he points, “Don’t you fucking get any ideas. Jimin’s already on my shit list.” He scoffs out a laugh. “But it was obvious when we were younger.”

And Yoongi can only cough some more. He shakes his head through the sting, swallowing and trying to compose himself. He doesn’t know where the hell that came from, but he hopes your brother will understand when all is said and done. Even though he’s been the reason you’ve been so…

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

“You’re a good person,” he blurts instead. Whether the guilt or last cough pushed it out, that’s still on the table. “You don’t suck at what you think you do.”

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The hell? Does this dude really not see how successful he is? How much he’s overcome and conquered and sacrificed? Truthfully, Yoongi wouldn’t be where he is today if not for your brother. Him. Jimin. You. Anybody. Which is what makes this ongoing betrayal…

Unprecedented.

“You’re the best out of all of us.”

Your brother finally looks at him, though Yoongi isn’t doing the same. But he can still tell when a fist is held out for him to bump, so he does.

And they both share a drink in respectful silence.

After a moment of them watching the tv, the man finally sighs. “Guess we did shape up pretty nice.” When he’s agreed with, he keeps going with a grin. “We were so fucking bad.”

Yoongi can only chuckle, much better memories fighting off the terrors. “Old me was a little shit.”

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

Laughs precede big swigs of whisky and comfortable quiet. Bit by bit, shoulders start to relax with the surrounding air, and Yoongi lazily releases tension in his neck.

After a few more pours, your brother decides to call it, using the bathroom before announcing that he’s gonna head out. Yoongi gets up from his chair to clasp hands goodbye, not expecting to hear one more plea,

“Break up with her, Yoong.”

Shit. He sighs, and their conversation continues from the dining table to the front door. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s over now.”

“For good?” As they stop beside the coat closet, your brother pins him with a look. “I was about to drive over and break down the door.”

Even though Yoongi shares a tsk with him, he can’t help but imagine what could’ve happened if that was the case. And it sends an unwanted jolt of chills.

“Serious. I’m gonna keep saying this, but. she was just making you miserable, dude.” He slips on his shoes, smacking his foot on the ground to push one in place. “I’m sure it was good at first, but I mean… You gotta move on. You deserve better than that.”

Anything would be better than that. Yoongi just disagrees with the whole deserving part. “I guess.”

“You sure it’s over?”

“Yeah,” he assures, because that is something he intends to keep true forever. “It is.”

“Good.” Keys jingling, your sibling then points into the open area with his whole arm, seven words leaving his mouth like ice,

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.”

Ah. Among all the things. Of course he would bring that up, too. Jaw working, Yoongi looks away, now assaulted by all the torturous thoughts surrounding that painful reminder and fighting them off with no success.

Get rid of it? He’s been trying.

For three. Fucking. Months.

“I might.”

“…K.”

And his best friend departs, leaving Yoongi inside and staring at the same black spot he’s kept in the corner for years. It has mocked him as he struggles. Laughed at him whenever he’s tried to throw it out. And aside from the times he’s made you feel better stinging himself on those strings, he has accomplished nothing except letting it win.

Pissed off and doused in guilt, Yoongi yanks himself away from the door, the instrument, and everything else except for his bed.

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands.

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

But his phone exists somewhere on the other side of his bedroom door.

And he doesn’t have the strength to go get it.

What time is it?

All that greets him is darkness.

Nothing new, but darkness all the same.

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean?

He needs to call you. He’s lying to his best friend.

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you.

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale.

He needs to call you. But he’s so, so tired.

And the darkness pulls him back under.

Without even telling him the time.

Buzzing.

Faint, gentle buzzing softly lifts Yoongi’s eyelids before a loud series of smacks causes him to rush out of bed what the fuck?

Oh. His phone fell outside. Fucking hell, his heart’s beating way too quick for that to be the only thing that happened.

Head in his hands, Yoongi sighs deep before making his way to the dining table. And it takes all of his strength to bend down to reach for his phone.

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages

Chim: 7 Messages

Chim: Missed Calls (3)

Holy fuck.

With only the light of his phone illuminating the dark, Yoongi rings Jimin up. His heart’s a little disappointed it wasn’t you calling just now, but it’s probably best to stay away while his brain is so scattered and torn.

“Oh, fuck. There you are.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t scare me like that, bro. I was starting to get ready to drive over—”

“It’s fine,” he juts in. “What’s up.”

Alright, maybe he shouldn’t be an asshole. There’s no reason to let his lingering shadow from earlier control his temper now. Jimin’s just being himself, for fuck’s sake.

“I, umm. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

Now that’s not what Yoongi expected at all. “For what?”

There’s another pause on the line, and his reaction is immediate when he knows for a fact Jimin is fighting back tears.

“I… I got so drunk last night, I—And I—”

Shit. A sinking feeling starts to weigh Yoongi down, his center pulling the rest of him in like a black hole. And he doesn’t need to hear the rest of this to know what this call is about.

“He was looking for her, Yoong, and you weren’t there, either. He had this look, I—I couldn’t think of anything else to say in the moment and I told him—”

Jimin can’t even finish his confession. And it hits right in the gut.

Despite his perceived persona, Yoongi doesn’t like hearing people cry. At least, if they don’t deserve to or don’t deserve to be sad—or if they’re you. He could care less about the rest.

But Jimin is one of the only people that can get him like this: eyes stinging at their edges and his chest concave. In the dark, though, no one can tell. No one can see him.

So he can openly swipe at his eyes before dumping tired limbs into a chair, catching his forehead in a damp palm.

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

Exhaling through his nose, Yoongi tries his best to calm his emotions. Because they are still raging and it’s going to take all of him to quell this tempest.

Jimin knows more than anyone what this means to him. To you. The time you spent apart? If it wasn’t for his friend, Yoongi may have been in a much different position. If this was the only thing Park could do, then his effort has to be acknowledged. It worked like a fucking charm.

But goddamn, Yoongi wishes Jimin thought of literally anything else. He could’ve made up some random, some fling from another city, the damn studio itself.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally rasps out. “It’s just been a fuckin’ day.”

Jimin sniffles before cursing at himself and, judging by the sounds on the line, Yoongi figures he’s opening his fridge. If he reaches for soju, that would not be surprising in the least, and now that sounds like a good idea.

“Same. Gah, I just… I should’ve warned you. I didn’t know he went over there.”

“He told you?”

“I called him after you didn’t answer earlier.”

“Oh. Yeah, I passed out after he left.”

“Ah.”

Something shuts before there’s a crisp clink on the line, validating exactly what Yoongi was thinking.

“I really am sorry. What did you end up saying?”

“That it’s done.”

A hum.

“That’s very true.”

There’s a question that Yoongi thinks to ask. Context that he needs. But as important as this information is, Yoongi doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. Or ever. But now still counts. So he switches the conversation over to something less daunting, “Practice still on tomorrow?”

When Jimin laughs out of surprise, it gives Yoongi the smallest kick of energy.

“Ah, someone actually ready to go for once?”

“Yeah. The plan is to make this game quick.”

A hearty swallow spills out of the speaker before a hum follows,

“Mm, that reminds me. Got something that might help with that.”

What the hell does that even mean? “Huh?”

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow. You might find some good uses for it.”

Yoongi rubs the grogginess still clinging to his face. “All these years and you’ve never given me a straight answer.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Knowing the answer.”

At least Jimin’s back in a good mood. Or a better state than puffy-eyed and regretful. He doesn’t have to share the pain in this, too. It was an honest mistake.

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!”

Yoongi’s huff billows through his nose, and Jimin’s energy almost brings enough strength for him to clear the table.

Ehh. He’ll leave it alone. He’s been pretty good at that lately, too, no matter how early or late it is in the night. What time even is it? Checking his phone, Yoongi’s brows crease when he figures that out. Why the hell are they even on a call right now? “Wait, is it really three?”

“Huh? Yeah. I’m telling you, dude, I was getting worried.”

He was really about to drive over? “Sorry. I really did just pass out.”

“Mm. Well, I’m gonna go do that now.”

“K. Same time tomorrow?”

“Ah, a little earlier. Just so I can give this to you before everyone else shows.”

That just makes Yoongi infinitely more curious. “Seriously, what did you get?”

“Relax! You will like it.”

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

As soon as Jimin disappears from the line, Yoongi is left alone again.

Exactly where he always ends up.

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be.

But now that he’s done dealing with those notifications, Yoongi roams lidded eyes over his screen again.

Wait. You called him six times? Fuck. What did you text? Were you wondering where he was, too?

Hustler [20:01]: HOLY FUCK!! my phone died after i tried calling you this morning and i just fully woke up to charge it😭 he’s not home so call whenever

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter.

He very much would’ve rather been in your bed with you all day.

That sounds like fucking bliss.

Hustler [23:37]: tried calling but he’s home now. are you ok?? idk what’s going on with him but i think we need to be careful

Shit, Yoongi didn’t get to tell you. You’ve probably been worried about that every second you’ve been awake today.

And he couldn’t even make it out of his goddamn room to help.

All he comes with is worries for you. What kind of shit is this? What is he even doing? He even outright told you that you were dating only for that to be ripped from your hands for months. Why are you still giving someone like him a chance?

Hustler [23:40]: but all i wanna do is see you

Fucking hell.

Nothing in the world can stop his heartbeat quite like you can. With that smile, or those eyes, or the simple shit like this. Not even lightning can strike him the same way.

Despite the consistency Yoongi has with admitting his own shortcomings, and despite the way he keeps reminding himself he doesn’t deserve you…

All he wants to do is see you, too.

You’ve been more than he ever would’ve imagined—your consideration, your intellect, your mind. And there have been times when you’d look at him as if he was the center of your galaxy.

After all this time. All these days and nights.

You still don’t realize that he was destined to orbit you.

It’s been decided long before his mind was made up—at least, the part of him that doesn’t traverse the dark side. His heart had been tugging him to you ever since that rainy day, no matter where he’s drifted or which direction he’s gone in. All of them lead back into your arms.

But just like the feeling he gets walking into the recording booth, imposter syndrome eats him alive and doubt scavenges on what’s left.

He will never be good enough for you. One of these days, you will realize that you don’t have to settle for him. It’s good now, but you’ll only give him so many chances, which he is swiftly running through at breakneck speeds.

How fucking stupid. Having these thoughts while wanting nothing more than to hear your voice.

Just like everyone else, you’ll eventually be done passing through. His winter will return after your inevitable departure, all the warmth you give focused on something else that deserves it more.

Something that isn’t broken.

Yoongi whips his head up at the sound of buzzing, noticing thin lines of light beneath his phone on the table.

What. No way.

From the rapid beats inside his chest, he shoots his hopes right into the dark.

And they burst into beautiful sparks when he reads his screen.

Hustler: Incoming Call

But just like the streaks of color he witnessed with you on that balcony, his brightness is short lived. Because as soon as Yoongi answers, the way your throat constricts scorches his windpipe through.

And the first thing you attempt to get through makes his eyes shut tight.

“Are we… is this over?”

Fuck.

“I get it, if we are. If you—if you don’t wanna do this with me anymore.”

Fuck. Fuck everything this is not happening right now. “Hold up,” Yoongi breathes, body on full alert. “What’s going on?”

“I thought… When you weren’t picking up, I—”

“Breathe, babe,” Yoongi softens, hating, hating, hating himself all over again. “I passed out before you called. That’s it.”

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

“You would know,” he whooshes, syllables squeezed out by the mountain of regret on his back. After hearing what he put you through? Hearing how you sound now? There’s no way he can do that shit again. No more disappearing from the grid because he can’t fight himself. “You would know if I was done.”

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside.

“Are you? With me?”

Yoongi folds, fingers digging through his hair and blocking it in hard chunks. The amount of things he wants to say to you could wrap the whole world before repeating. But he settles with a truth he can say out loud,

“No way in hell, doll.”

Please. Don’t cry. Because he can only handle feeling his eyes sting so much in one night. There’s only so much he can take before he’s grabbing his keys and speeding over—friends and brothers be damned.

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.”

That’s okay.

Because he’s had a day, too.

“I don’t wanna bother you with it, though, it’s so late.”

Please keep going.

Please don’t leave him alone.

“Talk to me.”

Like a gentle stream, your recap—though not ideal—washes away the weariness from Yoongi’s eyes. Lifts the weight he bears on his shoulders, even if just a little bit.

You’re so good at that.

“Well. Umm. He saw me coming home this morning. And, umm. It was weird. I don’t know why but I think we have to be really careful. And ugh, it—. It sucks because he’s going on a trip soon and I don’t wanna stress him out even more but I—”

Shit, you’ve probably been holding all of this in ever since you got up. You don’t know that your brother believes something entirely different. But of course you’d be considerate, even now. That’s just who you are.

“I, umm. I feel so fucking bad about it but I don’t wanna mess him up right now. Or maybe he knows but just won’t say it? Fuck, sorry, I’m trying not—to—”

The phone goes mute, and Yoongi’s head suddenly weighs ten times heavier.

“He doesn’t know, babe,” he soothes, hating how he can’t be there to comfort you with more than his word and waves in the sky.

If he was stronger, things could be different by now. Vastly different. Vastly better. You would cry less, he knows that for damn sure. Weak, weak, weak. That’s all he fucking is.

The only one he seems to be strong for is you. “He came over earlier.”

“Fuck, really?”

“Yeah.”

You pause, seemingly to roll this information around that beautiful mouth of yours, and Yoongi has the strongest yearning to kiss all your worries right out of it.

“What did he say?”

Shit. You’ll just have to forgive him later. Because Yoongi chooses not to tell the whole truth. You don’t need to bear the same worries as him, anyway. They aren’t yours. He will shoulder all of those on his own. Because he’s the reason for them in the first place. “Nothing about us.”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

Good. Your relief is all that matters. But Yoongi still feels bad for not being able to pick himself up. You could’ve known that a lot sooner if he was stronger. If he was better. “So don’t worry, doll.”

“Okay. What about you? Are you okay?”

Huh? Your questions catch him completely off-guard. It’s almost comical how his first reaction goes straight to a No. But sticking to his earlier stances, he won’t bother you with any of that. There is a truth that he can admit. One that’s always true and will continue to be so. “Just wanna see you.”

And this is when his eyes slowly shut. Don’t. Don’t cry.

“Me, too, baby.”

Hearing that? Chipped and broken from your lips? That is another thing Yoongi can’t handle. His heart beats once before it free falls, and he clutches his phone just a little tighter.

Fuck everything. He’s gonna find a way to do this. All of it.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

He’ll figure out how to move mountains to make it up to both you and your brother.

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

Neither of you deserve this. And he doesn’t deserve either of you. Truly, the only thing he deserves is to be alone. And judging by the way things are going, it’s only a matter of time before you start resenting this behavior and leave, too.

“Thank you.”

What? Something in Yoongi flickers, and he lifts his whole head to eye his screen.

“For putting up with me.”

Oh. Of course you’d assume you’re the issue. Seems like you need the same type of assurance that he does. Both of you the same? Who would’ve thought his bruised soul would sync up with a perfect one like yours.

At this, he holds his breath before chuckling soft. “This has been the highlight of my day, doll,” he admits, finally breaking into a tiny smile and sitting back.

“Really?”

Wait. There was another good part of his day. But he wants to save that for when he can tell you in person. “One of them. But you’ll hear about the other one later.”

“Boo.”

Cute. Wait, isn’t it absurdly late? You have to be up for work in mere hours. It’s a miracle you reached out when you did. “Don’t you have to be up soon?”

“A ha… Yeah.”

“What are you still talking to me for?”

“I miss you.”

Well. That’s not something that he expected. And your admittance being so immediate actually sends shivers down his arms.

Yoongi can only laugh to himself. He knew he had it bad, but this feeling is something else. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what? Miss you? Yeah, right.”

God. You’re getting too fucking good at this. He’s gotta fight back or else his throne will be taken before he even sees you again. “Just a bad night to say it, doll.”

“Why?”

Perfect. “Cus I’m willing to get in the car.”

“Fuck.”

Yoongi happily lets his mouth slant when you groan, chuckling into the receiver and getting up to clear the table. When he flicks on the kitchen light, he doubles down, “Wanna try again?”

He knows you’re gonna say no. Even though your brother doesn’t know, it’s definitely not a proper time to sneak you out—as much as he fucking wants to. Fuck, to be the one sneaking you out of your house… Maybe there’s another version of you both out there that’s done it. A version of him watching a version of you creeping out to his car, face shining in nightfall and etching a permanent smile into his heart.

“I hate you.”

Yoongi should’ve expected that. The sudden laugh that flings out into his liquor cabinet ricochets off multiple bottles, and he shuts it while sporting a wide grin. “That’s better.”

“Ha ha.”

You’re smiling, too. Cute ass. Just the fact that he knows makes him excited for the future, and he’s determined to make it count. Make it worth it. You deserve every goddamn apology he can give. “I miss you, too, babe,” he whispers, grabbing the glasses from the table to wash in his sink.

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.”

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout?

Hell no, that’s outright cheating. That’s when Yoongi will never be able to win. Putting the phone down, he promptly states his new plan into a basin, “Nah, I’m going to sleep.”

“Wait, huh? Why!”

“Nothing.”

“I swear to god—”

“Nothing at all,” Yoongi lies, voice straight as he can muster while hot water runs over his hands. It’s a good kind of sting as his chilled skin adjusts, and he cleans one glass before he hears you ask in his ear,

“Getting ready for bed? Or are you in the kitchen?”

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.”

“Kitchen.”

The hell? “How’d you know?”

“You’re always in there.”

Can’t deny that. The glasses are both set to dry in the dishwasher as Yoongi’s amusement dies down, and his next comment flows out before he can think much of it, “You like to keep me in here.”

“It does seem to be where we end up, huh?”

“It does.” Which is fine by him. He’ll never forget all the times you’ve been in here. Your laughter and your storms, he will remember them all.

“The world said let them cook.”

Your giggles will be the fucking end of him one day. Fuck, he can’t wait to see you. He may even find a way to see you before the game.

But for now, Yoongi will figure out how to talk to you, every day, no matter what. Texts, calls, whatever the fuck. The effort has got to show from now on. No more of this dark headspace shit. He needs to try harder and figure it out faster. For you.

“Go to sleep, doll,” he huffs with full cheeks.

After another adorable batch of sounds, you rustle on the line before sighing,

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.”

With a blink, Yoongi notices two things. One, he just cleared his table and cleaned up without even thinking. And two, despite feeling like absolute shit the entire day and dreading the coming of night, falling asleep won’t be an issue.

Because of you. It’s always you.

Maybe there’s a way out. Maybe he can finally face it all and come out on the other side. “Talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

“I’d like that. And you’re sure he doesn’t know?”

Just like that, the demons are knocking again. Closing his eyes, Yoongi murmurs into the receiver, “I’m sure.”

There will come a time when he will tell you. But that will be way in the future, when he is ready. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he’s telling the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough for it to calm your nerves.

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night.

“Night, doll.”

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room.

Right towards the corner that stares back.

It’s been five days.

But it feels like you’ve aged twenty-eight years.

Ever since your brother confronted you—after your much needed reunion with his best friend—you’ve been floating through time. Lost. Confused. Wondering why that conversation went the way it did and gnawing at your sanity bit by bit.

And even though Yoongi explicitly told you he didn’t say anything concerning your relationship, you still haven’t shaken that feeling. No matter where you are, who you’re with, or on a pretty Friday like this one, you feel… Strange.

When you saw your brother waiting, you for sure thought you were gonna get grilled. It was a given you were gonna break as soon as he started asking deeper and more specific questions. The fallout was gonna happen in your own house right at your door.

…So what in the fuck was that?

You shift your legs, the chill of the office failing to comfort you in your manufactured, building distress.

Somehow, that version of the conversation proved much, much worse. Because now you’re spiraling trying to figure out why he just took your lie as the truth. Truthfully, you feel nauseous. And as much as you need to get some semblance of closure, you still feel hesitant. Because if he’s just biding time? He’s not just thinking about what to do with you.

He’s thinking about what to do with Yoongi, too.

This is so hard.

The only thing—the only thing—keeping you grounded. Is Yoongi himself.

Ever since the call you never thought he’d answer, you’ve been contacted every night. What was once days of radio silence quickly shifted to him reaching out however he could, hours of the day be damned. Just last night, in fact, Yoongi sent you texts at four in the morning, and you beam just thinking about what he said so casually.

Yoongi [3:57am]: That keyboard I told you about is fucking dope. Just got it today and it won’t let me sleep lmaooo

Yoongi [3:58am]: I was gonna say sorry for texting but fuck it you’re getting all the updates :)

No matter what it is, be it a text, call, or video chat, Yoongi seems fully committed and in the moment. Present. And it’s been… Really nice. If you didn’t have your brother’s shadow hovering over your brain, life would be practically perfect.

Forcing yourself to actually work, you manage to get some small things done. Even the meeting you attend goes smoothly and you leave any outside worries on the other side of those glass walls.

So when you get back to your desk, an awaiting paper bag makes you pause. And your whole body prepares to weep.

Only one person has ever sent you food while you’re at work. And staring inside the parcel, you would’ve been able to tell who it was from even if said person had never sent any before.

There’s a small note on top of a to-go container—one that you immediately recognize as that super good restaurant next to Jungkook’s studio.

What the hell? How did Yoongi know you wanted some this whole week but didn’t wanna risk being so close? With careful fingers, you pluck the tiny paper from the bag, opening it with care before your eyes get so teary eyed you can’t even read.

Tonight.

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man.

But you’re getting what I need so here’s the list:

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi.

Seeing an actual list of food squeezes a laugh through your throat in a squeak, tears rushing out of your ducts before they’re hastily swiped.

After five days. Yoongi really just sent you on a grocery run to surprise you with another meetup.

The gesture is so him that you cannot help but shake your head, ruefully huffing to no one and pocketing the note in your bag. And all your worries scatter even further.

A dinner before the big game is risky, for sure, but at this point you couldn’t care less. Your brother has his own work outing tonight, anyway, and you are dead set on breaking all of this to him soon.

Even though you are very much unprepared. And he is going to lose his fucking mind if he doesn’t know already. Fuck.

You’ve had all five days to think it over. All the possible combinations and possibilities and outcomes. Some of them are extreme, some of them are hopeful. But for a majority of these projections, you have a feeling that none of you are gonna leave it without wounds.

And you don’t know how you’re gonna save both of them if theirs are cut too deep.

Regardless, that’s in the future. Not now. Right now, you are staying in the present and working like molasses until you can jet out the door, nary a care nor concern weighing on your heels.

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

You’ll have the first substantial meal you’ve had in months.

Even though you want nothing more than to see Yoongi, your nerves are still buzzing and bumping into each other nonstop. There’s a lot you still need to know. Like why he was radio silent for months, and why your brother has been a little weird this whole week.

Save it for later. Hopefully Yoongi will tell you why eventually. Or that gap will stay elusive to your brain forever.

Sliding into your car, you dump your bag in the passenger seat before pulling out the list, clutching it close and taking a leap that could either calm your nerves or spike them.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

When he picks up, you legitimately don’t answer. Because even after all this time, you still can’t quite function when you hear that deep voice addressing you directly.

“Hey.”

All you have to do is say something. Anything. You could rattle off the damn list, stumbling over all the syllables just like they’re currently smushed together in your fingers.

But you don’t snap out of this trance until he speaks again.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” you squeak out, clearing your throat while watching other people walk to their cars. “Hi, sorry. I just umm.”

You just what? Somehow lost all sense of language just from him saying hi? Get it together. Stop that racket in your stomach and say what you were gonna say. “Thank you for the food. I’m off work now so I’m heading to the store.”

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

“Get whatever you want, too. Just let me know how much it is.”

Huh. Did Yoongi just say all those words in that order? If you heard him right, forget the damn food. You’re close to speeding directly to his place and breaking down the motherfucking door. “Oh, I definitely will,” you respond with instead of hauling ass, the words pushing through your lingering smile. “And don’t worry about that, I got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.”

Yoongi laughs again on the line, fuller and closer this time. Are you on speaker?

“It’s like that? Maybe I should work there, too.”

“Oh, you’d hate it,” you giggle, scheming hard in your head for tonight already. Pretty bubbles in your ribs lift all your spirits. “I’m actually pretty bossy here.”

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal.

“That is literally what I’ve been wanting to see.”

It’s your turn to chuckle as you finally make your way out of the parking lot, heading right to the market that you know for a fact has all of what he’s asking for. “I’m only that way at work, though.”

“Do better.”

Your immediate response makes his laugh crunchy in the speakers, and you go along with him because life is good. Life is fucking great right now. “Never mind, you’re paying. And I’m getting stuff for dessert now, too.”

“What? Who said anything about dessert?”

“Me,” you huff out in pride. Since he wants to see that demanding side come out so bad. With a fleeting thought, you think about what it could be like if you end up confident enough to—

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

Liar! Your cheeks hurt as you look both ways before making a turn. “Can’t fool me. You’re excited.”

“I am.”

The way there was no hesitation sends shivers up your spine. But it’s partly because you thought you’d be faced with another joke or dig. Not a sudden one-eighty. Stopping at a light, you clear your throat before shyness puffs right out of it. “Well, good,” you state while checking your mirrors. “Cus I am, too.”

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

Yoongi laughs before you hear the sound of cabinets, and you wonder which ones he could be touching.

“Mm, babe. One more thing.”

Can he stop making your heart beat two times at once? “Hmm?”

There’s a little bit of pause, followed by the clank of a pan on metal. When you hear another hum, you wonder what he could possibly—

“I think we’re out of condoms.”

Who is out of what. If you weren’t still at a red, your foot would’ve slammed on the gas because what the fuck! All you can manage out are sounds without substance, random syllables, gibberish. Nothing is computing in your head.

“Wait. Or are we?”

Okay, Yoongi needs to stop with that two-letter word before your behavior turns downright criminal. With as much seriousness as you can manage, you accuse, “Are you just fucking with me?”

And his response launches you forward just as the light turns green,

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

“Alright!” you cut in, stopping stopping stopping him because for whatever reason, this conversation is too much. Despite seeing this very man naked in many, many ways, just having this talk with him is making you shier than ever before. “Guess I’ll, umm. Get those, too.”

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

Wait. If he didn’t find some why is he telling you that you don’t have to— “Oh,” you peep in realization. A very sudden, jaw dropping realization. “Goddamn it, you’re too distracting now, bye.”

And he finally breaks with laughter that’s contagious as hell. Which isn’t fair when you’re pretending to be upset with him. Even when you can’t see Yoongi, you can imagine the way his cheeks rise and his eyes crease. The way the whole room illuminates when he’s packed with happiness.

And you want that to be the case forever.

“You’re just lucky I’m not there with you.”

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.”

“Damn!”

As the market comes into view, your teeth shine as you grin, roasting this man quickly becoming one of your favorite pastimes.

“To be fair,” you start to amend, fingers drumming on the wheel as you decide whether or not to say what you want. After deciding that there’s no wrong answer here, you softly admit, “I really do wanna get groceries with you.”

There’s no words that come out in response. Only the slight movements of shuffling and water running and what could be more cabinets closing. But you don’t really know for sure—

“It’s gonna happen, doll.”

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

One of these days you’re gonna see this damn cat again.

Foot connecting with Yoongi’s door, you grunt as multiple bags burden your limbs, pride digging divots along your arms—second trips be damned.

It doesn’t take long for him to let you in anyway, and you swoon at the way he doesn’t even ask while taking some of your baggage. But the kiss on your cheek makes your heart bang into everything between the front door and the kitchen. It’s so distracting that you barely smell the spices greeting you, too.

“Thanks for getting all this,” Yoongi says as you both cross onto tile.

“Of course.” Lifting the much lighter load that you have, you revel in the small thumps and thuds on his counter. Not really knowing why. “Let’s put this up before I yell at you.”

His laugh comes out in hisses while you both start reaching into bags. “For what!”

“Sent me everywhere to find some of this shit.”

“You could’ve asked somebody.”

Feeling a bit silly and high off his presence already, you repeat his words in a goofy mocking tone, and the way he blows out air sends your belly fluttering.

And just like that, things are back to normal again. No worries about your sibling, or work, or anything else looming by the door. Inside is what matters, and the whole apartment fills with jabs and jokes as groceries find their homes.

But Yoongi finds a bag you had separated from the rest, and you snap your mouth shut when he looks inside, something rising in your core when he turns to you with an eyebrow raised. And a smirk so salacious it makes you quiver.

“What about it,” you squeak out, crumbling when he simply takes the bag and flings it through his bedroom door. “You said you—we were out, so…”

“That’s a big box, doll,” he points out on his way to your tightly bitten lip. Mouth slicing through your sanity, he approaches you with a glint in his eyes. “Got something you wanna say?”

“Nope,” you whoosh out oh god he looks way too hot in those sweats wait is that a growing bulge? “Although I will say it took me forever to pick out what—”

Sparks ignite your hands when your lips are claimed, launching them into his shirt and tugging him backward because you’ve been waiting way too long to kiss the shit out of him.

And Yoongi responds in kind, pinning you to his fridge and so, very obvious that he’s been waiting for this, too.

Heaven probably wonders how to replicate this feeling. How to imitate this treasured yearning that only he can pull from the depths of your ocean. Deep, deeper, deepest. All these kisses. Your ascending affection.

“As much as I wanna throw you on my bed,” Yoongi jokes, pulling away and giving your cheek a light tap. “I’m taking you somewhere.”

And you’re so thrown from the impact that your brain mini-resets. “Huh? We’re leaving?”

“Uh huh.”

Hold on. Wait. Is this what he meant when he said he’s getting the next one? You’re going out to eat? Together? No. No, there’s no way. Yoongi knows that’s the worst possible thing to do right now, as much as the idea is sending your belly in a frenzy. “Are you sure? What about dinner? Won’t people… You know.”

“It’s ready already,” he reveals. “By the door.”

Your head snaps to where he points out, even though you can’t see through the bar. “Really?” No wonder it smells like a cooking aftermath. All those smells twirling around your head. How did you not even catch the dishes in the sink?

But hold up, you just bought a shit ton of food! “Then what the hell was the run for?”

Yoongi blinks. Then he does it again. Expression stone still, he responds as if you were privy to his plans this entire time, “I told you to get what I needed.”

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

This man is going to be the death of you. Affronted, your jaw hangs before you grit through a smile that betrays you, “Oh, you—”

“So thanks,” he quips through another tilt of his lips. “Let’s go, doll.”

The begrudged sound that leaves you makes him kick his head back on the way out the kitchen.

“Eat.”

The container on your thighs warms you through. “Now?”

“Mm.”

“I can wait,” you assure, watching as night paints the surrounding scenery in navy and black. “We can eat together.”

“Just a bite then.”

Turning to Yoongi, you don’t see a change in his face as he eyes the road. The veins in his arm catch all the streetlight, and you gulp before your gaze falls to what he made. Music fills the car, and you decide that maybe you do feel a little hungry. So you listen to instruction, popping it open and being careful as you pluck a piece to try.

There’s no denying it. This motherfucker is a chef. “Fuck, this is good.”

Your borderline moan sends Yoongi’s shoulders bobbing, and you will never get over those low, gravelly laughs. “Sorry.” Your hand hovers over your mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t react like that unless I’m alone.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well,” you swallow. “Course you don’t.”

A tiny peek of teeth show as Yoongi smiles, and you don’t expect what he offers next, “Just be you, doll. It’s just me.”

The next bite of food pauses on the way to your mouth. “Oh,” you murmur. “Same for you then.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Cus we wouldn’t make it to where we’re going.”

That was legitimately the worst time to put food in your mouth. Sputtering, your words come out low and chortled, “You fucker.”

His hisses are brief before he dips into silence again. As he slowly turns the wheel, you can see a glimpse of something deep in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologizes, swallowing as you keep your gaze.

What is that look? Weren’t you both just having a good time? “For what, baby?”

“Everything.”

Your lungs flinch. This is definitely not what you expected to hear on the way to wherever the hell you’re going. “Oh.”

Yoongi still doesn’t look your way, and with each pass of a light over his face, you catch quick snapshots of those eyes you’re still so shy of. “I, umm. I didn’t expect shit to pan out this way.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

After a slow motion of disagreement, his head falls forward just a bit. And your eyes find his hand clutching the gear shift in what you sadly think is frustration. “I’ve just thought about some things,” he starts, another song playing. “How worried you must’ve been.”

You look forward. Because this is the part where you can’t face him. “I was. But not for the same reason as last time.” Without a hesitation of your own, your palm reaches between your seats. And you can tell Yoongi watches as you take his hand to hold.

“I was worried about you,” you correct with softness. “It was hard because I didn’t know what to do.” Don’t fucking cry. You filled quite a few buckets already. “When you started not really saying much, I just… Hoped it was for a good reason, so. Yeah.”

You feel your hand gently pulled, which is already enough to make you melt. But when it’s kissed, you don’t know what the hell to fucking do.

“I’m sorry, doll,” Yoongi whispers into your skin, lips brushing with every syllable and painting a canvas of his reconcile. “I won’t leave you hanging like that again.”

There’s a tiny fire in the back of your throat, the embers reaching your eyes just a little too aggressively. You attempt to squash the growing flames before they flare. “Oh. Umm. Thank you.” What else do you say? Yoongi’s being wonderful, but why do you feel… sad? Why is there lingering snow on your windowsill? “Were you worried?”

“Me? Umm.” He stops at a light that he clearly didn’t want to stop at. Resting your conjoined hands on his pliant thigh, his jaw works as he observes them.

And you wonder if he thinks they slot together perfectly, too.

“…Yeah.”

Fuck. “About what?”

“That you’d hate me.”

Your heart meshes his fingers with yours. “Yoongi.”

“Or that you shouldn’t be with someone that’s gone this much.”

Fuck, he’s doing it again. Regressing. You’ve seen it happen in his kitchen and you’ll be damned if all that work, all that peeling, all that resolution amounted to nothing wait, wait, stop. This isn’t gonna be an overnight fix. And you have no clue what’s been happening, so just keep trying, trying, trying.

“I’m used to people leaving,” you joke, but not really. “Like seasons.”

He whips his head to you, and you backpedal because that probably sounded so random. You’ve got to think about filtering your thoughts a little more now that you’re getting comfortable. Yoongi says you can be yourself, sure, but you have to admit your quirks are a little out there. “I know it’s weird, but..”

He’s quiet as the light turns green. And when you don’t finish, he admits, “I think the same.”

“You do?”

Your hand is brushed as a hum peppers it from above. “Mmhmm.”

“Well.” That’s interesting. You didn’t know anyone thought about that stuff like you did. Now you wonder if there’s anywhere else your wavelengths sync, and if they’ve been syncing up all this time. “At least you come back.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand tight before he holds it against his lips. Again. Fuck, this is a lot. You’re so wrapped up in his gesture that you don’t catch what he whispers.

“Hmm?”

He glances at the center console before putting your hand back on his thigh.

“Always, doll.”

And the fire you stepped on rages back with a vengeance. Heat and sting surrounds your eyes, and you don’t hide how you press your feelings into his skin. “Me, too.”

If you weren’t lost in the surrounding scenery outside, you would have caught Yoongi’s look. But all you feel is his hand clutching you tight, and it breaks you down all the same.

The rest of the drive is spent with him telling you to eat more, and a bunch of your sing-alongs to almost every song that comes on. It seems like the tiny bit of closure opened you both up, and you don’t even realize that you’ve been on the road for a really long time.

But finally, Yoongi pulls up to a building, and you’re haphazardly rapping along to a song before you notice. Wait. What? He drove you to a rec center?

Your fingers curl around his forearm before you even notice. “What’s this?”

“Where we’re going.”

Hold on, you’re going inside? “Are we even allowed to be here?”

When Yoongi responds, his teeth make you shiver as he smirks. “Can’t say for sure, no.”

“Then why—”

He unlocks before you can finish, and you’re left in an empty car until he rounds the hood, coming over to your side and opening the door. You almost don’t hear what he says next, too focused on the jewelry swinging from his neck as he bends forward.

But you catch it, and glance once more at the sight in front of you before biting your lip—in nervousness or excitement, you can’t decide.

“You comin’?”

Damn. Obviously, you want nothing more than to see him here. And it’s much too late for anyone to be around. But if something happens… Whatever.

Your mouth finally unsticks. “If we get caught, you’re gonna pay for this.”

And you can’t resist his stupid grin. “Now get your pretty ass out before I put you in the back.”

“Yoongi!”

Grinning, he leads you out, and you follow him to the trunk. After bouncing his stowed ball a couple times, he decides to lean in and reach for something else.

Wait. Is that what you think it is? “Did you always have that in there?” you ask, pointing to the contraption that Yoongi’s using to air up his basketball.

And he does a horrible job at suppressing a smile. Which makes you burst into flutters and beats beats beats. “You liar!” Oh, you are gonna wipe those laughs from his throat. “I had to change up my plans because of you!”

Palming the ball, Yoongi tilts his head dangerously to one side. “And I got to see you,” he proudly claims. “So I’ll take it.”

You hate how the memories come packaged with what’s haunted you. What else happened during that time, and what happened after you left. But there’s no way you’re gonna bring that up. Not when the night has transformed into something so magical.

So you just clutch your food and lean on his car, opting to compliment him to wipe the murk away. “Got to see you, too,” you puff into the brisk night. Because you harbor a bit of nostalgia in your bones. And because he still makes you shy. “You and your stupid hair.”

Another bout of hisses wisp into your side. As you turn to regard Yoongi again, he slips his chains into his hoodie before continuing, and you swoon at the veins popping out of his skin with each pump.

How can he look so perfect doing the simplest things? So unfair.

After seconds that feel like an hour, Yoongi’s done. And he scans the parking lot before telling you to follow him.

What you expect is some outdoor courts. Maybe getting past a gate or two. So when you approach a back door lit by the shine of a single light, you freeze. “Are we really going in?”

Fishing something out of his pocket, Yoongi simply turns over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Oh.” You didn’t think you’d actually get inside the building. If there was an outside court just as accessible it would’ve made sense. Can you even bring food in here? Is that question even relevant? “No reason.”

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

“I’ve already done it a few times, so.”

“Wait!” Nerves throw your hand on his bicep before you can stop. “What if someone sees us?”

He’s so warm. And so toned. And if he plans on taking his hoodie off? You’re not prepared for whatever the hell he has underneath.

Voice softened, Yoongi tries to placate your paranoia, “They won’t, doll.”

“Are you sure? If we get caught here they’re gonna call the police and I am definitely not… Gonna…”

The object in his hand jangles, and you clearly see he was just joking the whole time because keys—keys—stare you in the face.

What is it with him and keys?

When Yoongi speaks, you feel like you’ve never done anything bad in your life, and suddenly the thought of trespassing with an official way in is so scandalous,

“You picked the wrong night to be a good girl.”

You have to admit. Seeing him so mischievous and dashing makes you wanna follow him wherever the hell he goes. Even if it gets you in trouble. Even if you were breaking in tonight, you would be all in. And that thought should frighten you, but it only does because of the wings tickling your rib cage.

How can he make you feel rebellious and yet still so shy? The power of Min Yoongi. He’s way too good at destroying you.

When you glare, the man only grins, hisses of laughter leaving him way too happily before he unlocks the door to no alarms or sirens. He doesn’t need to throw a wink your way, too, but of course he does as he lets you in. Which causes you to float through the dark entryway instead of walk oh he did not just slap your ass!

A jolt in your cunt causes you to regard him in shock. To which he hums in a feigned question. “Hmm?”

With nothing but darkness and his cologne surrounding you, it’s only natural that giddiness takes hold. Truthfully, you’re packed with so much adrenaline that you feel a little wild yourself. “You’ve been waiting to do that, huh.”

“So fucking long.”

You are not surviving the night. And you don’t give a single shit.

But as shy and out of control as you feel around this man, you also feel safe—even in a faraway, dark building that you’ve never been in before. That’s gotta say something about him, right?

Yoongi feels along the wall beside you for lights, purposefully bumping your chest with his front even though he’s securing a ball with an arm. When you question his joking decision with noises, a chaste kiss on your lips shuts you right up.

“You’re in the way,” he jokes through what you think is a smile, and you’re about to move when he flicks on a switch very far away from your shoulder.

Liar! Your jaw drop must be comical because Yoongi’s grin stretches astronomically wide. But you cannot find a retort because seeing him so chill while you’re stiff from paranoia has you at a loss.

Is this how he used to be all the time? This carefree, all caution to the wind? He’s so fucking handsome like this. No wonder he’s pulled so many hearts just like yours.

When you still don’t find any words to say, Yoongi makes it harder, stepping so close that you have to swing the plastic container away. Taking one of your hands in his free one, he gives it a warm squeeze while murmuring,

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

And Yoongi responds with lights in his eyes. “Just are.”

Your lips mesh with his as he keeps your fingers secured, and suddenly every cautious thing in your body gets launched into the skies, too.

But it ends as soon as it begins. And Yoongi backs away from you with a smile,

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

“Eat, doll,” he orders before turning and dribbling onto the court.

When you call out that he hasn’t eaten yet, Yoongi tells you that he already did. When you look around to figure out where to even sit, you decide on the closest set of bleachers and make yourself as comfortable as you can.

Which is impossible. Because they’re bleachers. Which is now triple impossible. Because Yoongi just shucked off his hoodie and the only thing he had under it was his chains goddamn it.

If you weren’t already sitting down you would’ve fallen right into the next dimension. How the fuck are you supposed to eat in these conditions shit he’s walking over!

Your throat seizes as Yoongi approaches, face trained as if he isn’t aware of his overwhelming presence. All he does is bend to place his sweater next to your legs. But the quick smooch on your lips makes you swoon harder than you ever have.

And the way his silver taps your chest makes you mentally hold on for dear life. Wait. What the fuck, Yoongi’s taking them off right now? Right in front of you? Just as you're supposed to eat oh okay he’s handing them to you great wonderful fantastic.

The metal links feel so warm yet slightly cold to the touch. Weighty, yet light. But you clutch them in your hand as you connect a gaze to his.

“Relax,” he orders, lightly slapping the side of your thigh. “No need to worry.”

And with bangs swishing, he goes right back to the ball waiting for him. Leaving you starry-eyed to hell with silver in your palm.

…Did all of that just happen? Is any of this even real? Quite frankly, you fucking forgot what you were even worried about.

No matter what he does—simple lay-ups standing in place, dribbling to different spots to shoot, or even lazily jogging after the ball—you’re so enthralled with his actions that you forget that you’re not supposed to be here.

And it takes your last bite of food for something to finally hit you. How does Yoongi have keys to this place? Where the hell did he score those because you don’t think he ever mentioned anything about working here. Or anywhere else other than the studio.

Yet another mystery to add to this walking, bare-chested enigma.

But there’s another question forming behind your eyes the longer you watch him practice, the more you notice how he’s actually going hard. Yoongi’s really good right now. A lot better than what you’ve seen of him before.

Has he been coming here more often than he’s let on? And why does he look so… serious? You’d be surprised if he even remembered you’re here.

Setting your empty container down, you gather the chains in your hands again, deciding to slip them over your head for safer keeping. After, you grab a water before stepping down the bleachers, hanging a little ways away until Yoongi notices you’re courtside.

And when he sees you, he stops practicing immediately, jogging to you so sweaty and shining and gross and handsome and— “Wait, you’re all swea—”

You’re pulled into a kiss the same time you hear a basketball drop, salt on your tongue and damp palms on your cheeks. And you melt right into the shiny wood floor, drifting, drifting, sailing into dreamland even though you’re technically already there.

“Sweaty,” you whisper into his hot breaths of exertion, a twinge between your legs when he kisses you even deeper—breathing, inhaling, taking you in. “Gross.”

“Thanks.”

You flash a smile against Yoongi’s lips, giggling because this is all better than anything your brain could’ve conjured on its own. When you ask why he’s going so hard, all you get is a question in return,

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

Huh? Blinking, you suddenly don’t remember your own train of thought. “What did I do?”

“Nothing.” He presses a wet mouth to your nose. “Did you eat?”

Laughing, you reassure him, “I did, I did.”

“Good. You bored?”

“Huh?”

Yoongi leans to softly take your lips this time, and you want to say he’s approaching the legal limit for kisses tonight. “Thought you came over cus you wanna leave.”

“And stop seeing you play? I could watch this forever.” You squeeze the water bottle a little tighter. “Just checking on you.” Another strike hits between your legs when Yoongi takes another, lazier glide over your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you forward by your bottoms, fingers slick from use.

You could do this for eternity, too.

“Well I got about five more minutes in me, so..”

This man.

“Forever might be a stretch.”

“Ah, shut up. Here,” you offer through a giggle, holding the water out for him to take.

“Thanks.” When he does, he tilts his head at just the right angle to cut you through, gulping down liquid and making you do the same to your nothingness.

So unfair. “You looked like you were going pretty hard.”

Lowering the bottle, Yoongi shifts his jaw before taunting something a ways off. “I kinda was.”

“It was kinda hot.”

His laugh makes you smile, and his next swig makes you weep. “Nah, but. This is our practice gym. I can just zone out here, so. It’s been one of those things.”

Ah. Was this one of the places Yoongi ended up during those months apart? You wish he could’ve brought you along sometimes. Or at least thought about asking. It’s nice just to be around him while he does something he likes. Gaining courage, you say exactly what’s on your mind, “You can always bring me, too. If you want.”

And it’s true. You don’t really have to do much when you’re with him, because just being around him is what brightens your day. Lifts your mood.

But you have to admit that watching him play basketball while shirtless is the biggest fucking win in history.

When did Yoongi get so close? When did his eyes retreat so far away? “I didn’t wanna bother you with this,” he admits, a drop of sweat clinging onto his chin. “I don’t even put music on.”

“You never bother me,” you whisper back. Hoping that he believes you and that he will start to accept that as fact. Because it is. “Even if you’re being annoying.”

The bottle crinkles as he smiles, and there’s a soft kiss to your lips that has no real desire behind it. Just a nice peck that sends you careening down a hill of flowers. “You won’t be feeling that way tomorrow, babe.”

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.”

And he says that while half-naked? Like any look on him could get any worse. “Oh,” you scoff out, fully calling his bluff. “As if.”

Well, fuck. You don’t enjoy the smirk plastered on his face. It has you both dreading and excited for whatever demon you’re gonna run into tomorrow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shrugs as he starts to hand the water back. “We can go soon, by the way.”

“Okay.”

But before you can grab it, Yoongi pulls the bottle from reach. “Unless,” he teases. “You wanna play me.”

“What.”

His grin shines, face glistening and turning your insides to jelly. “You told me you’d win, so. Let’s see it.”

You said that? While sober? How does he remember something like that when you can’t even recall a time or place you’d tell him something so bold. “When!”

“Right after you woke up once. Said you’re a master?”

Oh. That was ages ago. Fuck, you already forgot how did Yoongi remember?

“Oh. Well.” Your nose turns up in feigned haughtiness. “Wouldn’t wanna throw you off your game before a championship.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!”

Water spills down your head in rivulets as you freeze, stunned and watching Yoongi jogging his laughs back to the bleachers like a punk. “Think you got something on your face, doll.”

“Yoongi!” What the hell possessed him to do that to you here? Racing after him with purpose, you slam into him just as he reaches for another bottle, shoving a laugh out of his throat and making him catch himself on hardwood. “Nu uh, gimme that!”

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

“Bitch!” You lunge for another bottle lying further away, distancing yourself to quickly rip the cap off and to avoid feeling his slick back on your hands.

And it’s a lawless gym as both of you start spraying water, arcs and splashes of bottled liquid spewing over the court and soaking into your clothes and his bare skin. Which proves to get worse and worse for your wellbeing the more he gets soaked in your attacks.

Running ends up being the only option to avoid getting completely drenched, and you hightail it behind bleachers before your waist is grabbed. “Fuck!”

“Uh huh.”

You try to wrestle out of his hold, his wet forearm digging lovely into your stomach, and you’re temporarily let go just so Yoongi can spin you around.

Your back connects with solid wall, the impact shooting a grunt out of your throat before you laugh out of pure disbelief. “I can’t believe, you got me to do that,” you rush out, sentence punctuated by your breaths more than anything else.

Here you are. Under bleachers. With Yoongi’s skin caging you with radiating heat.

You can only stare as he drinks you in, no doubt looking at his silver around your neck and your chest heaving from exertion. Butterflies float across your stomach when his smile drips, and you fold as soon as he swoops in.

Everything in your being pulses hard. It’s so visceral that you teeter on the edge of sanity and logic, and the thoughts slipping through your mind are just as wild as you feel. Before you’re even aware of it, a mischievous finger slides along the hem of his shorts, and you jump at the downright boulders rolling down your front,

“Careful, doll.”

“Hmm?” You feel bad. And it feels fantastic. “What was that?”

More gravel slides down his tongue, and you shake at his attractive as fuck threat, “Fuck around and find out then.”

Your giggles add feather lightness into his murky laughs, but you’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice his hand between your legs until he slaps the inside of your thigh. “Yoo—!”

“Unless.” He leans forward. “My baby’s too scared.”

Holy fuck, you might be. Is he really willing to do something with you? In a public place very similar to where you’re gonna watch him play tomorrow? You don’t know why the fuck that’s attractive as hell, but it is.

Yoongi grips your chin, eyes falling to your lips and brows knitted before claiming your lips even harder. And despite your bones vibrating to hell, you put your all into the kiss, relishing in the growing hardness you feel against your front. An animal starts to wake inside your core, and you almost feel like stroking it. Feeding it. Raising it only for it to consume you in return.

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.”

“Huh?” Dazed, you let your vision refocus as Yoongi chuckles at your hazy state.

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.”

For some reason, the game makes you nervous today. Even while Taehyung strides into the gymnasium with you, there’s a lingering feeling swelling in your stomach, and you don’t have any reason for it yet.

At least this is another rec center entirely. Because there’s no way you would’ve sat still knowing you had a clandestine meeting in the same place not even twenty-four hours before.

But the activity already bustling around hardwood catches your attention. Not on both sides, since only one team is here, but they are active on the other end doing drills.

Wow. They look really intimidating, matching jerseys that were clearly done professionally and warm-ups having a set routine. You wonder if this is gonna be a tough game for… Wait. That’s your brother under the basket. That’s them?

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

Because you’ll already never get over how attractive he looks in athletic clothes.

But team jerseys?

Seeing this man rock a basketball uniform with his toned arms and legs so visible makes you want to claw your way out of your invisible cage.

When the hell did they even get those? And why is he already slightly drenched during the warm-up alone?

As soon as you see him make a lay-up, you know for a fact that you shouldn’t be here.

Yes, you’re gonna stay and yes, you’re gonna cheer for them all game. But you are absolutely gonna feel like jumping him, which will in turn make you wanna bolt and run all the way out of town every agonizing second.

Shit, shit, shit. You’re gonna have to try your damned hardest to unstick your eyes from that man the whole time. Already, you can hear Taehyung’s teasing, and your groan is to lament your future state.

Your name suddenly rings across the gym, and four feet pause in your ascent up the bleachers. When you catch both him and Jimin waving you down from their courtside chairs, you tilt your head in intrigue.

They want you to come over there? What the hell is this about?

Sighing, you turn. “Guess I’ll go see what they want.”

“Here,” Tae offers his hand. “I’ll save you a seat.”

Your bag is transferred to his grip while you nod, and you step down onto the court, wondering if you’re even allowed to walk onto it to see them. And Jimin’s grin can be seen from miles away. “Come here!”

You gingerly step onto shiny wooden floors, making your way over and becoming hyper aware that someone else notices your presence. But you’re so puzzled as to why there’s no one on the other side of the court yet because isn’t the game about to start?

Where’s the other team? As you approach their row of chairs, your hands immediately find your hips. “What’s up?”

Jimin’s eyes stay creased as your brother explains the reason he waved you down. A very stupid, very innocuous reason. “Can you keep score?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why me?”

Your brother uses his jersey to wipe sweat from his brow, and you wince at the brand new material getting gross already. “The girl that usually does it for us is sick.”

“And you know the game,” Jimin quickly tacks on, rubbing at some tattoos on full display. Wait, are there more than you remember? When did he get more ink?

Your sibling asks another question you had in mind, “You aren’t gonna cover those?”

“Nah. Not today,” the man elongates in a stretch. “Just got another one. This one!”

Ah, you were right. “I like it.”

Jimin couldn’t look more proud. But enough of that because you really just wanna go back and observe the game from another place entirely. “Can’t y’all find someone else to keep score?”

“We don’t think anyone else can,” your brother explains, looking over your shoulder. “At least, not the people coming to watch us.”

Cool. You get to be met with heat and sweat from all these guys without compensation. How is this something you would say yes to? “Well. I don’t really feel like being a scorekeeper for free.”

When your sibling laughs with Jimin, they share a look before he says so matter-of-factly, “Told you.”

You’re sticking with that. If you’re gonna sit next to a bunch of smelly people, they’re gonna pay… you… somehow.

A ways down the row, you catch Yoongi dumping himself onto a random chair, head tilted back before he hangs it forward to wipe sweat from his forehead.

And suddenly this temporary gig doesn’t seem terrible in the slightest.

Because one, you can sit on a team bench that will have his fine ass right there. And two, this will give you a way to objectively focus on the game. You won’t have time to be distracted by a demon and his hair that’s gotten criminally long.

“I’ll get us all dinner,” your sibling slices through your thoughts. “After we win.”

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the end seat and shooting one more glance to the other side of the court. “Then I get to p—”

The air around you squeezes inward. And all sounds plunge underwater.

Because you recognize someone you knew from a dark club walking onto the court, his team looking just as sharp and cocky as his eyes.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You don’t notice the way Jimin’s hands flex, nor the way a familiar presence walks up to join your brother.

All you can do is stare back.

And without even realizing.

You’re already rubbing your arm.

tbc. :((

a ha ha... so how do we feel? | taglist | discord!

a/n: okay, hello, loves. apologies this part took so damn long to post! can you imagine if i tried to post everything at once LMAOO yikes talk about too much at once. but i hope this part was enough to still be good on its own, and broken, pt. 2 will be... well. you can probably guess that's where a majority of my brainpower is going to go. a/n 2: thank you all for being here! it's been an amazing two years working on this series and i cannot tell you how grateful and appreciative i am to have such wonderful people alongside me. i hope this series continues to be there for you when you need it, bc it has become that for me, too. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

#ITS FINALLY HEREEE #SHEESH #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts reactions #filter for fics:#*ryenfictalk #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #three tangerines #3tan11 #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #btsfic #*latest #ryenwrites

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yokumirumerafan · 1 month ago

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MHA x reader

Hey, I wanna try to make up for the days I didn't post so today expect a lot from me :>

Random MHA x reader hcs :))

𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨 1-𝘼 𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙨 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Midoriya Izuku

He’s the type to remember every little thing about you. Favorite color? Favorite snack? The way you like your tea? He’s taking mental notes.

If you ever doubt yourself, he’ll hype you up with facts. “You’ve improved by 23% since last month! You’re amazing!!”

Sometimes he zones out while looking at you and then panics when you catch him.

Bakugo Katsuki

He’s the “tough love” type. He’ll yell at you to take care of yourself while shoving water and food in your hands.

If you’re cold, he just grabs your hands without saying anything and warms them up with his quirk.

Once, Kaminari teased him about being whipped and Bakugo chased him around U.A. for 15 minutes.

Todoroki Shoto

The type to share his food with you without thinking twice. Half a soba noodle hanging from his mouth? He’ll just let you bite the other end.

His texts are either super dry (“ok.”) or randomly poetic (“The moon reminds me of your eyes.”)

He loves when you run your hands through his hair. He just melts.

Kirishima Eijiro

Absolutely carries you when you’re tired. No arguments. He just throws you over his shoulder.

Gets so excited when you compliment his strength. “You think I’m strong?! Ah, babe, you’re making me blush!”

If he sees you upset, expect bear hugs that last way too long.

Kaminari Denki

Will flirt with you like you’re strangers. “Hey, cutie, got a number?” (It’s his 100th time doing it. You still laugh.)

Always steals your phone to take the most ridiculous selfies.

He melts when you scratch his head. He’ll literally nuzzle into your hand like a cat.

Sero Hanta

The best at planning dates. He’ll take you to underrated cafes or secret rooftop spots with great views.

If you ask for a piece of his gum, he’ll just hand-feed you without thinking.

Loves to wrap his tape around your wrists and pull you close just to fluster you.

Tokoyami Fumikage

Writes poetry about you but never shows you. Dark Shadow threatens to expose it.

He acts calm and cool, but if you grab his hand? He short-circuits.

Loves sitting in quiet places with you, reading or just existing together.

Shoji Mezo

Super gentle with you despite his size. If you ever fall asleep near him, he’ll carry you somewhere comfy without waking you.

Loves forehead kisses but gets flustered when you do it in public.

If you’re ever nervous, he’ll just wrap you in his extra arms for comfort.

Ojiro Mashirao

Will instinctively wrap his tail around your waist to pull you closer.

Blushes so easily. Compliment his muscles? He turns pink and stutters.

If he catches you staring at his tail, he’ll wag it at you teasingly.

Iida Tenya

Wakes up before you just so he can prepare a full breakfast (with a detailed nutritional breakdown).

Loves holding your hand but always insists on proper posture while walking together.

If you’re ever running late, he’ll literally carry you bridal style to get there on time.

Aoyama Yuga

Over-the-top romantic. He writes love notes, leaves gifts, and winks dramatically.

If you ever feel down, he strikes a dramatic pose and says, “Mon amour, your beauty could end wars!”

Surprisingly gives the best fashion advice.

𝙋𝙧𝙤 𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Hawks

Calls you nicknames like “Doll” and “Baby Bird.”

Steals your food all the time. “You weren’t gonna finish that, right?” (You were.)

Loves to wrap his wings around you like a blanket.

Endeavor

Awkward at emotions but very protective. Will glare at anyone who looks at you wrong.

He secretly enjoys it when you fix his tie for him.

Has zero clue how to flirt. Just nods when you compliment him.

Aizawa

If you fall asleep on his couch, he’ll throw a blanket over you and act like it never happened.

Pretends to be emotionless, but you caught him smiling once and he denied it.

Loves lazy mornings where you both just lay in bed.

Fat Gum

The best cuddle partner. It’s like hugging a human pillow.

Always buys you food and shares it.

If you’re sad, he’ll tell you jokes until you smile.

Mirko

Loves roughhousing with you. Playfights turn into wrestling matches.

If someone flirts with you, she throws her arm around your shoulders and glares.

Calls you “babe” in the most casual way.

𝙑𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Shigaraki Tomura

Obsessive. He hates when you leave for too long.

If you sit in his lap while he plays games, he literally can’t focus.

He low-key loves cuddles but will never admit it.

Dabi

Over-the-top flirt. “If you’re looking for trouble, babe, I’m right here.”

If you steal his jacket, he just smirks and lets you keep it.

He teases you constantly but gets jealous so easily.

Twice

Clingy as hell. Will literally hold your hand even while sleeping.

He’ll talk to himself about you like: “I LOVE THEM—NO, THAT’S TOO FORWARD—SHUT UP, JUST SAY IT.”

Big on forehead kisses.

Toga

Always tells you how cute you are. Constant compliments.

“Can I have some of your blood?” (She’s joking. Maybe.)

Loves nuzzling into your neck.

Spinner

Blushes so much when you kiss him.

Will happily carry you if you ever get tired.

If you call him cool, he gets flustered for days.

Mr. Compress

Will do magic tricks just to impress you.

Super smooth flirt, but melts when you flirt back.

“For my next trick, I’ll make your worries disappear.”

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semisasseater · 3 months ago

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But I'm overwhelmed with jealousy

Jealous! Se-mi x fem! reader

Summary: jealous gf se-mi headcannons!

Tw: jealous, possessive, aggression, intimation, killing/sabotaging players (didn’t get into detail), light hearted threats, se-mi is down BAD, se-mi wants readers attention, physical touch, humor + exaggeration (the kid part.) swearing and snarky remarks.. (kinda?) let me know if i missed anything!

authors note: can you see this is an enhypen reference? (the name of the fic and the pictures used..) dyk i actually name all my fics after my favorite artists (enhypen, illit, and ariana grande?!) also im gonna cry i miss my wife gabby but she’s doing SCHOOL. gonna sob

Not proofread!

Word count: 531

Jealous! Se-mi x Reader Headcanons

• Se-mi isn’t the type to openly admit she’s jealous, but the moment she feels threatened, her entire demeanor changes. Her eyes darken, her body stiffens, and her jaw clenches ever so slightly.

• She has a sharp resting glare, so sometimes people don’t even realize she’s fuming with jealousy—until she makes a snarky remark under her breath.

• If she sees someone getting too comfortable around you, she’ll silently step closer, standing just a little too protectively beside you, as if she’s reminding them who you belong to.

When a Kid Compliments You:

• You two were just casually walking down the street when a little kid looked up at you and innocently said, “Wow! You’re really pretty!”

• Before you could even react, you felt the air change—Se-mi went completely silent.

• You turned to see her standing still, her eyes darkened, lips pressed into a thin line. Instant panic.

• “Oh nononono, Se-mi! You’re not gonna hurt the child—he just complimented me!” you blurted out, quickly stepping in front of her.

• She scoffed, shaking her head. “You think I’d actually fight a kid?”

• …You weren’t sure. Because the way she was looking at that child made you think she just might.

• The poor kid, oblivious to the tension, just giggled and ran off. Meanwhile, you spent the next five minutes calming Se-mi down, reassuring her that even toddlers weren’t competition for her.

When Another Player Flirts With You in the Game:

• Se-mi is not subtle when another player tries flirting with you.

• She immediately steps between you and them, fixing them with a cold, unreadable stare.

• “Keep your eyes on the game, not my girlfriend” she says flatly scaring the other player away.

• If they don’t get the message, she doesn’t mind “accidentally” knocking into them during red light green light or making their life slightly more difficult.

• One time, Player 230 “jokingly” said, “Damn, Y/N, if we make it out of here, you should go on a date with me instead.”

• Se-mi didn’t say a word—she just gave him a look that made him rethink and question what he said then he takes what he said back.

Random Moments of Jealousy:

• Eye Contact? Nope. If someone so much as stares at you too long, Se-mi will stare back—until they get so uncomfortable they look away first.

• Physical Touch? Absolutely Not. If someone puts a hand on your shoulder or leans in too close, she’ll immediately pull you toward her with zero hesitation.

• Possessive Gestures. She often rests her hand on your waist, gives you her jacket, or calls you “mine” loud enough for others to hear.

• When she’s feeling particularly territorial, she’ll kiss you in front of others—just to make it crystal clear who you belong to.

When You Reassure Her:

• Sometimes, her jealousy is unreasonable, and you know it.

• “Se-mi, do you really think I’d leave you for a random stranger?”

• She crosses her arms and looks away, muttering, “I don’t like people thinking they have a chance.”

• You can’t help but smile and grab her hand, pulling her close.

• “You’re the only one for me, dummy.”

• She doesn’t respond, but you see the corner of her lips twitch—and that’s how you know she’s secretly pleased.

Overall:

• Se-mi is undeniably protective and territorial, but she trusts you enough not to lash out unless absolutely necessary.

• She won’t always voice her jealousy, but she’ll make sure everyone knows you’re hers in one way or another.

• Despite her sharp and intimidating nature, she secretly just wants reassurance that you love her as much as she loves you.

• And honestly? You think it’s kinda cute—as long as she doesn’t actually try to start a fight with a child again.

@semisasseater

#lesbian #player 380 #player 380 x reader #lgbtq #se-mi squid game #se-mi x reader #squid game fanfic #squid games #wlw #se mi squid game #squid games fanfiction #squid game #squid games 2 #x reader #squid games fluff #won ji an #wonjian #🫐𓏵﹕ 𝐌𝐄𝐈 ˎˊ˗₊˚ 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬

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enhas-pov · 7 months ago

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mean girl & the nerd

summary: everyone knows reader as the popular mean girl. she’s always seen making fun of people with her friends (aka minions) but someone who she loves making fun of in particular is choi soobin, the shy nerdy (rumored to be a perv) guy.

warnings: bullying(?), smoking, making out, teasing, smut, unprotected sex, cockwarming, slut shaming, reader is older than soobin, usage of “noona”

word count: 4.8k

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gosh i wonder how long this teacher could go on for. i’m sat in math class (the worst subject ever) next to my best friend, karina. i’m not paying any attention to what the teacher is saying and neither is she. she’s too busy fixing up her makeup while i’m sat here slowly dying of boredom. i was about to ask for permission to go to the bathroom so i could smoke, but that was before i realized that choi soobin was sat right in front of me.

of course he was paying attention to the teacher and writing down notes, fucking nerd. i rip a piece of paper out of my notebook and grab my pen. i write down a simple “meet me in the bathroom” before curling up the paper in my hands and throwing it at the back of his head. he brings his hand up to the back of his head before turning around in his chair to face me. his hair is hanging over his face, and he’s wearing those cute black glasses that i seem to like so much on him. i give him a small smile and wave at him before pointing at the piece of paper i threw at him. “open it” i mouth, and in return i get a confused bunny look from him.

i’m not gonna lie, i pick on soobin a lot. why? i think he’s kinda cute. he can be annoying sometimes in class when he’s being all smart and shit, but besides that he’s got a pretty face and a nice body. i’m actually kinda shocked he’s a loner that gets absolutely zero attention from any girl. maybe he really is a pervert after all, that’s what everyone says about him.

i raise my hand in the air as soobin is opening the note. “may i go to the bathroom, miss?” once i got the teacher’s permission to leave the classroom, i get up from my seat. walking away, i can feel soobin’s eyes on me. i know he’s gonna follow me, he always does, and i can’t help but to like the way he follows me around like a lost puppy.

i lean against the sink to the girls bathroom as i inhale the smoke from the cigarette that’s in between my lips. i turn my head to the side when i hear the door opening, revealing soobin who’s walking in looking all shy and nervous. “choi soobin? what are you doing in the girls bathroom?” i throw a bit of sarcasm at him since i love the reactions i always get from him. “i- the note..” he stutters while his eyes are looking down at his feet. “why do people call you a pervert? hm?” i ask, watching him shrug his shoulders. i put my cigarette out before walking over to him and grabbing him by his collar earning a shocked reaction from him. i drag him to one of the stalls before throwing him in and locking the door behind us.

“i think i know why” i push him up against the wall making him whimper as he squeezed his eyes shut. “you’re not gonna look at me? how disrespectful..” i scoff, bringing my hands up his chest. i couldn’t help but smile when i felt his body shiver at the touch of my hands. i looked up at him to see that his eyes were open, all though he wasn’t looking at my face.

i remove one my hands from his chest to grab his. he furrows his eyebrows when i help move his hands up to my chest, placing each hand on each one of my boobs. “play with them” i say which finally made him look down at me. “w-what?” his eyes widened at my words, his glasses falling down to the tip of his nose. “i didn’t wear a bra today, you know why?” i ask, cocking my head at him. he shook his head, his hands that were placed on my boobs were slightly shaking, i could tell he had no idea what to do or how to play with them.

i stand up on my tiptoes to reach his level, leaning in so that my lips were brushing against his ear lobe. soobin was also incredibly tall which made him a lot more attractive. “for you” i whispered against his ear. “i didn’t wear a bra for you today, bunny” when i felt his shaky breath against my neck, it sent a shiver down my spine which had never happened to me before. whenever i would tease soobin, it’d never affect me. why was it now so suddenly?

his hands that were completely frozen and placed on my boobs were now slowly moving. i moaned in his ear on purpose when his thumbs brushed against my nipples, and i was kinda surprised when i earned a moan back from him. i leaned away from his ear to look him in his eyes, but he quickly looked up at the ceiling. “do i make you nervous?” i ask, bringing my hands up to cup his face. he bit down on his lip to muffle his moans while his hands started squeezing my breasts and moving them around in a circular motion. i let out a sigh, my hand traveling down from his face all the way down to his hardened bulge. he let out a gasp when my hand brushed against his member. “i asked you a question, bunny. do i make you nervous?” i look up at him with my doe eyes, finally making eye contact with him when he decides to look down at me.

“y-yes, noona” he stutters once again. he’s so cute when he calls me noona. “you’re really cute.. you know?” i slowly start palming his bulge through his school uniform, his mouth hanging open while he throws his head back against the wall. the grip he still has on my breasts tightens the more i rub him. “do you want more?” i ask him, leaning towards his face so that our lips are almost touching. “mhm!” he whimpers, attempting to kiss me before i pull back, but not too far so that we’re still close enough.

“do you want to feel more of me? or do you want me to feel more of you?” i place a small kiss on the corner of his lips before kissing a trail from his ear, below his his jawline and down to his neck. i felt him leaning into me and the kisses i was giving him, like he wanted more. “both.. b-both. i want both! noona, please..” i smiled against his neck when he started begged and crying while being a moaning mess. it was humiliating if i’m gonna be honest, but i enjoyed every bit of it. out of nowhere he pinched both of my nipples making me moan along with him.

“shit..” i curse under my breath. what was he doing to me? i take a few steps back, completely pulling myself away from him, leaving him confused and wanting more. “why’d you stop..?” he asked, panting while his chest rose up and down at a quick pace. “it’s lunch and i’m hungry. see you later, bunny” i smile at him before unlocking the door to the bathroom stall and walking away.

“i don’t get it..” karina says, looking down at the sheet of paper in front of her. we took a math test not that long ago, and while i was busy in the bathroom with soobin, everyone got their results in. “no way you got 30%” wonyoung laughs, waving her test that says “85%” in front of karina’s face. “shut up.. it was difficult” karina mumbles. “no it wasn’t. you’re just a bimbo” i say, playing around with my food that looks very unappetizing. “you guys are mean-“

“hey, look” wonyoung cuts karina off, pointing at a guy who’s sat alone at one of the lunch tables. “soobin is such a loser” karina laughs at him. “at least he’s smart” i hear karina gasp and wonyoung laugh before i get up from my seat, “come on” i order them. walking over to soobin who’s sat alone along with my friends, i sit down on top of the table in front of him, karina takes a seat right next to him and wonyoung is stood behind him. (basically caging him in) he looks up from his food, looking around at the three of us stood around him. he paused, not knowing what to do while having that cute confused look on his face.

“enjoying your lunch?” wonyoung asks him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “what do you look like without these” karina brought her hands up to his face and took his glasses off. he tried to grab them from her, but she was quick to pull away while laughing at him. he lowered his head looking real embarrassed and i couldn’t help but to feel kinda pissed off. watching my friends make fun of him, it made me feel kinda.. jealous? i don’t know why. it’s okay if i make fun of him since that’s just different, but i didn’t like how they were the ones bothering him.

i reached my hand out, grabbing soobin’s glasses out of karina’s hands. i grabbed soobin by his chin, tilting his head up so he’d look at me. i placed his glasses back on his face and felt my heart skip a beat when he gave me a small smile. i could feel karina and wonyoung’s eyes on me, like i was being judged by them but i couldn’t care less. “___?” i looked up at wonyoung who called my name, realizing soobin and i had been looking at each other for a long second. “yeah, whatever. let’s go” i get off the table, giving soobin a quick look who still hasn’t taken his eyes off me. “but, what about-“ “are you fucking dense? i said let’s go” i curse at karina who instantly got up from the chair she was sat in, following me out of the cafeteria along with wonyoung.

“fuck me..” i whisper to myself, looking down at my test score that says “40%” how did i score so low? i was so confident i did good. “who’s the bimbo now?” karina laughs, all though her smile drops when i throw her a glare. “jeez..” she mumbles. “___ and karina, i suggest you get yourselves a tutor unless you want to fail” fail? i can’t fail. “i can tutor them” i hear wonyoung say from across the classroom. “that would be great-“

“actually, miss. soobin offered to tutor me already, is that okay?” soobin turned around quietly looking at me more dazed than ever. of course he didn’t offer to tutor me, but i wanted to spend more time with him alone. “of course. i think that would help you a lot since soobin scored 100%. right, soobin?” the teacher asks, looking over at soobin who doesn’t know what to say. “y-yes, miss” he stutters. i love how he never says no to me, it makes me want him even more. “okay everyone that’s it for today, i’ll see you all on monday”

once the teacher and most of the students had left the classroom, i got up from my chair and walked over to soobin who was packing all of his stuff up. “my place?” i ask, tilting my head at him. he looks up at me and slightly nods, it was obvious he was nervous about coming over to my place. “i’ll see you then, bunny” i look around to make sure no one was looking before giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. i giggled a bit when he looked away fast, covering his face when his cheeks turned red.

i looked at myself in the mirror, eyeing my own body in probably the most sluttiest pajamas ever. did i wear them on purpose because soobin is coming over to tutor me? of course not. my ass and tits were practically hanging out while my whole stomach was revealed. if my strict ass parents were home they’d kill me for being in my “underwear”.

i tried to hide back a smile when i heard the door bell ringing. i quickly left my room and made my way down the stairs, rushing over to the front door. i opened the door to reveal a unexpectedly hot soobin. he was wearing grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt that stuck to his torso. what the fuck? i was the one who was supposed to be seducing him. but instead i’m the one who’s drooling over him. well, kinda..

soobin was definitely drooling over me as well. don’t think i missed the way his eyes instantly dropped down to my tits the second i opened the door. he was just stood there looking hotter than ever, holding his books and wearing his cute glasses while staring at my tits. “are you just gonna stand there?” i ask him, slightly moving to the side so he could make his way inside. “r-right. sorry” after he walked past me, i shut the door behind me and grabbed him by his bicep which took him off guard. i walked him towards the stairs and lead him up to my room.

“are your parents not here?” he asked, sitting down on my bed right next to me. “nope. they’re always on work trips and stuff, but i’m glad they’re not here” i placed my hand on his thigh dangerously close to his bulge. he nervously looked down at my hand before clearing his throat. “y-you’re struggling with math.. right?”

“uhuh. math sucks” i removed my hand from his thigh and leaned back against my pillows. my only view now was his back. “i think math is fun” he said, looking through the books he had brought with him. “that’s because you’re a nerd, choi soobin” he didn’t say anything back to me, like he was embarrassed of being a nerd or something. “don’t worry about it. i like that about you” i said, moving closer to his back that was facing me. i placed my hand on his bicep before placing my chin on his shoulder, looking down at the books along with him.

the second he felt my touch, he stopped turning the pages when his hand paused. i heard his breath hitch, and he swallowed nervously when my hand started tracing up and down his bicep. i used my other hand to point at something random in the book, “what does that mean?” i ask, turning my head slightly to look at him. “i-it’s.. uhm-“ i had leaned in closer and placed a soft kiss on his neck, stopping him from answering any kind of question i ask him. he get’s way too nervous and shy, it’s cute. “it’s what?” i question, watching his lips tremble slightly at my touch. “to find the critical points, you need to compute the first derivative of ( P(x) ). P’(x) equals \frac{d}{dx}(2x^3 minus 6x^2 plus 4x minus 12-“

what the fuck was he on about? i definitely needed an explanation for the explanation, but i had a better idea in mind. “bunny..” i said, reaching my hand out to close the book that was in front of him. “y-yeah?” he turned his head to meet my mine that was resting on his shoulder. i looked him in his eyes before leaning in slowly, placing a kiss on his lips. soobin didn’t kiss me back right away and i could tell it was because he was in disbelief. i pulled away before he could even get the chance to react. i watched him open his eyes that he shut closed when i had kissed him. now he wouldn’t take his eyes off mine, and i couldn’t bother to tear mine off his either. i could feel my heart beating faster the longer we maintained eye contact.

i broke the eye contact by turning my attention to the books again. i brought my hand out, using it to push the books to the side causing them to fall off my bed. his eyes followed my every move when i moved around him, so instead of sitting behind him—i was now sat in front of him. facing each other, i moved in closer and sat myself down on his lap.

“i think.. maybe we should study later?” i tilted my head a little, tracing my fingers up and down his chest. i tried not to show a stunned reaction when i felt his literally—hard rock abs against the tip of my fingers. “i-i don’t understand.. i thought i was here for- to tutor you..?” i held back a smile when he struggled to get his words out. fuck, it actually turned me on at how nervous i made him. “you are. we’re simply just taking a break” my hand travelled down to the hem of his t-shirt before going underneath it, placing my whole hand on his abs.

his breath hitched when my cold hand touched his stomach. “b-but we barley even started..”that didn’t stop him from placing both his hands on my hips, pulling me in closer to him if that was even possible. “i know, bunny. but i’ve been waiting for this for so long. need you..” i swear i almost choked on my own words when his hands moved down to grip my ass harshly. “need you t-too..” he mumbled, shyly hiding his face in my neck. holy shit. “mmm.. do you now?” i began slowly grinding myself down on his bulge that was already hardened the second he had stepped into my house. “f-fuck.. yes, noona” he moaned quietly against my neck. soobin cursing was not something you’d hear often, it was kinda hot.

he let out a whine when i suddenly stopped my movements. i pulled away slightly, bringing my hands down to the waistband of his sweatpants before pulling it down far enough so that his dick sprang free. oh, soobin was huge. i knew he was big when i felt him through his pants, but i did not expect him to be this fucking big.. his tip was touching his stomach, red and angry leaking with pre-cum. i looked up at him to see him with his head thrown back while trying his best not to make a sound. if i’m gonna be honest, i was confident when grinding myself down on him, but now i’m kinda nervous.. i don’t think i’m gonna be able to take him.

“binnie.. why didn’t you tell me you were this big?” i pout, watching him throw me a quick glance before turning his head to the side. was he embarrassed of how big he was? “i-i’m sorry..” he murmured before squeezing his eyes shut to avoid any and all eye contact with me. “please look at me” i placed my hand on his chin, moving his head towards mine so he’d face me. he slowly opened his eyes, his gaze instantly meeting mine. “i don’t know if i’ll be able to take you-“

“please! i-i’ll make you feel good.. i promise! i need to be inside you, noona. p-please?” i was stunned at how desperate he was. so desperate he cut me off so he could beg and cry for his dick to be inside of me. “okay my bunny. i trust you’ll make me feel good” he nodded repeatedly while his eyes followed my hand that went down to his cock. i gave him a few strokes, listening to his whiny voice that was craving for my pussy. i used my other hand to pull my shorts along with my panties to the side, lining his dick up against my entrance. i took a deep breath, preparing myself for the amount of pain i was about to feel right now. don’t get me wrong, i was incredibly wet for soobin right now but it was obviously still gonna hurt, considering i hadn’t even prepped myself for his giant cock.

i let out a yelp the second his tip entered me. yes, just his tip.. soobin on the other hand was groaning while his hands gripped tightly at my ass. “you feel so good.. i-im sorry.. am i hurting you, noona?” he let out a whimper, brushing his lips against mine. i shook my head not wanting him to worry, quickly going back to focusing on the fact that he wasn’t even half way inside. i placed my hands on his shoulders for support, controlling my breathing as i forced myself to sink further down on him. thankfully, i was wet enough and his cock slipped right in. i was now sat there, cockwarming him while i was adjusting to his size.

i looked up at soobin who was staring down at me, desperately wanting me to make some sort of movement. i leaned in closer to him, pressing my lips against his. he moaned into the kiss, a moan that i happily swallowed. i brought my hands up to the back of his head and tugged on the strands of his hair, while his hands were massaging my ass cheeks. as we were making out, i realized that this felt a lot different. this didn’t feel like some random hook up, it felt like we were doing this with feelings? i don’t know how to explain it, but all i can say is that to me, soobin isn’t too bad after all. i know it sounds stupid, knowing i kinda bullied him and all. but i’m thinking that all this time when i’d make fun of him, it was really just because i felt something for him..? whatever, not like i was gonna let him know i felt this way anyway..

“okay, break’s over” soobin hummed in confusion with his eyebrows furrowed when i pulled away from the kiss. still sat on his dick, i leaned down a little to pick up one of the books from the floor which caused a movement that made soobin let out a soft moan. “here” i handed him the book that he slowly grabbed out of my hand, still with a confused expression on his face. “i thought we were gonna.. y-you know..” the poor boy was so cute and shy he couldn’t even bring himself to say the word sex. “have sex?” i asked, tilting my head to the side. he nodded shyly at my question, very eager to fuck me.

“right now, you need to tutor me. can you do that bunny? without getting distracted?” he bit down on his lip, him and i both knowing he wouldn’t be able to tutor me properly with me cockwarming his needy dick. “y-yes” he blurted out, eyes moving down to the book in his hands. “uhm.. calculus. it’s a branch of mathematics that deals with rates of change, differential calculus, and the accumulation of..” i wasn’t paying attention to a single word he was saying, i was just using this as a way to tease him. i held back a smile before clenching around him, causing him to stop mid-sentence with a whimper.

“i’m listenting..” i said, signaling for him to go back to talking about whatever he was trying to teach me. soobin was hesitant at first, he definitely knew what i was doing but he listened to me anyway and went right back to tutoring me. “t-the main concepts in calculus are limits, derivatives and integrals. a limit is a fundamental concept that helps us understand how..” i hummed, pretending to listen to what he was saying before slowly starting to roll my hips. soobin hissed before closing the book and tossing it. “what’s wrong baby? are we moving onto the next subject already-“

without a warning, soobin unexpectedly flipped us over. my eyes widened in shock when he grabbed both of my hands with just one of his, pinning them above my head and me down onto the bed. i was completely caught off guard by his actions considering soobin was not the kind of guy to take control. he always let me treat him like he was my bitch, maybe i got on his last nerve..

i cried out in pain when he started thrusting into me at an incredibly fast pace. i could feel his tip hit my cervix harshly at every single thrust. “s-soobin..?” i tried to free my hands from his grip, but he was surprisingly too strong. “s-shit.. don’t call me that” he cursed under his breath, throwing his head back in pleasure as he kept on abusing my pussy. “bunny..” i whimpered as tears began falling down my face. “yeah, good girl.. turns me on whenever you call me that” he leaned down close to my ear before he bit down on my earlobe, earning a painful moan from me. “did you enjoy it, hm? making fun of me with your pathetic little friends? f-fuck.. i enjoyed it as well you know? watching you order me around with that tiny little skirt that exposed your ass and pussy, a-and that tight fucking top that shaped your tits perfectly.. you’re such a fucking slut. made my cock hard every single day, had to jerk off at the thought of you being mean to me the second i got home..”

i watched him in horror as i was trying to process everything he just said. me bullying him turned him on? he’d jerk off to the thought of me whenever he got home..? i didn’t know soobin had this side of him, but at least i know why people call him a pervert now. i was struggling to get my words out as i was too fucked out to speak. all i could manage to do was to whimper and moan at the overwhelming feeling as the sound of skin slapping only got louder by the second.

“is it too much for you? i thought you wanted this when you were grinding down on my dick. where’d the confident, mean little slut go? hm?” his grip on my hands tightened when he used his other hand to pull my top right above my tits. i squeezed my eyes shut when he leaned down and started leaving hickeys all over my boobs. he’d bite down on my nipples, lick and then suck all over them. this man was hungry.. “c-close..” i managed to blurt out when i felt the heat growing in my stomach. “go on. cum all over my cock”

i screamed out his name when i felt my body tense as i released around him. my orgasm crashed over me, and i had never experienced a better fuck than this. “gonna fill you up until my cum drips out of you..” he mumbled as i felt his cock twitch inside of me. his hand finally let go of mine, allowing me to grip his biceps for support as the feeling only got more overwhelming. “‘m close..” he groaned, his hands moving down to my hips as he digged his fingers into my skin. he buried his face into my neck, a loud moan escaping his lips when his thick cum filled me up and painted my walls white. “t-take it.. take my cum” he panted against the skin of my neck as his thrusts only got sloppier. my eyes squeezed shut, my pussy tightening around his cock.

his heavy body rested against my chest as he was catching his breath and so was i. i felt his arms wrap tightly around my waist, trying to pull me in closer to him. my eyes fluttered open to see that he was still hiding his face in my neck. “b-bunny..?” i whimpered, only earning a soft moan from him. was he already back to being his cute, shy self? get a man that can do both i guess.. “i didn’t hurt you.. d-did i?” he asked, slowly looking up at me. i shook my head before placing a small kiss on his lips. “were you just really horny or what?” i giggled when he quickly hid his face back into my neck as he was clearly embarrassed.

“so..” karina said, putting her phone down to look over at me. “so?” i raised my eyebrows at her. “soobin tutored you? can’t imagine how that went..” right as karina finished her sentence, the teacher placed my test down in front of me that had ‘91%’ written on it. “good job, ___. i can see soobin being your tutor was the right choice” my teacher said, patting me on my shoulder. “mhm! my boyfriend is pretty smart” i proudly say, earning a confused look from everyone in my class. i looked over at soobin who was smiling to himself at me calling him my boyfriend, while everyone else were straight up judging me. but why should i care? i was happy.

#soobin #choi soobin #soobin smut #txt #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt x moa #txt fanfic #txt soobin #txt smut #soobin txt #soobin tomorrow x together

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raisedbythetv89 · 2 months ago

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God I am getting UNBELIEVABLY sick of the people who when the discussion of “who is the best partner for buffy” comes up and they’re like “obviously it’s faith” or “no actually WILLOW is the best partner” with the air that their take is superior because they’re saying a woman instead of a man and using a citing of “seeing red” as an “OF COURSE taking spike out of the running” type thing when faith and willow are literally the only people who are actual rapist from the entire scoobie gang. Soul having, memory erasing, body stealing, repeat offenses and ZERO real accountability or amends made besides their own “recovery”. They’re horrible people, horrible friends, and they betray buffy over and over and OVER again and make her feel SO BAD about herself. In no universe are they THE BEST partner for Buffy - cuz that’s the debate not who you personally would enjoy or like to have seen but THE BEST

CORDELIA is the actual best female partner for Buffy with kendra being a VERY close second (I just love the idea of Cordy’s family not losing their money and Buffy having a rich wife who takes care of her and spoils her but even if she didn’t have family money she would 100% get her paid by the council as well as understanding her and forcing her to confront hard things bc buffy is so avoidant but cordy is really blunt and honest and she would absolutely eviscerate anyone who dares speak badly about Buffy the way she stands up for xander who DOES NOT deserve it) and also personally I would have LOVED if Dru had become Buffy’s insane vampire watch dog type girlfriend for a more twisted dynamic that I think would still serve Buffy best if she was more morally grey because NO ONE could mistreat her if any of these three women were her partners they would all either literally kill you or emotionally destroy you in the case of cordelia lol and Dru - I just wanted the connection of angel’s two main victims to be explored more and I like the idea of the more corrupted one using that to protect the one that still has light in her

BE BETTER AND MORE CREATIVE WITH YOUR CHOICES OF FEMALE PARTNERS FOR BUFFY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Faith is absolute shit at practically everything and causes nothing but more problems for Buffy and willow has shown she is completely unable to show up for buffy emotionally or actually understand the burden of being the slayer - SHE GETS JEALOUS OF TARA BC SHE CAN EMPATHIZE WITH BUFFY ABOUT LOSING HER MOM AND GETS MAD

Like I’m still team spuffy til I die bc that’s literally her other half and I ignore the extremely out of character moments in seeing red and in many ways spike is also a victim of angel so I still get some of that one victim helping another dynamic I enjoy but I also like buffy with kendra or cordy for the high school years rather than endgame but just like idk???? Maybe put some actual fucking thought into it instead of “with the nearest gay woman” without actually noting how those women are treating Buffy because ask any woman kisser out there - just because she’s a woman DOES NOT automatically mean she’s gonna treat you better than a man and that is CERTAINLY the case with faith and willow.

#like who you like but they are absolutely NOT the better or superior options for Buffy #anti faith lehan #anti willow rosenberg #anti fuffy #anti summersberg #coffy #kendra x buffy #drusilla #spuffy #buffy summers I love you #cordelia chase #cordelia x buffy #buffy x dru #buffy x spike #willow is basically riley bitter and jealous of buffy and her power and faith is basically xander #with a mix of angel after her ‘redemption’ aka her return to no longer a murderer

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avifaunaa · 3 months ago

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let me wrap my teeth around the world [ j.t. & s.s. ] [ pt.1 ]

Authors Note: Um. Hey. This is my first post on tumblr and have absolutely zero idea what I’m doing. Be gentle with me while I figure out the works of it.

Masterlist

PART TWO

Pairing: Jackie Taylor x Fem!reader x Shauna Shipman

Summary: Your university’s soccer team, the Yellowjackets, crash land in the middle of the wilderness and you must all learn to survive. Unfortunately, this means things get messy when everyone’s periods arrive and yours doesn’t. Especially when Jackie and Shauna learn the reason why.

Content Warnings: Buckle up, my first fic here is kind of dark: A very obvious hint of pregnancy but it is not inherently discussed at large, periods, a pre-established dubious situation ship ( r x j&s ), obsessive and manipulative behavior, non-con, predator and prey dynamics, praise and degradation ( r receiving ), vaginal fingering ( r receiving ), cunnilingus ( s receiving ), some aftercare

Word Count: 4.8k

men and minors DNI

The summer had started bleeding into fall and things were starting to get a little tense between the team. Nat was gone more often and returning with less — but Lottie insisted that they had enough to keep them all above water.

You weren’t so sure.

You were so nervous about the amount of food in the stores when you did the daily count — a job you’d been given by Shauna to do — and would return to her with your concerns.

Today she was in a bad mood, the knife stuck deep into the table and dripping blood into the same stain it had collected from in past months of use. She moved her gaze to you when you approached her, unreadable and detached.

But an eyebrow raised slightly, breaking the fortified stature of Shauna Shipman. She stood straight when you were only feet from her, the table keeping you both separated.

“You never look happy anymore,” you mentioned, breaking the ice as you glanced at the meat she had cut into sections. Rabbit this time — not large like the last one which meant less rations.

“Neither do you,” she replied, palms flattening on top of the surface to meet your gaze. “What’re we looking at?”

You swallowed, curling your fingers together in a locked embrace. “Not counting the rabbit you’re working on, we have the duck jerky left in five strips, two pouches of the berries, but they’ll need to be rationed with meals soon if we want to use them, some cut meats to cook, and three granola bars I found Krystal hoarding.”

“Where was she hiding them?” A dangerous twitch moved Shauna’s upper lip, her eyes getting a dark gleam.

You blushed. “She had them buried under a pile of — um - strips she’s using for her period. They were clean but —“

Shauna raised a hand, effectively silencing you to your great relief. You licked your cracked lips and unlocked your hands, rubbing your scraped up arm instead.

“Fine,” she finally sighed, pushing off the table. “I’ll ask Jackie to send Nat out again tonight. This won’t keep us for a week.”

“Okay,” you said, looking down and kicking your worn tennis shoe in the dirt. “I’m gonna go help Misty with the water bucket, but I’ll see you later.”

“Wait.” You look up before you can turn around, and see Shauna watching you carefully. “Are you cramping? Hungry? I can . . . Offer a couple of extra rations. But only if you’re quiet about it.”

You tug your lip between your teeth, cheeks starting to burn slightly. This was Shauna trying to care for you in the only way Shauna could, you supposed. She was the more emotionally conservative between her and Jackie when it came to you when you had grown close over the last year.

Her way of showing it had been acts of service, or being overprotective as a way to communicate her feelings to you. It didn’t fix that she didn’t open up to you in the same way that she did to Jackie, though.

“I should be . . . I should be okay. I don’t want to take anyone’s rations. Fairness and all,” you told her.

“I offered it because I think you need it more, not because it’s fair,” Shauna stated, pushing off the table completely and grabbing the shirt-turned hand wipe rag as she smeared the fresh blood off of her palms and onto it instead.

You wanted to deny her offer, but the look she gave you was a warning. You swallowed hard, feeling trapped by obligation to accept but drowning already in the guilt of knowing you’d get extra while your teammates starved a little more.

“I don’t want to make anyone mad.”

That earned her the tiniest of smiles from Shauna. “Oh, sweetheart,” she crooned, “you let me take care of that. Your periods are really bad from what I remember. You skipped classes an entire week once.”

“You remembered that?”

“Of course. Now — don’t worry about anything anyone says. Just take the extra food.”

Something about the offer felt terribly wrong but declining a second time would flame the already short fuse Shauna had these days.

“Okay,” you agreed, demure. You adverted your gaze again to the side. “Misty’ll be looking for me, so . . .” You trailed off.

“Sure.” A dismissal, but you felt her watching even as you turned and high tailed it away to find the curly haired blonde, heart racing in your chest as you made your escape.

You got worried when everyone seemed to sync up but your period managed to evade you.

You got scared when the vomiting throughout the day started.

You had been so careful — the party before the team had left for their big game. It was a booze filled night of entertainment and fun and sex. The guy was lost in your memory — some frat boy who crashed the party with his friends but managed to snag your attention briefly.

You woke up the next morning and left before he could so much as stir in the sheets. You had been careful — you assured that even in your drunken lustful haze, demanding the condom before anything else further.

But now here you are weeks later, recovering from a spell of nausea and feeling the world spinning beneath your feet. Your breakfast was gone on the forest floor.

“Bunny?”

Jackie’s footsteps were loud as she approached you, a frown marring her freckled features.

“Hey, Jax,” you said, wiping your mouth and straightening up before your body was ready. “What’s up?”

“I was coming to find you, actually,” she said, rubbing her palms down her pants. “Shauna and Lottie said that today’s rag cleaning day if — y’know.”

“I’m — okay,” you quickly, too quickly, agreed. “Um, I’ve been throwing mine away, though.”

Jackie blinked owlishly at her, then pursed her lips. “That’s a waste, don’t you think, Bunny? Have you been ripping all your clothes up the entire week?”

Fuck.

“Mine are really bad. Super heavy. You’ve seen the tampons I have to use, Jackie,” you shoot back, hoping she’ll drop the matter.

She doesn’t. But she does stray closer. “I haven’t seen you ripping your stuff up, though, now that I think about it. You’ve only got the three outfits left. Not a piece torn off of them.”

You had nothing to say, caught foolishly in your own lie too quickly for it to have grown. “I-“

“You’re not on your period, are you?” she asked, arms crossing, eyes darkening.

You didn’t answer, a panicked heat coursing through you as you looked anywhere but at her face. “Please don’t tell anyone. I — I don’t know what’s —“ you broke into tears.

There was silence as you broke down, before Jackie sighed. “Oh, Bun,” and stepped into your space to wrap her arms around you. Soft hands carded through your hair, and despite yourself you curled deeply into the embrace.

“I think I’m —“ you choked, a sob echoing through your shattered heart and battered body. You didn’t have it in you to say it lest it be true.

“Mm, I know.” Jackie’s chin rested on top of your shaking head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. But we’ve got to tell Shauna.”

“No!” You wailed, face burying deeper into the jacket that smelled so starkly like Jackie and home. “No, anyone but Shauna.”

“Listen to me.” Suddenly, your comfort was gone and those hands fisted your shoulders in type grip as Jackie forces you back and stared hard at you, “You lied to my face and lied by omission to Shauna by not telling her you fucked someone before we left. You know how she is, Bun.”

“She’ll hate me,” you spluttered, thinking of the fury that Shauna can express at times.

“Hate you? Doubtful. She’ll be so pissed. I’m so pissed. We gave you rules that might, didn’t we Bun?”

“I don’t — I don’t know,” you sniffled. You don’t remember much of that night — most of it drowned in drinks and loud music and Shauna and Jackie before they left you to your own devices like they sometimes did.

“That’s alright,” Jackie said, hand reaching up to pet your hair again, “but you’re still going to have to answer for breaking them. A broken window can’t fix itself.”

Your brain was fuzzy with confusion and desperation as Jackie spoke. Why would you be punished for a set of rules set for one night weeks ago that you don’t remember?

“You told me nothing was —“ you began, than wisely shut your mouth before it got you into real trouble.

“What?” she asked, lips pulling into a thin line as she eyed you. “We told you . . . What?”

“Nothing,” you whispered and instead try to lean forward to seek out her comfort despite the unease that overcame you tenfold.

“Okay.” She let you back in, soothing your tears and promising you things you should have known would never have happened — mercy.

You didn’t eat.

Jackie had stayed miraculously quiet the entire time when you both returned to the cabin, only offering Shauna that sly little smile of hers as greeting.

The look Shauna returned was nothing less than scolding, but you didn’t dare to ask what over.

Shauna set you up with a meal double the amount everyone else had. Marina made a noise of protest while Van questioned why you got more.

“Because the Wilderness allowed her so,” Lottie said in place of their butcher, quiet but presently watching with a curious look. “It wants her to have more — so she will.”

“Fuck that,” Tai said, glaring between you and Shauna, “that’s not gonna happen. We need this to last, Shipman. Remember?”

Shauna met her glare with a steely gaze that could make, apparently, even Taissia Turner back down ( but not without grumbling ).

Your stomach suddenly flipped into your throat as conversation rose around you, everyone finding it wise to drop the matter as though it never happened at all.

You played with the scraps of meat, pulling it apart and squeezing it between your fingers but not taking a single bite. The juice from them soaked your fingers with grease, leaving behind an oily sensation.

Jackie leaned over from where she sat close to you, lips brushing your ear, “Eat it, Bunny. You’re going to need it more than you think.”

Your eyes flicked upward, locking instantly with Shauna — who was across from you by Lottie, leaned into her as the other girl murmured something.

A glint — and she gestured to your meal with just a couple of fingers. Eat it, went unspoken, but was silently ordered.

You ate it slowly as your teammates came to a finish with their own, trying in vain to stall the inevitable. By the time you had finished it all under Jackie’s watchful gaze, everyone else had gone and gotten ready to bed down for the night and were chatting quietly amongst themselves.

“Bunny.”

Your attention focused on Shauna while you wiped your fingers slowly on your pants, wishing you had things like napkins.

Or space.

“Yeah?”

“Jackie told me something interesting earlier, before dinner,” she said quietly, leaning an elbow on her criss crossed knees and laying her chin upon her palm. “I’ve been asking Lottie what we should do.”

Your unease creeps back in like venomous snakes into a cradle, twisting your guts and tightening around you.

“Can we — please can we um, go outside?” you whispered, fingers making grooves into your the skin of your arms you hadn’t realized you’d wrapped around yourself.

“I think that would be best,” Lottie agreed, moving to stand first. “The Wilderness must be privy to this change.”

You had no idea what Lottie was talking about and you almost told her that you only wanted it to be you, Shauna, and Jackie, but you were silenced by Jackie wrapping her fingers around your wrist and squeezing.

The cabin had grown silent as the four of you got up and began moving to the door with a direction to outside. You refused to look at anyone, at anything, but your shoes — which you’ve become rather familiar with in the last few weeks.

Outside was colder than it was earlier in the day. The sun hadn’t completely set yet, but it was shaded behind the trees and no longer had warmth to offer.

Jackie didn’t let go of your wrist even when the four of you found a spot near Shauna’s makeshift butcher’s corner.

“So, Bunny,” Jackie started immediately, smiling like she was about to express something good, “we agreed to talk to Shauna.”

You shuffled closer, almost behind Jackie, clenching your fists in her jacket and closing your eyes. “Jackie, please.”

“Now, Bun,” Jackie said, tone losing some of its joy and taking a harder edge. “This is what happens, remember? You don’t get to be a slut and get away Scot free!”

A shallow breath escaped someone’s chest. You guessed Shauna, because Lottie was still next to her and eyeing you and Jackie thoughtfully but without much interest in the situation.

A laugh followed the breathy sound, “Jackie you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Jackie pouted, nose turning into your hair, “She was taking so long to tell you.”

“She’s being punished.”

“Yeah, and I’d like to move to the fun part of the punishment sometime tonight.”

“You’re being a brat,” Shauna warned, but it held no merit. It was amused, if anything, in the way that Shauna always found amusement in Jackie’s antics.

Jackie’s eyebrows fluttered, “Then give me what I want and I’ll be on my absolute best behavior.”

Shauna snorted but turned her entire focus to you now. Your relief at being forgotten went down the drain and was lost as she regarded you with an icy stare. “So, you just bend over for anyone — is that it? Take what’s give to you?”

“N-no—“

“Because,” Shauna interrupted, stepping closer, into your bubble as if it didn’t exist in the first place, “I could have sworn that Jackie and I told you to go home when we did that night. We trusted you to listen to us and I don’t know — keep your fucking head on?”

“I don’t remember—“

“We know,” Jackie soothed, petting you again. The interrogation — the nice and mean — it was keeping you from thinking clearly. “But there’s still a price to pay, unfortunately. Right Lottie?”

Lottie blinked, jolting from whatever thought scape she was in. “The Wilderness senses an imbalance,” she stated, her head swiveling to look out into the darkening forest, “and it demands it be restored willingly before it starts taking it from us instead.”

“I — how does that have anything —“ panic began to rise, and your voice started to raise, but a hand slapped over your mouth as Jackie reeled around and pressed herself against your back.

“Shut up,” Shauna told you, lip curling, “and listen to us for once, you stupid little thing. Can you do that? Can you listen?”

Trying not to cry, you nod shakily. Anything to stay alive.

“Good girl. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to let you go and you’re going to run from us, yeah? Let’s play a game of hide and seek.” Shauna grins now.

Jackie hummed against you, hand still across your mouth, “Shauna didn’t want to, but I’m making her give you until the moon is all the way up — when it’ll be at it’s brightest. I think it’s more fun that way. To see you trying to hide in the shadows.”

Shauna tilted her head, seeing you tremble. “When we catch you — and we will — the balance will be restored. Now Jackie is going to remove her hand, and you won’t scream because then they’ll know about our game and I’ll have to cut your time in half. Deal?”

What choice did you have? With a nod so shaky that it barely came through, Jackie released you from her hold. The four of you stood there for a moment, and you blinked away tears as Jackie purred,

“Run, Bunny.”

You darted off into the forest, escape and fears of what happens if they capture you keeping you from thinking about much else.

You’d been running for hours by the time the moon offers a harsh glow on the forest floor. You’ve ran through a river and tried your best to cover your tracks — but you knew too well that Jackie had been learning things from Nat lately.

It’s all to be used against you tonight.

You needed to find a hiding place and quickly — you may have a better chance of making it through if you were able to find somewhere to wait the rest of the night out and hope they passed you.

With a racing heart and a knowledge of the little time you had left, you sought out anywhere that was tightly packed but able to contain you even if uncomfortably.

Your answer was a fallen tree log, dug out as a nest by some animal long ago but since abandoned if the materials inside were to go by. You did your best to shuffle around and use the old shrubbery as a barrier to make it harder for them to spot you.

Time continued to pass by and now it was a terrible waiting game that you had no upper hand in. The energy you had spent playing it was exhausting and you were losing the effort to try and stay awake the longer you hid.

You were cold, too, and you recall Misty once telling one of the girls that falling asleep while exposed in the cold could easily kill you. You weren’t sure how much of an expert Misty was on matters of wilderness survival — but she had been right on a lot of it so far.

It didn’t take much longer for them to track you down.

They’d been quiet amongst one another, but they didn’t want to spook you if you were nearby. Jackie had ordered silence when she noticed how frantic your tracks became and she grinned at Shauna.

“Bunny found herself a hole somewhere.”

And so the search for the hole began, footsteps trying to be light as they sought you out in the dead of night when the moon shone at its brightest.

A red sneaker flashed in your peripheral vision — and —

Fingers curled around your ankle and jerked you out of your hiding spot — not gently — and Shauna was waiting to grab you by the hair as you fought them.

“Hey, Bunny,” she crooned, uncharacteristically soft.

Jackie shoved you down face first and the impact of your nose and forehead hitting the cold frozen floor had you seeing white.

Your head was pulled up again and when your vision cleared, it was Shauna who was there. “Sorry, pretty girl,” she said, sending a look over your shoulder, “We can count that little bump as points towards your punishment.”

You groaned, head swimming. “Don’t hurt me.”

Jackie laughed behind you. Your legs suddenly split open forcefully and you could feel someone settling behind you. “We’re not going to hurt you,” she promised. “As long as you tell us who bent you over and fucked you like a bitch in heat when you could’ve asked us like usual.”

“I don’t know.”

A deadly silence replied to your answer. Then your chin was grabbed roughly, neck twisting at an upward angle so that you had nowhere to go but Shauna — who appeared back to normal very quickly.

“You better know. You let him breed you like a common whore.”

You cried out when your pants were roughly jerked down your legs, exposing you to the cold air. Jackie breathed in when she saw you — staring for a moment.

“You’re going to want to tell her, Bunny,” Jackie finally said when your sobs weren’t enough to deter either of them, “or she may get really pissed.”

“Please, please! I promise I don’t know! I don’t remember so much of that night! I left when I woke up!”

Shauna’s grip remained iron tight as she watched you plead. Your tears were flowing at a rate she otherwise would be enraged to see — but it was her causing it. Her and Jackie. Nothing was more perfect than this moment.

“Okay, we believe you,” Shauna decided after letting you sob it out a few more seconds.

“L-let me go, please,” you whined, fingers digging into the frozen earth underneath you in an effort to gain some form of control. “The balance. It’s fine now. Please.”

Jackie laughed. “Yeah, that might be fixed, Bunny. But this is something else now. We’re going to reclaim what’s been taken from us.”

You closed your eyes, drawing your arm into you and burying your face in it to muffle the sobs as your panties disappeared next. With Jackie between your legs and forcing them to stay open and Shauna raking rough hands through your hair, you had no true way to escape.

“Next time,” Jackie starts as two fingers spread you open and find the shameful wetness there, “you may not be so inclined to seek things out that you already have.”

“Hey.” Fingers snapped in your face and Shauna tugged on your hair. You looked up at her and in that time she stuck her thumb between your lips. “You’re so fucking slutty that you couldn’t wait a day? You just took it from the first person who looked at you right?”

“No! No! I don’t know! I was sad!”

“I thought you couldn’t remember,” Jackie reminded you, nails digging into your ass. “Are you lying to us again?”

“No!” you squealed, trying to wiggle away but had nowhere to go. “I only meant — I do remember feeling sad! Because you left without me! Again!”

“So you slept with someone else?” she reiterates, nails digging into deeper.

“Stop!” You cried, overwhelmed and wanting this to end. They ignored you, awaiting your answer, “I did it because I’m tired of the mixed signals you’re giving me! I was sad, and needed to feel somethin’!”

Shauna growled low in her throat, grip tightening so hard it had you squealing again. She loosened it briefly, “So instead of being a good girl and coming to us with your feelings like you’re usually good at, you whore around?”

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed, beyond comprehension and unable to even clearly understand the situation anymore.

Jackie and Shauna shared a look between them that you missed — it held a satisfactory gleam that gave them endless pleasure.

“If you’re sorry, you’ll prove it,” Jackie cooed when she finally released her nails from your skin and let them drift back down.

“A-anything,” you whimpered, “please just don’t be angry anymore.”

“We’re going to take back what belongs to us,” Shauna told you, leaning down and brushing her chapped lips against yours. It was a tender kiss and your addled brain was fooled into the false sense of security.

It distracted you until two fingers pushing into your heat pulled you away, a gasp breaking from your lips and causing Shauna to chuckle deep against you.

“You were so wet already, so ready for me,” Jackie mentions, leaning her body across your back as her knees pumped in time with her fingers in your pussy. “I could be forgiven for thinking you didn’t want this.”

You went to answer, but the strangled noise you made is all you could offer as her fingers twisted and pushed. Her breath was hot and quick against the back of your neck as she worked you up roughly.

Shauna tapped your jaw with rapt energy. “If you want to come, you’re going to ensure I do as well,” she crooned as she unzipped her pants and worked them down. She stayed on her knees but drew your head close.

“You know how to please Shauna, Bunny,” Jackie murmured, teeth finding home in your neck briefly, then releasing, “so do it.”

You did as you were told and started nosing into Shauna’s thighs, tongue licking a stripe upward first — she needed her clit stimulated first in order to be receptive to anything else.

It was more difficult when Jackie’s pace kept getting rougher and she found it necessary to work in a third finger. You cried out against Shauna, making your displeasure known.

“You’ll take it,” Jackie said, kissing the bruise she left on your neck, “because you want to atone for your sins and this is how you do it. But you can cry. We don’t mind.”

Shauna encased you between her thighs when you started becoming a little shifty — something she’s done since the minute she had you in her and Jackie’s bed.

“Fucking — tongue inside,” Shauna ordered, now digging into your scalp. You did as she said, moving away from her clit and focusing on eating her out instead.

“Good fucking girl,” she gasped, pushing into your face, using it to ride against for more stimulation. “Yeah — you could’ve been doing this instead of —“ you curled your tongue, not wanting her to insult you further, “fuck!”

Unfortunately for you as Shauna’s pleasure increased, Jackie would increase yours along with it. She was grinding herself roughly against you, and her thumb had finally began to rub hard circles against your clit.

And then she found your g-spot. She felt it, stuttered in movement when you let out a noise of near ferocity, and began thrusting deeper in earnest.

It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before — even with them. Your emotions were plummeting but your body felt entirely too good for you to ask for a reprieve you know you wouldn’t get.

So you let yourself be thrown into the pleasure you were given so you wouldn’t be forced to hurt at the hands of the two women you thought you knew and loved.

Shauna stuttered above you when you dragged your teeth lightly across her, not having meant to. She came with a low groan, shuddering through it as you licked until she finally came down.

Jackie had stopped inside of you to watch Shauna — and though you couldn’t see it, her eyes were glazed over with adoration as she watched Shauna in bliss.

When Shauna pulled away from you and pulled up her pants, eyes glazed over, she tapped your chin again.

“Are you going to make a mistake that horrible again?”

You shook your head. The moonlight reflected the wetness that remained on your face and it meant everything to Jackie right now.

Shauna looked up at Jackie. “Make her come.”

Jackie began anew, more forceful in her fucking than she was previously. She was brutal in pace and in effort: using all of her willpower to send all your nerves into overdrive.

You were a mess under her, crying out to stop, for it to never end, for —

Jackie rubbed your clit once, twice, three times and with a painful shiver that racked your entire form, the orgasm raced through you like a tidal wave coming to devastate an entire city.

You sobbed through the power of it, unable to handle just how much jolting waves were spasming through your body.

Shauna put your head in her lap and ran her hands across your shaking form as you rode it out, Jackie unrelenting and sending you straight into another.

Eventually, however, she slowed her movements until she was still above you. You shivered beneath her despite your shaded body heat and you were choking on your emotions.

“We love you, you know,” Jackie whispered into your back, closing her eyes to bask in the moment. “We love you so much.”

“I didn’t want this,” you whispered, but you sought out their comfort and their gentleness as it was given. You needed to flee from their cruel brutality and be welcomed back into their warmth.

“We know,” she said, pulling out slowly. She pulled your pants up. “But you needed to learn this lesson and understand that every action has a reaction that fits.”

“You did really, really good,” Shauna said suddenly, lifting your face again to kiss you.

“So good. Our good girl once more,” Jackie added.

They let you lay there for a while, soothing your hurts that they know to be the cause of but unwilling to accept.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” Shauna was the one to slide you into her arms once you were too exhausted to cry — too drained to protest.

You tucked her face into her chest, knowing that this was the truth: they will never let you go.

When they returned to the cabin around dawn, Lottie was still awake. You were asleep in Shauna’s arms and had been for a while. They let you sleep.

Lottie stood from the porch when the two approached. She smiled at them.

“The balance has been restored.”

#jackie taylor #shauna shipman #jackieshauna #the yellowjackets #jackieshauna x reader #content warning #dark fic

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81folklore · 2 years ago

Text

heaven - PIASTRI - part 3

pairings: oscar piastri x private!reader (fc: gracie abrams)

summary: oscars girlfriend attends her first grand prix and the public get to see just how proud she is of oscar

authors note: ive honestly missed writing for oscar and priv!reader so we are back in honor of oscars FIRST EVER WIN AND INCREDIBLE SPRINT RACE!! im genuinely so proud of oscar and im honestly in shock. i also follow ZERO wag pages so i have no clue what they are like, if people actually follow them etc.

authors note 2: short-ish and sweet for OSCARS FIRST WIN?? i started writing this about 30 minutes before the sprint race so i had no clue where this was going to go but HE WON!!

part 1 part 2 masterlist

f1wagupdates

liked by user5, user81, user9 and 7,289 others

yn entering the paddock for the first time today! she followed shortly after oscar, spoke to some oscar/mclaren fans and handed a few who were unable to meet oscar, on his way in, some signed things she had. we absolutely love her already!!

view comments

user81: omg she’s literally the sweetest thing😭

user17: I LOVE HER ALREADY

user61: the fact that oscar fans already love her🫶🫶

user9: oh she looks so cute!!

user72: i was one of the girls she gave something too! she said she had been following behind oscar and kept an eye on anyone who he missed to give them something after he left. she was very very shy, but she made sure to speak to everyone who oscar missed and was asking us questions about us, overall she was very sweet!!

user22: this makes me love her even more😭and congrats on the signed stuff!! do you mind me asking what it was?

user72: thank you! and of course, we all got something different! i got a signed polaroid of oscar (im still in disbelief?! and it must have been one she took herself bcs i couldnt find the photo online anywhere), someone a bit down from me got what looked like a drivers card and i saw someone else get a picture of his car!

user22: A POLAROID?? oh you won😭😭

user1: i wonder if we will see her again

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 9,619 others

first qualifying in the paddock was a rollercoaster of emotions, not the result we were hoping for, expected or wanted but its ok because oscars gonna smash it tomorrow and we’ll pretend today didnt happen!!

view comments

oscarpiastri: glad you had fun🤍

oscarpiastri: my goodluck charm wasnt goodlucking today

yourusername: dont say thattt☹️ill try and be extra lucky tomorrow promise!!

oscarpiastri: i love you

yourusername: i love you more🤭

user3: the photo difference😭

user14: loved seeing you in the garage today

yourfriend3: i love you but those photos😭😭

yourusername: stoooop i was so nervous all day😭

yourfriend7: wish oscar luck from all of us back home!

oscarpiastri: 👍👍

user81: u are so cute☹️

user2: so unfair how they told oscar during the interview!!

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 9,182 others

changed outfits but we are ready for the sprint!!

tagged oscarpiastri

comments on this post have been limited

oscarpiastri: love you lots and lots, thank you for coming🧡

yourusername: I LOVE YOU!! and you dont have to thank me, ill always stay with you🤍🤍

liked by yourusername, mitchevans_ and 817,175 others

PIASTRI STORMS TO SPRINT POLE IN QATAR!🤩🔥

He just keeps getting better and better!

view comments

mclaren: YESSSSSS!!!👏👏👏

user6: P1ASTRI

yourusername: INCREDIBLE🤩🤩

user18: more than deserved!

user73: absolute legend

yourusername added to their story

seen by oscarpiastri and 6,289 others

user6: AHHHHHH

user81: LOOK AT HIM GO

oscarpiastri: ☺️☺️

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 10,278 others

oh how i obsessively adore you.. today you took your first f1 pole position, hours later you became a formula one race winner (idc if it was a sprint you still won!!)

i have been on this incredible journey with you long before your first f2 race. i was by your side at your first f2 win and im still by your side now youve won in f1

i know how much this win means to you, i know how much you wanted to prove yourself to everyone and you have. you never fail to amaze me, especially coming back after the shit show that was yesterday

you are truly incredible and you are so so special🐨

i love you so much, congratulations🧡

tagged oscarpiastri

view comments

user61: WHAT IF I STARTED SOBBING

user11: THE KOALA😭😭

user72: so deserved🧡incredible drive!!

user68: the f2 race winner picture😭😭the f1 race winner picture😭😭THE SMILEY INTERVIEW PICTURE😭😭

oscarpiastri: my favorite goodluck charm🧡

oscarpiastri: thank you so much for sticking with me through it all

oscarpiastri: i appreciate you so much my love

yourusername: you are so special, lovely🩵

landonorris: usually i hate your sappy posts but ill make an exception this time..congrats mate!!

oscarpiastri: you too mate!

yourusername: knew id get you to love these posts eventually🤭

formula2: we’re so proud of our aussie🥹🐨

oscarpiastri and yourusername added to their stories

seen by yourusername, aussiegrit and 722,519 others

*text on first photo reads: my favourite thing is when i open my phone after a race and i see the photos yn sent me during the race🧡* *text on second photo reads: i love seeing my boy do what he loves*

oscar’s replies:

user52: shes so cute☹️

user12: tell me that was when you won the race and not before

user61: where can i find someone like her😭

yourusername: babyyy i didnt know youd share these😭😭

oscarpiastri: just had to show everyone how grateful i am for you🤍

user49: get yourself someone who supports you the way yn supports oscar!!

yn’s replies:

user17: oh i love you guys so much

yourfriend2: we are all so proud of oscar!!

oscarpiastri: i love you so much more than i can ever express

yourusername: osc☹️☹️ i hold so much love and adoration for you

oscarpiastri: wait when did you take this photo??

yourusername: i watched the final lap in the bathroom so i could sob in peace😭

#f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #social media au #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #★ private oscar #f1 insta au

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jungkoode · 19 days ago

Text

死 KKANGPAE | #12 死

† breaking point †

"Eunchae stealing your sleeping spot was not in your bingo card for the camping trip, nor was it sleeping in Jeon's tent. And... everything that comes with it."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 8.3k

rating: explicit, 18+

content: your sleeping spot being taken, having to share a tent with The Chief, petty arguments, cold night, accidental touches, too much wriggling, jeon getting pissy, fights, and somehow smut, jeon's smugness shining through (finally!) dry humping, grinding, nipple/breast play, jeon on cleaning duty.

☠ author's note ☠

I— LOOK. I knew this chapter was gonna be long because damn. I was so looking forward to writing their first ~encounter~ that I absolutely put my whole kikussy into it.

BUT. UHM. 8k WORDS?? WITH MORE THAN HALF BEING SMUT?? (•᷊ิ꒳•᷊ิ)

Well. I went overboard. This definitely could've been two chapters, but then again it would make zero sense to divide the scene. ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ'ᵛᵉ ᵖʳᵒᵇᵃᵇˡʸ ˢᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵃˢˢᵃˢˢⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵛⁱˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵐᵉ ⁱᶠ ᴵ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁱᵗ ᵗⁱˡ ⁿᵉˣ�� ʷᵉᵉᵏ ˢᵒ.

If this is your first time reading my smut, welcome to the thunderdome! If you're a returning customer, you know the drill. Either way, consider this my formal apology to my FBI agent who has definitely seen better days.

Enjoy the treat, you thirsty catastrophes (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ And don't worry—there's MANY more to come! This is just the appetizer. The whole menu is extensive and frankly concerning.

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The camp's finally quiet, just leaves rustling and the fire dying down somewhere in the distance.

Everyone's crashed after today's chaos—because apparently, throwing a bunch of criminals together in the woods is exactly as messy as it sounds.

You duck into your tent, already dreaming about passing out, only to find... well, shit.

Yunjin's fast asleep, which isn't surprising. What is surprising is Eunchae sprawled across her like some drunk octopus, taking up what was supposed to be your spot. Her arm's thrown over Yunjin's waist, leg tangled with hers, dead to the world and probably going to wake up with one hell of a hangover.

Great. Just perfect.

You stare at the scene, torn between laughing and groaning. It's kind of adorable, in a "my-drunk-friend-is-a-koala" way, but it also means you're shit out of luck for sleeping arrangements.

Waking Eunchae isn't really an option—she's out cold, breathing deep and steady in that way only truly hammered people can manage. Besides, Yunjin would probably give you that disappointed look if you disturbed them. She's got that whole protective big sister thing going on, even though technically you're all trained killers.

Fucking hell.

With a sigh that's probably a bit more dramatic than necessary, you grab a spare blanket from your bag and drape it over Eunchae's shoulder. They both look so peaceful, which is honestly weird considering what you all do for a living.

You turn and head back out, already dreading the crick in your neck you're going to have tomorrow. The fire's still going, barely, throwing off just enough warmth to make sitting out here slightly less miserable.

You're trying to soak up what's left of the heat when footsteps break the silence. You don't need to look up to know who it is—there's only one person who moves that quietly while still somehow managing to feel like an oncoming storm.

Jeon emerges from the darkness like he owns it, because of course he does. His eyes scan the scene, taking in everything from the empty chairs to your clearly displaced presence, and you just know he's cataloging every detail like the perfectionist asshole he is.

He raises an eyebrow, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips. "Couldn't sleep?"

You shake your head, trying for casual and probably missing by a mile. "Eunchae's taken over my spot. She's passed out on top of Yunjin like some drunk koala."

"And here you are," he says, sounding frankly too amused, "playing the martyr by the fire."

"It's not about being a martyr," you snap, exhaustion making your voice sharper than intended. "Just didn't have the heart to wake her."

There's a couple beats of silence where he watches you with that intense look of his, like he's trying to see right through you. The cold night air nips at your skin, and you suppress a shiver.

Finally, Jeon sighs, his shoulders dropping just a fraction.

"Look, I've got a tent," he says, sounding like he's already regretting the words. "It's insulated. No sleeping bags, just blankets. You can crash there if you don't fancy freezing your ass off out here."

Your eyes narrow, trying to read between the lines of his offer. Sharing space with Jeon is dangerous—all that heat and tension and the constant dance of 'we shouldn't, but god do we want to.'

Fuck. This is a bad idea.

But it's cold, and you're tired, and the thought of a warm tent is more tempting than it has any right to be.

"You sure about this?" You eye him suspiciously. "Since when do you share anything?"

His lips twitch, and you catch that ghost of a smile he rarely lets slip.

"I don't," he admits, and god, his voice shouldn't sound that good at this hour. "But I'm not enough of an asshole to let you freeze. Besides," he adds, almost like an afterthought, "last time we shared a bed, I actually slept."

"Your tent, huh?" You can't help but push, because that's what you do. "What, you gonna play gentleman and sleep outside?"

He actually smirks at that, the moonlight catching on his lip ring.

"Not a chance." His eyes lock with yours, and fuck, there's that heat again. "We'll share. Got enough blankets."

The words hang between you like the smoke from the previous cigarette, still lingering and heavy with everything you're both pretending not to want.

You stand up, brushing dirt off your pants and trying to ignore how the dying fire isn't the only thing making you feel warm right now.

"Fine," you say, resigned. "But keep your hands to yourself. I'm just here because it's cold."

He laughs, low and rough, and you hate how it makes your stomach flip.

"Same here," he says, already turning toward his tent like he knows you'll follow.

And you do, because of course you do. You trail after him, telling yourself this is just about staying warm and not at all about the way his shoulder blades move under his shirt or how he smells like pine and wood and danger.

Such a fucking horrible idea.

But you're following him anyway.

The moment you step into Jeon's tent, you're hit with warmth. Not the cozy kind—more like the desperate kind that barely takes the edge off the cold trying to burrow into your bones.

The space is small, and fuck, it smells like him. Pine and mint and something darker that makes your head spin a little. It's not fair how his scent alone can make you feel like this, like you're unraveling at the seams.

He jerks his head toward the spot beside him—not an offer, an order. Typical. He's always like this, acting like everything he does should just be accepted without question.

You stand there longer than necessary, watching as he turns onto his side, showing you his back.

Drawing a line.

Because that's Jeon for you—edges and boundaries, even when he's pretending to be nice.

When you finally lie down, you move like you're defusing a bomb. The tent feels too small suddenly, the fabric ceiling pressing down like it's trying to suffocate you both.

Your heart's going crazy, and it's stupid. He's just lying there, being his usual brooding self. But you can feel him, like some kind of electric current running through the air between you.

"What about tomorrow?" Your whisper barely disturbs the darkness. "When everyone sees I wasn't in my tent? They'll put it together."

He stiffens—just slightly, but you catch it. Then he rolls over to face you, and Christ, the way he looks at you should be a crime.

"Then make sure you're gone by dawn," he says, voice hard as steel. "Get out before anyone's awake, and there'll be nothing to realize."

He's close enough that you can smell mint mixing with tobacco on his breath.

Huh. So he probably did chew gum after that cigarette.

"By dawn," you echo, matching his tone even though your pulse is doing gymnastics in your throat.

He stares at you for a moment longer, like he's trying to read something in your face. Whatever he's looking for, he either doesn't find it or doesn't trust himself to acknowledge it.

Then he's turning away again, another wall going up brick by brick.

The silence comes back heavier than before. You pull the blanket tighter, but it doesn't help. The cold seeps in anyway, settling deep in your bones.

Jeon's lying there like he's trying to turn himself to stone, fighting the same thing you're pretending not to feel. But it's there—even with his back to you, even with the frigid air between you.

And it's cold.

Motherfucking cold.

You're shivering so hard your teeth are chattering, and god, these blankets might as well be made of paper for all the good they're doing. Every muscle in your body is locked up tight, fighting against the cold that's trying to burrow straight into your bones.

You force a big inhale, summoning as much body heat as possible, and time does that weird thing where it stretches out forever, like cold molasses, each minute feeling like a small eternity.

The quietness that has settled over in Jeon's tent is only broken by the sound of your teeth doing their best impression of a woodpecker.

Then—warmth.

It happens so fast you almost miss it. One second you're freezing your ass off, the next Jeon's arm is wrapping around you, pulling you against him. The heat of his body hits you like a gush of hot AC hair, and suddenly your face feels like it's on fire for entirely different reasons.

"What the—" You start, but your mouth stutters because holy shit, he's close.

"Shh." His voice rumbles against the back of your neck, and you suppress a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. "I can't sleep with your teeth clacking together like you're trying to send a damn Morse code."

He's like a human furnace pressed against your back, all solid muscle and ridiculous body heat. You can feel every breath he takes, the slight brush of his legs against yours, and fuck, you sense every single point of contact between you.

Nevertheless, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat.

"Sorry, didn't realize I was being that loud."

Your hands hover awkwardly, because where the hell are you supposed to put them now?

"It's fine," he mutters, and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Just keep it down. And try to warm up or whatever."

"I'm trying," you shoot back, but the words lack bite because his warmth is already seeping into you, melting away the cold that's been torturing you for the past hour.

Both in your body and your voice.

He doesn't say anything else, but his arm tightens around you just slightly. Like he's making sure you're actually getting warm. The tension starts bleeding out of your muscles, the shivering finally subsiding as his heat wraps around you like a cocoon.

Then, the tent falls quiet again, except for the intermittent sounds filtering in from outside and your synchronized breathing.

You're still a bit flustered—because of course you are—but grateful for the warmth. Who knew the ice king could actually be... decent?

Dangerous thought territory. Abort.

Now, about getting comfortable... That's a whole other battle.

You shift around, trying to find a position that doesn't make you feel like you're cuddling with a statue made of knives. Your elbow catches his ribs, your knee bumps his, and you're pretty sure you just elbowed him in the spleen.

You hear him sigh, and you already know what's coming.

"For fuck's sake, will you stay still?" Jeon's voice cuts through the darkness, irritated.

"I'm trying to get comfortable," you snap back. "Your gang tattoos aren't exactly memory foam, you know."

"Maybe if you'd stop wiggling like a damn worm on crack, you'd be settled by now." He adjusts his leg with an annoyed huff that you can feel against your neck.

"Maybe if you weren't built like a bag of knives, it wouldn't be so hard," you grumble, pushing back against him just to be petty.

His laugh is low and mocking, sending vibrations through your back. "Bag of knives? That's new."

"Don't laugh at me," you whine, hating how your body responds to that sound. "I'm cold, uncomfortable, and now I'm basically superglued to you."

"Superglued to me?" His hand finds your hip (probably to steady you), grip firm, and fuck—that shouldn't feel as good as it does. "You're the one who's been squirming like you're trying to start a fire."

"How am I supposed to relax when I'm sharing a blanket with a human cactus?"

But you try anyway, forcing your muscles to unwind even as every accidental touch between you feels like it's on fire.

"A human cactus that's keeping your ass from freezing," he mutters, voice rougher than before. "Now pick a position and stick with it before I lose my mind."

Too late for that, you think, trying to ignore how his hand is still on your hip, burning through your clothes like an inferno.

"This is torture," you grumble, squirming again as another rock tries to become one with your hip. "Pretty sure this ground is actually made of spite and broken dreams."

"For fuck's—will you stop moving?" Jeon's voice is strained, like he's counting backwards from ten in his head.

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't built like a weapon rack!" Your whisper comes out sharper than intended, but seriously, how is anyone this uncomfortable to cuddle with?

"Fine. Here—" He shifts suddenly, probably trying to help, but his elbow finds your ribs instead.

You wince. Because that shit hurt. Man's made of strength and muscles, so being the target of his attacks (even if it's an accidental elbowing) is not exactly pleasant.

"Jesus fuck, Jeon!" You swat at his arm, completely forgetting about staying quiet. "Are you trying to give me internal bleeding?"

"Me?" He swats back, definitely pissed now. "You're the one treating this like a goddamn dance floor."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just—"

"Just what?" He cuts you off, and you can tell his jaw is clenching. "Just magically transform into your perfect little pillow?"

"That'd be a start," you snap, past caring how childish you sound. "Better than this human armory act you've got going."

"Un-fucking-believable." He mutters, but you absolutely hear him. "Try to do something nice for once..."

"Nice? Is that what we're calling attempted murder by elbow now?" You can't keep the bite out of your voice.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm calling it!" His grip tightens on your hip, and fuck—

That really shouldn't feel good. Like, at all.

"Well, your version of 'nice' feels a lot like getting squeezed by a python," you shoot back, trying to ignore his hand placement.

"Python? Thought I was a bag of knives." There's something different in his voice now, like he's fighting back a laugh.

"Clearly you're gifted like that." The words come out softer than intended, your own anger fading into something dangerously close to amusement.

You both fall quiet, your almost-laughter seeping into the night. You're still pressed against him, but somehow the tension has shifted into something... different.

Dangerous.

"Done with your interpretive dance yet?" His voice still has that amused edge to it, the one that makes you want to elbow him again. On purpose this time.

"Maybe." You draw out the word just to be annoying. "If your tent wasn't trying to become one with my spine."

"Good." He sounds relieved, but there's still some tension bleeding into his tone. "Now can we please try to sleep before we have to do this shit all over again?"

You let yourself settle against his chest, and for a moment—just one blessed moment—everything's still. Then your nose starts itching like a bitch, and when you twist to scratch it, your elbow finds his ribs. Again.

"Fuck—"He hisses through his teeth. "Are you serious? Do you have a personal vendetta against my ribcage or something?"

"It was an itch," you snap back, not even trying to sound sorry anymore. "I'm not a fucking robot."

"Could've fooled me with all these assassination attempts." His voice drips with sarcasm. "Just stop wiggling! Every time you move it's like you're starting a riot in here."

"Well, maybe if your arm wasn't crushing me—" You try to adjust his grip, which only makes everything worse.

"My arm wouldn't be dead if you'd stop moving your goddamn hips like you're at a concert," he growls, but he shifts anyway, trying to find a better position.

"You're the one who decided spooning was the solution here," you remind him, because you're physically incapable of shutting up apparently.

"Yeah, to stop you from freezing to death, not to participate in whatever wrestling match you're trying to start!" And now he's frustrated.

"Oh, I'm sorry—" No, you're not. "Did you forget people actually move when they sleep? Or is that not covered in Assassin School?"

"Jesus fucking Christ." He clicks his tongue.

He tries to forcefully pull away all of a sudden, but you're already sitting up, blankets pooling around your waist as irritation floods your system.

"What the actual hell is your prob—"

The words die in your throat.

Oh.

OH.

Because there, in the dim light filtering through the tent, is some pretty compelling evidence of exactly what Jeon's problem is.

Your eyes snap to the very obvious bulge straining against the blanket around his hips, and suddenly his pissy attitude makes a lot more sense.

Holy shit.

Your brain short-circuits for a moment because—fuck. This isn't the first time you've noticed him getting hard around you.

Once could be biology, sure.

But twice?

That's starting to look like a pattern.

The realization hits you like a truck: maybe this tension isn't as one-sided as you thought. Maybe all those loaded looks and charged moments actually mean something.

Your eyes meet his, and the air in the tent gets about ten degrees hotter. There's a challenge in his gaze, like he's daring you to say something.

"Got something to say now?" His voice comes out rough, almost angry, but not entirely.

Your mouth goes dry, but you've never been one to back down. Especially not when you've got the upper hand.

"Yeah, actually." You can't help the smirk that tugs at your lips. "You could've just said you wanted to cuddle."

His eyebrows shoot up, caught between amusement and annoyance. "Cuddle? I was trying to shut you up so I could sleep."

"A pretty damn hard way to shut someone up," you shoot back, and god, the way his jaw clenches at your terrible pun is almost worth the whole uncomfortable night.

Jeon's eyes narrow, and he shifts uncomfortably. The movement only draws your attention back to his... situation, which isn't helping your concentration at all.

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly helping matters with all that ass giggling," he growls, and fuck—why does he sound that good when he's irritated?

You watch as he holds himself completely still, like he's trying to turn into a statue—like every single muscle in his body is tense, restraint is rolling off him in waves.

He looks like he's fighting a war with himself, and maybe he's losing.

"So what, this is my fault now?" You scoff, crossing your arms. "I'm responsible for your dick's opinions?"

"I'm not blaming you for shit," he snaps, voice stretched thin. "Trust me, I'm very aware of my own fucking body."

"And what it wants?" The words slip out before you can stop them, somewhere between a taunt and genuine curiosity.

His nostrils flare—got him—and his jaw clenches so hard you worry for his teeth. He looks away for a second, like he needs to physically remove you from his sight to think straight. When his eyes find yours again, there's something dark and hungry and god maybe you've died a little.

"What it wants doesn't matter," he says, each word careful and measured. "We're here for a reason, and it's not to play house or indulge in—"

"In what, Jeon? Basic human needs?" You cut him off because apparently, you have a death wish. "Because last time I checked, we're still human. Unfortunately."

He lets out a sharp laugh that sounds more like frustration than humor.

"You think I don't know that? But unlike some people, I can control myself."

And yeah, that would be have been convincing if his eyes weren't burning holes into you, if his gaze didn't keep dropping to your lips every few seconds.

"Is that so?" You lean forward slightly, watching him squirm. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're about two seconds away from snapping that famous self-control of yours."

"Fuck you," he growls, but there's something else dancing around in his tone that makes you slightly bolder.

"Maybe you'd like to."

His breath catches.

The look in his eyes makes your throat close. Raw need flashes across his face for a split second before he locks it down, trying his best to pull that cold enforcer mask back on.

"Don't push me." He says and it's rough, like it's supposed to be a warning.

But you notice how his eyes keep darting away from your face, like he can't trust himself to look at you directly.

"I'm not pushing anything." You keep your voice steady despite your racing pulse. "I'm just not running away."

"You're playing with fire," he bites out, but his tongue flicks at his lip ring—that nervous tell of his that makes heat pool in your gut.

"Am I?" You tilt your head, watching him fidget with the silver hoop. "Sure looks like you're the one burning up here."

His hands clench into fists. He's fighting for control, you can see that.

"You know the rules. No attachments. That's how we survive. That's how we keep our heads."

You can't help but scoff.

"Attachments? Who said anything about catching feelings?" You shift slightly, watching his eyes snap back to you. "I'm talking about scratching an itch. One we both clearly have."

He licks his lips again, slower this time, metal ring catching the dim light. For a moment, expression morphs, and you see it—the same thing you're feeling, raw and desperate.

Desire.

Jeon's gaze hardens, but not in the way you'd expect it to. "Don't twist my words. You know exactly what I mean."

"Yeah, I do." You meet his stare head-on. "But sex is just sex, Jeon. We're not breaking any rules if there aren't any feelings involved."

Before he can build another wall between you, you move.

In one fluid motion, you're straddling him, and holy fuck—you're sure the body heat he's producing alone could keep up with an oven. And his cock—god his cock is hard against you and definitely happy to see you there.

"See?" Your voice comes out lower than intended, perhaps a tad wanting. "No attachments. Just two people who need to get off."

His eyes are almost black now, pupils blown wide. His hands hover over your thighs like he's fighting himself, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer.

"You really think it's that simple?" The strain in his voice is delicious.

"I think," you breathe, leaning in until you can feel his exhale against your lips, "that we make our own rules. I want you, Jeon. And judging by what I'm feeling right now—" You shift slightly in his lap, drawing a sharp breath from him, "—you want me too."

His lips are close. Pine and wood and him fill your lungs, making you dizzy. You watch as his control frays at the edges, watch him wrestle with the rules he's built his life around.

"Fuck." The word tears from his throat like it hurts, rough and desperate.

"That's the idea," you murmur, and then you're closing that last inch between you, consequences be damned.

And God.

His lips are soft—way softer than you expected. That's your first coherent thought when Jeon finally, finally kisses you.

He starts slow. Careful. Like he's still fighting with himself even as his mouth moves against yours.

It's driving you insane. Because fuck, you've seen how he usually is—all storm and fury—but right now? He's taking his sweet fucking time.

You can taste the hesitation on his tongue when he licks at the seam of your lips. But it's pretend, you don't even question that, because you can feel his hunger as well. And you part your lips immediately—it's not like you to play coy, not when you've been wanting this for so long.

The first slide of his tongue against yours makes your chest tighten. There's something almost reverent in how he explores your mouth, like he's memorizing every detail. His lip ring clicks against your teeth and shit—that is just fucking hot, okay.

He tastes like cigarettes and mint—a combination that screams Jeon—that makes heat pool low in your belly.

His hands start wandering then, those big, calloused palms that you've caught yourself staring at during briefings. One traces up your spine, and even through your shirt, his touch makes you burn.

The other hand finds your neck, thumb pressed just under your jaw. Possessive. Demanding. Your pulse jumps against his fingers.

The kiss deepens, turns messy. Wet.

His tongue strokes against yours with purpose now, and Christ—the sounds you're both making are absolutely filthy. All slick slides and breathless little noises that make your cheeks flush.

You arch into him instinctively, wanting—needing—more. Because this? This careful exploration? It's not enough.

Not nearly enough.

You can't help the moan that slips out when his tongue slides against yours just right. It's embarrassingly needy, but fuck it—he's earned that reaction with the way he's kissing you.

"Keep it down," he murmurs against your mouth, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Unless you want an audience."

His thumb presses against your lips, calloused skin catching slightly. When you meet his eyes, his gaze darkens. The possibility of getting caught should probably worry you more than it turns you on, but... well. Here you are.

His hand traces down your spine like he's mapping every vertebra, and christ—who knew the guy who barely speaks two words could make you feel so much with just his fingertips? Each touch feels prepared, like he's conducting some kind of thorough investigation of what makes you squirm.

"Relax," he growls, low and rough in a way that does not help you relax at all. The vibration of his voice seems to travel straight between your legs. "I've got you."

That's kind of the problem, you think hazily as his other hand slides down to your hip with maddening slowness. Your breath hitches when his fingers slip under your crewneck, skin-on-skin contact sending electricity up your spine.

He takes his sweet fucking time inching the fabric up, like he's got all night to drive you insane. The contrast of his burning hands against your cooler skin makes you shiver. His thumb brushes just below your navel and fuck—you bite your lip to keep quiet.

You want to tell him to hurry up, to stop being such a tease, but there's something intoxicating about the way he's touching you—like he's savoring every inch. Like he's been thinking about this as much as you have.

"Is this..." His voice trails off, rough and uncertain.

You've never heard him sound like that before—like he's actually struggling for words.

"Is this what?"

You can barely get the words out. Hard to form coherent thoughts when his hand is burning a path up your ribs.

"Is this okay?" The question rumbles from his chest.

His eyes are fixed on where his hand disappears under your shirt, as if he's memorizing every inch.

"Yeah." You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice for more.

Fuck yes it's okay. It's been okay since the moment his mouth claimed yours.

Something in your answer must satisfy him because his hand slides higher, mapping your skin underneath with a precision that makes you shiver.

It's maddening how gentle he's being. You've seen those hands snap bones, seen them steady a rifle for impossible shots. Now they're ghosting over your skin like you're something precious, something that might shatter if he pushes too hard.

"Jeon." His name comes out embarrassingly breathy, halfway between a whine and a plea. "Keep going."

The bastard actually chuckles, the sound oscillating through you where you're pressed together. "Don't have to say it twice."

But he keeps that same torturous pace, each sweep of his thumb deliberately slow. Like he's got all night to take you apart piece by piece. Like he wants to drive you crazy.

You're starting to think he does.

His proximity is a heady thing and you could swear there's a storm raging behind his heartbeat.

You press closer, desperately seeking more contact.

More friction.

More anything.

But Jeon's self-control is nothing short of fucking legendary, it seems.

"Slow," he murmurs, eyes fixed on where his hand disappears beneath your shirt. "We take this slow."

You could fucking cry. His calloused fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, each touch light, teasing, and the contrast between his rough hands and gentle movements is driving you insane.

His other hand joins the first, sliding under your clothes with a confidence that borders on arrogance.

Yeah, he's smug; but you could swear there's something reverent in the way he touches you—and it's only because of that that you don't punch him.

Those dark eyes lock onto yours once more, asking a silent question.

A question he doesn't need to mutter.

You manage a quick nod, and he wastes no time pulling your crewneck and long sleeve over your head in one smooth motion.

But the universe hates you as much as you seem to hate yourself.

Because of course—of fucking course—you're wearing the most basic, practical bra imaginable. Why would you have worn anything sexy today? Not like you planned on Chief Jeon getting you half-naked in his tent.

His eyes rake over you, taking in every detail. When that infamous smirk tugs at his pierced lip, you already know he's about to be insufferable.

"Didn't dress up for me, huh?"

Heat floods your cheeks. You swat at his chest, torn between embarrassment and the urge to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Shut the fuck up, Jeon. Wasn't exactly expecting to get fucked today."

That deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, and fuck—it vibrates against you in a way it should be illegal.

But it's his eyes that get you—dark, hooded, pure filth swirling behind those orbs.

"You're acting like I care." He says as if you've told him a funny joke. "Trust me, I don't."

And his hands? Yeah, his hands haven't stopped their torturous exploration, mapping every inch of exposed skin like he's got a point to prove. Each brush of his callouses sends electricity down your spine. The bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

You want to hate him for that.

You don't.

His fingers trace your bra strap and he leans in close—so close you can feel his breath hot against your ear.

"Can I?"

Like he even needs to ask. Like you haven't been thinking about his hands on your bare skin since that first sparring session.

You manage a shaky nod, pulse thundering in your ears. One quick flick of his fingers and the piece comes undone. The clasp sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room.

The bra falls away and oh—the way he looks at you makes your core throb. His eyes rake over your exposed breasts in pure appreciation, hungry and possessive. You'd feel self-conscious if it wasn't so fucking hot.

When his hands finally—finally—cup your breasts, you can't help the gasp that escapes. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your back arches instinctively, pressing into his touch. His hands are so big they practically engulf you, rough and warm and perfect.

Then it's his breath. It fans hot against your neck and fuck—just the anticipation has you squirming. He hovers there, taking his sweet time, the bastard.

When his lips finally press against your throat, you have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

He presses a kiss. Then another. Then another.

Each one is slow, tongue flicking against your pulse point leisurely. Your head falls back automatically, giving him better access. Like he needs the invitation.

"Ah—"

"Shh." His voice vibrates against your skin, equal parts warning and amusement—and fuck his smirk.

His fingers are a fucking menace on your breasts, rolling your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they're almost painfully hard. And yeah okay, your pussy is literally throbbing at this point.

"You're so damn vocal," he grunts against your throat, punctuating the words with a sharp nip that makes you gasp.

You want to tell him to fuck off, but your brain's a blue screen as of right now. Your fingers find his hair instead, tangling in those dark strands just to have something to hold onto. To ground yourself while he systematically takes you apart with his mouth and hands.

But enough is enough.

So you shove at his chest, creating just enough space to think straight. His eyes widen for a split second before that infuriating shit-eating grin appears.

As if he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently. Off. Now. The fabric joins your discarded clothes somewhere on the floor (you're too busy staring at his chest to care where).

"Someone's eager." Voice pure sin, the jackass is clearly enjoying himself.

"If I'm half-naked, you better be too," you snap back, but the breathiness in your voice ruins any attempt at sounding annoyed. "Fair's fair."

He doesn't respond verbally, no.

Instead, he yanks you back against him and the feel of his bare skin against yours makes you want to keen. His hands grip your waist fiercely while yours explore the ridges of his abs, the hard planes of his chest. Each muscle twitches under your touch.

When his mouth claims yours again, it's different—hungrier, deeper. His tongue slides against yours in a way that makes your pulse quicken, and you can't help but press closer, fingers curling around his neck to pull him down.

And maybe sounds you're making should be embarrassing—all breathy sighs and desperate little whimpers. But with his hands burning paths across your skin and his tongue doing that, you can't bring yourself to care.

The tent feels like its own little universe, just you and Jeon and whatever the hell is going on between you right now (sex, probably). You grind down against his cock, the rough fabric of his cargo pants hitting you just right.

And he likes that, you can tell—because soon enough his hands grip your waist, guiding your movements with a precision that makes you want to eat him alive. Each roll of your hips presses you against his straining bulge, drawing embarrassingly needy sounds from your throat.

When you break the kiss to breathe, you can't help but stare. His lips are slick and swollen, that silver ring glinting in the dim light. His usually perfect hair is a mess from your fingers.

But he seems to like his battles well fought. So he bucks up against you. And fuck, you're growing impatient now.

"Where the fuck are the condoms?" you pant, desperation making your voice crack.

He actually has the audacity to chuckle, low and mocking.

"Didn't pack any," he shrugs, like he's commenting on the weather instead of ruining your life.

"What the fuck?" You stop moving, staring at him in disbelief. "Do you seriously expect me to ride you bareback?"

"No wanna?" His voice is so soft, almost childlike, like he's talking to a particularly bratty kid.

That is not hot. Why does he make it seem hot?

"What the fuck, Jeon!"

"What?" His lips twitch, and he has the nerve to look amused. "Wasn't planning on fucking either."

You roll your eyes, ignoring how his hands are still tracing maddening patterns on your skin.

"So you're just walking around with a loaded gun and no safety on?"

Another infuriating shrug. His thumbs slip under your waistband, teasing.

"Didn't plan on shooting."

His nonchalance is driving you insane—both with frustration and arousal. Especially when he's touching you like that.

"Literally, fuck you."

"I thought we agreed that would be a bit reckless right now?"

"Oh my god, Jeon." There's no hiding the frustration coloring your words. "We're surrounded by tents, which is bad enough, and now you're telling me we can't even fuck properly?"

His breath fans hot against your neck. "We can get creative."

The promise in those words makes your cunt throb, but you're not letting him win that easily.

"And leave us both desperate? Dream on, pretty boy."

He drags his lips over your collarbone and fuck—your hands clench in his hair just to stay upright, because can he stay in place when you're trying to tell him off?

"Hmm?" The smugness in his voice should be illegal. "But you were so needy a few seconds ago."

When he rolls his hips up, his cock grinding against you through his pants, you have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

Fucking, insufferable h̶o̶t̶ bastard.

"Pretty sure there's other ways to get each other off," he adds, and oh—the way he says it.

You try to respond but his mouth is already trailing up your neck, each kiss hotter than the last. His breath ghosts over your ear and you shiver, fighting the urge to tilt your head but doing so regardless. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex under your touch.

His hand keeps you pinned against his cock, the hard length of him pressing just right through his pants. His other hand teases at your waistband and you almost whimper.

Almost.

You lift your hips—an invitation that makes his eyes glint wickedly. He tugs your leggings down roughly, bunching them at your thighs. The cool air hits your heated skin and fuck—you've never felt more exposed, straddling him like this, movement restricted.

His palm slides up your inner thigh, leaving fire in its wake. When his thumb brushes over your clit through your panties, the shock of pleasure makes you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moan.

His muscles tense under your teeth and he makes a sound—half growl, half grunt.

"You like that, sunshine?" His voice is low and taunting.

And damn it. That fucking nickname again. You don't know why you fucking like it. Oxygen must not be reaching your brain.

Though it's not like you can trust yourself to speak—not with his thumb doing that, drawing slow circles that make your thighs shake.

You press a hum into his shoulder instead, teeth grazing skin in silent demand for more.

The heat between you is becoming suffocating, giving you a headache. Or maybe that's just him, the way he touches you like he's got all night to take you apart piece by piece. Like making you fall apart is his new favorite hobby.

"Jeon," you gasp against his shoulder, already embarrassingly breathless. "Take your fucking pants off."

For a terrifying second, you think he might deny you just to be a dick.

But then a deep snort rumbles through his chest and fuck—his next words may be your undoing.

"Bossy, aren't we?"

His tone is too smug for your own good.

For his own good.

For the good of humanity.

He manages to unzip his pants one-handed, whilst his other hand grips your waist, lifting you effortlessly—and honestly, the casual display of strength shouldn't be sexy but of course when it comes to him, it just is.

He shimmies his pants down to his thighs, leaving just his tight black briefs between you.

"Better?" He sounds all cocky about it, but you're too busy staring at the obvious bulge straining against the dark fabric to care, really.

You immediately sink back down onto his lap and oh—the thin layers of cloth do nothing to hide how hard he is.

The heat of his cock pressed against you makes you bite back a sound.

"Yeah."

The word may have come out too damn breathy, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when your hands are already wandering, desperate to touch more of him.

"Mhm," is all he says low and approving.

Your thighs clench instinctively, core throbbing at just his fucking voice.

Fuck him. Y̶o̶u̶ ̶w��i̶s̶h̶.̶

Every roll of your hips makes sparks dance behind your eyelids. His cock is right there, hard and thick against you, and even through the layers of fabric you can feel how perfectly it lines up with your clit. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements with absolute control.

"That's right, sunshine." And yeah, fuck, that's a growl. "Make yourself feel good."

Truth is—you couldn't stop if you wanted to. The danger of getting caught, the way his breath hitches when you grind down just right, the way he's gripping you like you're his lifeline—it's all too much and not enough.

And then, his fingers trace the edge of your panties.

It has you shivering, that light touch.

Because he's still being careful, so deliberate, like he's savoring every second. Like he wants you to savor it too.

You keep rolling your hips, chasing that delicious friction. When he starts bucking up to meet your movements, the added pressure makes you see fucking galaxies. His dark eyes are locked on yours, pupils blown wide with want.

"Can I take these off?"

And fuck, fuck, fuck, he still sounds smug, but there's a hint of neediness treading his tone that's turning you on further. His fingers hook under the elastic, waiting.

"Yes," you breathe, already thinking about getting his briefs off too, wanting to feel all of him.

But before you can even voice your concerns, he's already responding.

"I know." He replies, reading you like a fucking open book.

He smirks, thumbs hooking under his waistband, and peels his briefs down torturously slow, like he enjoys your impatience, making you wait. When his cock springs free, thick and hard against his stomach, your mouth goes dry.

You can't help but stare—the way it curves slightly to the left, the way it twitches under your hungry gaze.

The urge to touch, to taste—it's bordering on agonizing.

"My turn." He murmurs, like he's been patiently waiting for desert.

He helps you shimmy your panties down to join your leggings, his hands steady on your hips as you lift up. The fabric rustles obscenely loud in the quiet tent, like even your clothes are trying to give you away.

And then you're both naked where it counts, no barriers left between you except the rules you're already breaking—although not really because sex without attachment doesn't break any rules.

The distant sounds of the camp feel miles away, like you two have totally forgotten you're in Jeon's tent, in the middle of a camping trip.

Well. You're pretty sure people have fucked in worse situations. So whatever.

His hands grip your hips once again, guiding you down onto him. And when you do, the slide of his bare cock against your slick folds nearly makes you whimper. You can feel every ridge, every vein pressing against your core—and each tiny movement sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

"So good," he groans, the sound rumbling through his chest.

His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, like he's fighting to keep control, and you couldn't agree more.

Because the friction is divine, each roll of your hips making your thighs shake. You're already embarrassingly wet, leaving him slick and shining in the dim light.

He's so wet—from you, from him, it doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is the obscene sounds of skin on skin and the filthy curses falling from his lips.

His mouth returns to your collarbone and his lips are impossibly soft and the metal of his piercing incredibly cold and for some forsaken reason it turns you on even further. When he moves lower, dragging that piercing over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, you nearly come undone.

His hand on your hip keeps you exactly where he wants you, controlling the pace as he grinds his cock against your clit. He's moving hips like he knows how to make your eyes roll back. His other hand finds your free nipple, pinching and tugging until you're trembling under his touch.

"Do you wanna cum like this?" The words vibrate against your breast, making you shiver. "Grinding against my cock?"

You can barely nod. Your brain's a puddle of want and sex, reduced to basic functions like yes and please and more.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, needing to hold onto him as he takes you apart piece by piece. Every 'sunshine' that falls from his lips pushes you closer to the edge. You're quivering, hovering right on the brink, completely at his mercy.

And judging by that smirk against your skin? He knows it.

"Yeah, just like that." His voice is pure gravel, wrecked and hot and just outright sex. "Keep rubbing that pretty pussy against my cock."

You should be embarrassed by how those words affect you, but you're too far gone to care. His filthy mouth just makes you wetter, makes you grind down harder.

"Fuck yeah." The curse hisses through his teeth, and god—the way he sounds when he's losing control is addictive.

He keeps humping, cock rubbing against your clit every time, sending electricity shooting up your spine—and he's just so hard, so thick and fucking perfect under you. You didn't even know grinding could feel this fucking good.

"Shit, s'good," he pants, and you can tell he's barely holding it together.

His nails dig into your hips harder now, like he's nearing his own edge, like he wants to tumble down the precipice of pleasure as much as you—if not more.

Like he's fighting to maintain control over his own body.

You kind of want to make him lose it.

Your fingers are completely tangled up in his hair now, and you can't even tell where your hand begins and his locks end. All that matters is each fucking perfectly synchronized roll of your hips, each firework burning behind your eyelids.

You're so close, so fucking close.

He must feel it in the way your thighs tremble, because suddenly his grip on your hips turns bruising. His mouth releases your nipple with an obscene pop, and then he's burying his face between your breasts, breath hot against your sweat-slick skin.

"C'mon sunshine." He sounds absolutely debauched. "Cum f'me. Do it."

And fuck—that does it.

One more perfect grind of his cock against your clit and the orgasm embraces you like a warm hug. The moan that tears from your throat would definitely give you away if Jeon's hand didn't clamp over your mouth just in time.

Your body jerks against him, every nerve ending on fire. You're vaguely aware that you're probably pulling his hair too hard but you can't help it (he deserves it for being a teasing bitch).

Though, you can't help but feel a bit proud because it must be the sight of you falling apart what pushes him over too.

Because suddenly he's crushing you against him, face pressed between your tits to muffle his groans. His cock pulses between you, and there's hot ropes of cum painting both your stomachs.

His whole body trembles as he cums, nails leaving crescents on your hips—moons that will stay buried in your skin for days to come.

But you don't mind, enjoying the way each throb of his cock sends aftershocks through your oversensitive core. You can feel his heart hammering where you're pressed together, matching your own thundering pulse.

Holy fuck.

You collapse against him, completely boneless, barely aware that the tent now reeks of sex and pine and chai, and your brain's too fuzzy to do anything but breathe it in.

The judgemental owl from before hoots.

Your head finds his shoulder while his face stays buried between your breasts. His breath is hot against your skin as it slowly steadies. One of his hands traces lazy patterns on your back, and it's... nice. Surprisingly gentle for someone who just made you see stars.

"That was intense." His voice vibrates through your chest, rough and satisfied.

"Yeah." It's all you can manage. Your tongue feels too heavy for words, your body weightless and done.

He actually chuckles, the bastard. "You really needed that, huh?"

You want to smack him for being so smug, but your arms won't cooperate. You settle for an annoyed grunt instead, which just makes him laugh harder. His chest rumbles against yours and god—you're too fucked out to deal with his ego right now.

He taps your hip gently—a signal to move.

When you peel apart, you both look down at the mess of cum painting your stomachs. The sight makes heat flood your cheeks, a vivid reminder of what you two just did.

And frankly, how good it was—even if only grinding.

Not that you'll tell him that. His head's big enough already.

Jeon sighs—all annoyed like he wasn't just cumming his brains out—and starts rummaging around for something to clean up with. You just... roll over. Press your face into his blankets and, yeah, they smell like him. Not cologne or soap, just pure Jeon. Pine and wood and man.

Your eyelids are so heavy. The blankets are so warm. Maybe if you just... rest for a minute...

You vaguely register him cleaning himself up, but you're already half-asleep when his voice cuts through your haze.

"Hey, don't you dare think I'm letting you get all my shit dirty."

You manage a grunt and scrunch your nose. Why is a man talking?

"Fucking hell." He sounds exasperated, but his touch is surprisingly gentle when he starts wiping you clean. You just lay there like dead weight because seriously—moving is not happening right now.

The evidence of your activities dealt with, you hear him toss the wipes aside and settle next to you.

The silence that follows is nice.

Comfortable.

You burrow deeper into his blankets, letting his scent wrap around you like a cocoon, and you're this close to blessed unconsciousness when an agitating, grating noise ruins it again.

"Hey." All firm and authoritative like you give a shit right now. "Remember you gotta be up before dawn. We can't have anyone getting the wrong idea."

You heave the longest, most dramatic sigh of your life.

"I know. I will," you mumble into the blankets, already turning away from his voice.

Like, you get it. No sleepovers allowed. But also? Shut up and let you enjoy your post-orgasm coma for five fucking minutes.

He nudges you again, more insistent this time. "I'm serious. No misunderstandings, alright?"

God, why does he have to be so paranoid about it? This is just sex—no strings attached, no rules broken. You're not some lovesick teenager who's going to get the wrong idea from a hookup.

"Then set up a fucking alarm or something, alright?" The words come out sharper than intended, but you're too fucked out to care. "I'll wake up and get out, just stop being so damn annoying."

The silence that follows is almost funny. You can practically feel his surprise at your tone. Then he exhales—that short, irritated huff that means you've actually managed to ruffle the great Chief Jeon's feathers.

"Fine." He sounds... sulky? The mighty assassin, sulking. You'd laugh if you weren't so desperate to sleep.

The blue light from his phone briefly illuminates the tent as he sets the alarm. When he settles back down, you can feel him giving you one last look—probably questioning his life choices.

Whatever. You burrow deeper into his blankets, which smell unfairly good. The tent falls quiet except for your breathing and the distant sounds of the camp.

You're pretty sure he'll actually wake you up. That's just how Jeon is—stupidly reliable even when he's being an ass about it.

So you count on it.

And the last coherent thought you have before sleep claims you is that his blankets are way too comfortable for someone so annoying.

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