#usually writing comes easy but this was a bitch and a half to type and process

[lovebunnie]

The words wash over Hawk and fills his lungs like putrid water. In a moment everything seems clearer than it has in years, plants greener than ever before and Tim still looks so calm.

His older features seem more relaxed, more grey in his hair than Hawk’s own. It is obvious the disease is aging Tim faster than normal and the army may have made a man out of his Skippy, but the years after Fire Island made him Tim.

It occurs to Hawk then that Tim has been living with this knowledge for some time, was not even going to tell Hawk the truth. This was Tim collected, this was Tim accepting. This was Tim on borrowed time, and Hawk imagines his Skippy holding a live grenade to spare him from any hurt.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Hawk asks in a tight voice after a moment of silence.

Tim says yes, and Hawk is on his way as though running from the truth. Skippy is dying.

The bathroom is a garish yellow and Hawk cannot stand the remnants of this person he does not know; he is used to picking up Tim’s small trinkets and being treated to the origin story with boyish glee. This Tim, however, is unknowable to Hawk. He wonders when Tim started using cinnamon toothpaste over spearmint.

Hawk looks into the mirror and splashes water on his face to bring him back to reality. There is no time to know this Tim, not like he once had. Gone were the days of lounging in bed and trading stories. There was no more time because Skippy was dying.

The world turns and Hawk sits on the toilet.

The last time the world had spun so violently, Hawk had been asked to identify his son’s body at the morgue.

Yes, that’s… Hawk had said before clearing his throat. That’s my son, that’s my boy.

Jackson had been so still and looked freezing and it took everything in Hawk to not climb next to his son and cradle his frigid body. There was in fact nothing left for Hawk to do for Jackson, his duties as his father were absolved. Father of one, officially. Losing his child had damn near killed him.

And Hawk had tried to die, hoping maybe falling into drugs would somehow make him closer to Jackson. This is how he felt when he felt free, Hawk thought as the powder burned his nose; it was the closest they ever got to father-son bonding.

Hawk would have died if it had not been for Tim. No two ways about it.

Now Tim is dying and Hawk cannot return the favor.

He lost one of his boys and another was on the way out next. Jackson and Tim, was there truly no sanctuary for the kind? Were they doomed the minute they opened their hearts to the bitter world?

Hawk cannot imagine losing Skippy, not again, not like this. Soon the world would be without Tim and Hawk could not bear to live through this death again.

Don’t you need me, Skippy? Hawk had asked long ago with cheeks sticky with tears.

I have you, Tim said with all the certainty in the world.

Hawk crumples forward with his face in his hands, tears stubbornly at bay. He never had Tim at all and it was no one’s fault but his own.

He looks up from his hands to the shelf of medication and notices the prescription has a refill available for pick up.

Skippy is dying, Hawk thinks. But he’s not dead yet.

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

For the writing ask: 10, and maybe 17?

(I love your writing by the way!)

:D Thank you muchly anon, both for the ask and the compliment!

Hmmm, since I already answered these elsewhere I shall link to those other answers and give you snippets related to the questions instead :3

10: Top three favourite fic tropes.

Since I mentioned my half written ABO fic, I shall give you a snippet from that rough draft!

Jason attempts to initiate an omegan "give me food as a sign I'm family" ritual with Tim one day, not realizing that no one other than Jason knows that Jason isn't an alpha. Tim interprets it as an alphetic "fuck you bitch I should be higher in the pecking order than you" move.

But then Jason's reaction to Tim baring fangs and snarling at him feels... really weird. Like, if he didn't know better that looked less like a challenger alpha backing off and more like an omega feeling hurt and rejected.

...But he does know better, is the thing. He's seen Jason's DNA, and his chromosomes are very clearly alpha, no ambiguity about it.

...He is weirdly big for an alpha though? Like, fucking huge, honestly, the kind of huge that really only loner omegas, stressed ones at that, can manage - or devoted venom users like Bane and Jason really isn't the type to go for doping. That's no guarentee, after all Dick is nearly just as big and he's as Alpha as they come, but then again, there is a reason that genotype and phenotype are different words come to think of it and...

Well shit. Maybe he doesn't know better.

The next time they meet, Tim offers him an apple out of his lunch. If Jason's actually just a big alpha, it'll be a confusing as fuck submissive respect towards a higher pack alpha move considering their earlier scuffle, possibly an insulting implication about his height or weight, and just generally very weird. But if he's an omega, it's the first step to actually repairing this.

Jason is hesitant, but accepts it, takes one bite, and then hands it back, a symbolic acceptance that proves he ate just as a bond. Very, very clear omegan behavior.

The time after that he brings enough to share, bagged such that it's easy to dole out portions. Jason is cautious, but receptive and after the confusion is explained he tucks into the food offered to him heartily.

"So, seriously, whole group of the best detectives on earth, and not a single fucking one of them put together that the extremely obvious omega who wasn't even trying to hide this shit, was an omega? Not one?"

"As far as I can tell, I'm the first to figure it out."

"Is that why Bruce keeps trying herd me all the time?!"

Tim laughs, "Yuuup! He thinks you're shoving off his overprotective routine!"

"I hate this so fucking much, it's so goddamn stupid and it explains WAY too many things!"

"I'm so sorry for solving a good third of all your social problems."

"Oh like it didn't take you this many fucking years to figure it out!"

"In my defense, I've literally never met you with your scent blockers off."

Jason mulls that over inbetween bites of lo mein. It's not a pleasant thought that he's been so removed from their lives that this might be a feasible thing to miss, "...You want to change that?"

Tim perks up, surprised, but happy, maybe even trying to rein in his own excitment, "Yeah! That- I mean whatever you're comfortable with, that'd be nice."

They go to one of Tim's apartments, since honestly Jason doesn't have a scented one. Tim greets him at the door, mouth open delicately sniffing at him. After a second of hesitation Jason leans down so they're cheek to cheek, overtly figuring out each others scents.

He smells sweat, testosterone, and a thousand other animal scents that combine to make something that is uniquely Tim. it's wonderful and Jason wants it on him, wants it all over himself.

There are human ways to ask for these things, usually involving words, and the polite exchanging of sweaters, but he doesn't know the right words, has never really had this, has never be able to try to ask, and so he doesn't. He trills, like he's feral. He honestly feels feral, so out of his depth that he's stripped down to animal need and instinct.

Tim shifts in surprise ever so subtly, then cautiously but firmly sets his cheekbone against Jason's offering what he wants wordlessly. Jason takes it, rubbing his cheek against Tim roughly all the way down from his face to where his neck connects with his shoulder.

Tim laughs breathlessly and returns the scenting affection with just as much vigor.

They rub their cheeks and necks together long enough that he gets tired of having to bend down, so Jason just picks Tim up to make it more comfortable, a low rumbling purr from him slowly getting louder, joined by Tim's encouraging alpha chirps.

They finish once they're so thoroughly drenched in each other's scent that no one but a bloodhound could tell them apart. Jason gently sets him down, backing up as much as the door behind him would allow and then they just... carry on as though it's all chill and normal, discussing cases, then some other light talk, and then sharing takeout tacos.

"How long do you think it'll take them to notice?"

"With you actually treating me like an omega? Give it maybe one visit. They can't seriously be <em>that</em> stupid."

He said, right before they immediately prove that they are, in fact, that stupid.

17: Past or present tense? Why?

For this one I'll give you the spot where I'm playing around with tense changes as a thematic device in the next chapter of Chained: To Wield the Blade we Have Forged. its under the read more cause Spoilers (also I may tweak some more stuff before it actually gets published, we'll see!)

A young girl stood on a chair cutting her hair off into messy chunks over the bathroom sink. Her face was fixed in a scowl of determination, lit only by the pale nightlight she'd taken into the bathroom.

She hadn't been willing to take the risk of turning on the proper lights. She was afraid one of her parents would walk past and see the glow through the cracks around the door and demand to know what she was doing up this late.

They'd notice her hair in the morning, obviously, but something told her that begging forgiveness in the morning was far safer than being caught in the act at night.

The scissors bent and creaked in protest as she forced them to saw through the entirety of her pony tail all at once. She muttered curses at them - Hadn't she just gotten in trouble a few days ago for playing with them because they were dangerous? Weren't these stupid things supposed to be sharp?!

Unfortunately, without the light on, and without a lock to keep anyone out, her father didn't bother to knock before he opened the door and stepped into the bathroom.

There is a moment of frozen panic as the world slides and slips into two overlapping images. In one translucent view Dad was yelling about what on earth she thought she was doing to her hair and about waking Mom up to try and salvage it. That sequence slips like oil off of the concrete surface of this other moment.

Dad stands still and quiet. There is a sorrow on his face so profound it's frightening.

"I think I regret this argument more than any other. Maybe it's- you know human memory is a mess but... it felt later like this must've been where it all went wrong."

She didn't understand; this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"What?"

"After I found out about Robin and the puberty blockers and Bruce, I thought about this moment a lot. Couldn't help but look back and try and sort it all out in my head. And maybe I didn't ask for your perspective on it enough, or maybe I asked about it too much or - cripes I don't know, but it felt like this was where the first brick in the wall between us got laid."

Tim suddenly remembers that he hasn't been the little girl in this bathroom for thirteen years. He's left adrift, standing there in his pajamas, scissors still in hand.

"I- I don't know. I don't really think about this much anymore. It's been years since I thought about anything that happened when I was this young."

[heavenbarnes]

Love your Natalie 'Sugar' posts! Please can you write more, maybe some SFW and NSFW dating headcanons?

Hope you've had a good day!

uh yeah i sure can! i hope your day is good 🫶🏼

sfw:

- natalie who all but promised herself that she’d keep business and personal life separate (which was already impossible considering her brother(s) created this restaurant) but when she said “personal” she really meant “romantic”

- all that went out the window the day she came to the restaurant with the intent to head straight to carmy’s office but ended up lingering by your station

- if you asked her these days, she’d say it was because you were cooking an interesting dish (you were chopping potatoes) but if you had your say, it was because your sleeves were rolled to your elbows and you’d just lugged a heavy stockpot

- you made the first move, natalie had been the first to start flirting but you were the one to actually do something about it and not just stare at her starry eyed any longer

- it’d happened when you found her in the office, flustered and pissed off about the finances and you’d been the first person to ask how you could help and actually want an answer (as it turned out you weren’t the best at balancing books but you did tuck natalie’s hair behind her ear and ask how she made it look so easy)

- everyone else noticed the change when you were the only person to call her natalie when everyone calls her sugar and when richie asked why you’d simply responded “natalie’s a nice name, why change it?”

- anyways! dating! that woman doesn’t lift a fkn finger long as you have breath in your lungs- you’d get up and cross the living room to pass her the remote.

- in return, she is the sweetest love you have ever known. doesn’t matter who you are, what you’ve done, what you haven’t done- natalie loves you more than life itself.

- if she comes to the restaurant during down time, she can usually be found sat in your lap with a plate of whatever you’ve whipped up for her (all she has to do is ask and you’d hand spin her gold)

- you call her “the wife” even if you’re not married, you just love reminding people you have someone at home

- her lockscreen is a sweet picture of the two of you on a walk, your lockscreen is her on the toilet flipping you off

- you, richie and carmy refer to yourself as natalie’s “loser-husband” (regardless of gender) and natalie always tells you off for it (you keep doing it cause you like it when she uses that tone with you)

- you do most of the cooking at home but sometimes she’ll surprise you with baking and it’s always fucking delicious

- whenever the two of you are out, you’re usually stood just behind her with a hand on her lower back- you really like to be touching any part of her at all times

- when you’re in bed together at the end of a long day, she rubs your hands and knuckles when they’re tired from all that cooking (you repay with foot rubs on the couch)

- natalie really likes trashy reality tv and you watch it without complaint because of the light in her eyes when she bitches to you about one of the couples or whatever

- you and natalie are really good communicators, believe in discussing any issues with each other rather than airing them out to others

- it wasn’t always that way, natalie had to overcome a lot of family background to do it, but the result was worth it

- because of that family background, you’re unbelievably patient with her because you think she’s worth it

- if any of your colleagues or friends try to get into the whole “god my wife is so annoying” type of thing you’re just not there because you can’t relate

nsfw:

- okay i know i said you don’t call her sugar but that was only a half truth, you call her sugar when you’re fucking her

- when she’s underneath you and she’s on her back and her hairs splayed out like a golden halo and she looks sweet as sugar

- that’s when you cannot stop your mouth from running and you’re telling her “you’re so fucking perfect, sugar”

- but nobody else will ever know that

- however, it does mean she knows when you’re in the mood because you’ll just call her sugar and then it’s all on

- ngl, i reckon you’d have to be top in this relationship because i honestly think nat borders on pillow princess (but in the right mood, she’ll switch for you)

- she loves sitting in your lap at the restaurant but she adores sitting on your lap at home, whether you’re on the couch or in bed she’s perched up with her tits in your mouth

- you regularly ask her to ride you so you can get her tits in your mouth

- she loves being woken up with head, weekends when you don’t have to be anywhere in a rush you’ll spend hours under the sheets with her thighs around your head

- even though i think she likes being pillow princess, she absolutely loves going to town on you- likes it when her “big strong chef” comes undone for her

- she’ll also get into a bit of mommy stuff if you’ve had a rough day and need to be taken care of

- one of your favourites is having her sit between your legs in front of the mirror, making her show you how she touches herself when you’re working long nights at the restaurant

- she often walks around the house naked and sometimes you can be serious about it and other times you’re bending her over the kitchen bench

- sydney walked in on the two of you in a heavy make out session in carmy’s office and you all agreed to never talk about it again but sydney thinks about it often

- natalie loves when you talk dirty, loves getting you to the point where you’re straight babbling about how good she feels

- she loves tiktok and frequently does those trends like flashing your partner when they pull up the driveway or sending a nude when they’re in a group setting (you never complain and always fall for it)

- in fact, you love when natalie flashes you because you just fucking love boobs so sometimes if you’re doing something around the house she’ll just say “hey babe” and next thing she’s lifting her shirt for you

- whatever you’re doing then gets forgotten cause you’re asking her to put them in your mouth

- honestly, you’ll give her a go wherever and whenever you can so it’s not uncommon for her to be brushing her teeth with you crouched behind her and a cheek in each hand

- about the reality tv, she’ll be sat back watching while you’re kneeling with your tongue buried in her (sometimes you have to pause cause you get too invested in the show)

- she loves buying lingerie for you to slip to the side when she’s face down ass up in your bed

- one last one, she has called you daddy in bed before and you came in record time (once again, regardless of gender)

[worldofgoo]

3 and also any multiple of five of your choosing for my friend COBALT

ty for the asks yayy :3 under the cut for lenght

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Funny answer is playing app. I'm still enamored with the concept of being able to play app in your brain and I think it's a pretty fun way to numb your mind and relax before sleep.

More interesting answer is like, sorting the memories from the day? I'm really bad at actually ever writing this stuff but I do like thinking about like. the mind architecture that would arise from having a computer literally connected to it, his memories are still stored in his flesh brain but the digital storage might basically be a bunch of "shortcuts" or reminders of them, basically it lets him choose what to dwell on and how to think about it (or just an externalization of the way he already thinks and categorizes things). I've been thinking about how this type of thing might be utilized for him as a narrator character but the jury's still out on the execution...

5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

I think he's pretty mistrustful by default! So, pretty easy.

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

Was gonna skip but I guess my lack of answer might be interesting as well... I'm not sure if he talks with enough people in his regular life to really have any specific lies, but if he did lie I want to say he'd kind of feel bad about it? Just kind of projecting with that one, lying makes me stressed & Cobalt also definitely prefers to be honest and blunt #autusm

15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

I always imagined him literally just doing the Saiki thing where he never actually directly replies to people or expresses his thoughts and just has an ongoing commentary in his own mind, if he does actually say something it's going to be very pointed and premeditated, basically to fulfill a specific purpose and no further. But his more impulsive/default responses are going to be more like. rude/blunt/prickly so I can imagine if he DOES get pushed to break this general rule it's going to be something mean (also something I'm still trying to cook wrt actual execution)

Also as for like, speaking style and cadence, I imagine slow and flat with a fairly deep voice? I imagine he generally sounds bored and disinterested to others when he speaks

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

He would not answer this question. Not really a topic he'd allow himself to entertain in the first place. He also doesn't have a family, so that's not relevant. I'm uncertain if he ever has any romance, it feels like bad rep or something but honestly I just can't see it. Maybe if I evolved his character past the point of the fairly stubborn and stagnant image of him I have right now. Skipping 25 for this reason also. As far as Cobalt is concerned, all marriage is "gay" marriage.

30. Who do they most regret meeting? 

Hard question for a story I'm still having trouble actually visualizing, but right now I'm working on giving him an annoying ass roommate he avoids lol, not sure if that will end up being plot relevant or not though

35. How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? 

Fuck no bitch... Another half baked idea but it's one I'm also very attached to, but in a world where he has a messaging platform and "friends" on it he's basically the guy with like 100+ unread discord messages and when he does open and read them he does NOT reply, I think it's really funny

40. How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Hmm.. depends on which flaws? He feels pretty justified in his habits and worldview and wouldn't see them as flaws even if he might sometimes lament the alienation that they cause? But I do think he is aware that he's seemingly unpleasant and offputting even when he's not actively trying, which is a reason that he keeps to himself even when people are being nice to him and he likes them. He probably has a pretty warped self-image because of how much time he spends in his own head

[7ndipity]

Oooooooh shipping game?? How did I miss that you’re doing this! I haven’t participated in one in so long, so hopefully I’ll be able to give you something to work with 🙈

Zodiac sign: Pisces

Chinese zodiac: Wood Dog (94 liner, and I actually turn 30 this year and hoooo boy the crisis is real)

MBTI: whichever one is the (turbulent) Logician type, sorry I don’t remember the abbreviations

She/her pronouns.

I’m an introvert (not the shy type) who routinely gets adopted by extroverts and then has to withdraw from society to recover. I love dogs (but irl I actually have a cat, because my dogs were too big to move them with me when I moved out for uni, so I literally googled ‚cat breeds dog personality’ and got one for myself).

I’m also a bookworm, although uni kinda killed my love for reading for a long while (literature major) and my favorite genres are fantasy, sci-fi and supernatural horror. I’m drawn to things that are a bit (a lot) darker than the usual, books and movies that explore the complexity of human nature and our place in the universe (I feel like I’m setting myself up to be shipped with Namjoon by writing this). I was raised as a metalhead and still listed to metal and rock a lot, I actually got into BTS and k-pop in general in early 2023 because my extroverted friend nagged me for six months and the rabbit hole just opened up one day. Other than BTS my favorite group is Stray Kids.

I’m pretty independent as a person, often come off as closed off or straight up bitchy, but I’ve been told that once people get to know me better it’s like I’m fluffy on the inside. My best friend would probably tell you that I’m like a tunnel: once we’re friends and you betray my trust, the tunnel collapses and there’s no going back. My other friend claims that I have goth/witchy vibes and that I’m a grinch (which tracks, actually). It’s not easy for me to make friends but I found out in the past year or so that I have a lot more of them than I thought possible.

Other than that, I love dark humor and dark comedy. I rarely make jokes, mainly because I don’t think I’m that funny, but I do enjoy banter. I find it really hard to let go and let loose (anxiety is a bitch and a half), but I try my best to be better at just being myself and vibing with other people.

I’ve been told I’m a decent cook and have some tattoos (and planning on getting more). And I think that’s about it really 🙈

I would love to see who you’d ship me with if you have the time! Thanks so much for all the hard work you put into your writing this past year, when I dove into the BTS content your blog was like a headcanon central for me 😹

Lol, I know you joked about it, but I do genuinely ship you with Namjoon, as well as Yoongi!

You have a lot similar interests and traits as both of them that I think would make it easy for you to connect, and although Joon is an extrovert, he really respectful his and other people's boundaries and space, so I think he'd be good at helping you open up a bit more without being draining or exhausting for you.(Also lowkey think they'd both really be into your style)

Yoongi's also has that 'tough outside, soft inside' vibe, and also isn't afraid to discuss darker topics or the different aspects of the human experience, and I think he'd appreciate someone he can talk with easily about those types of things.(He also has/had a slightly dark sense of humor, so I think you'd be able to bounce off each other well)

Hope this was okay!💜

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Keep calling me that

idk how exactly to write the pairing for this one cause the whole dynamic a lil fucked up but like...switch!fem reader, dom!changbin, dom!minho, switch!jisung

Content warnings: mentions of mc’s sex life with chan and hyunjin, mc’s best friend is involved, jisung has a humiliation kink, names (princess, baby girl/boy, good boy/girl, babydoll, baby, sweetheart), hair pulling, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, double penetration (why do i write this as if it’s something i’m into), dacryphilia, overstimulation, exhibitionism, jisung makes you wear his shirt at the end. 

Summary: jisung is sick and tired of you flirting with his friends without offering to include him.

Word count: 7833

A/N: idk what’s wrong with me but have this. i’ll release the second part soon. as always, consider giving me a follow here and on my main (and maybe turn on those notifications to know when i post!). submit hard thoughts here, i would love to discuss it. also, i started a ko-fi! i do take commissions and i’d be thrilled to do some work for you!

Tags: @hyuckilstan​ @sxnshineskzx​

Smut below the cut

Being best friends with an idol group was always interesting. They were some of the sweetest men you’d ever met but you got to see a different side of them. The side that the public didn’t see. These bitches were always horny and making nasty jokes. It was easy to throw those jokes right back considering half of them were about you and the things you’d done with them.

To be clear, you hadn’t slept with all of them, but the ones you had slept with liked to hold it over you as if you couldn’t just get on your knees and make them melt at the thought of getting to fuck your face. No, you’d slept with most of them but not all of them. You were afraid to defile someone so pure like Jisung or Felix. You’d thought about it, for sure, but you didn’t think you could ever act on it unless they begged and pleaded for a long time. And Jeongin and Seungmin were great friends but they roasted the shit out of you way too much. The only way those two would be getting in your pants was if all of you were drunk as fuck.

Chan was the quiet type. He didn’t really brag about his escapades, which you were thankful for given the positions he’d put you in. He liked to backtrack and joke that what the fans said wasn’t true, but that man was 100% a daddy dom and he fucking exercised that every chance he got with you. How could he not when you were such a good girl for him?

Hyunjin was walking sex. Everyone knew it. But everyone who said he was a dom was wrong. The amount of times you’d made him cry while his legs were forced apart by a spreader bar….well you couldn’t remember how many times you’d done it at this point. He had so much pressure on him as an idol and he wanted to give up that control in bed and let someone else decide what was best for him. To be honest, you weren’t sure you could actually pull off the whole dom thing until you got with him the first time. But once it happened, he was constantly all shy and flustered around you and it gave you so much confidence.

But Minho and Changbin….there was more to it than being the group hole when it came to them. You weren’t dating them, no, but there was an emotional connection and they knew you. They knew what made you tick. They knew how to tear you down only to rebuild you (this usually came in the form of cuddles and kisses and bubble baths, which seemed odd coming from two of the most sexually intimidating men you’d ever met). But they also knew almost all of your favorite things and they remembered the names of all of your family members. They even knew exactly what medications you took and when. Aside from your childhood-best-friend-turned-roommate, they were the ones you called on in a crisis.

So it came as no surprise when those close to you thought you were dating both men. Hell, other idols had seen you with each of them at different times and whoever was left home got texts saying you were cheating. At this point, half the industry knew how close you were with the two and no one batted an eye anymore. The general public thought you and the previously mentioned childhood best friend worked with them given how many videos the two of you could be seen in the background of.

Your best friend was also close with them since you’d started dragging her along to meetups which led to them openly accepting her into the fold. Felix in particular was extremely fond of her because she was always down to get in the kitchen and bake with him. In general, the 00s line was close with her given they were the same age.

Which explains why she and Jisung were sat hip to hip while you were seated on Minho’s left thigh, eyes glued to the music show that was playing as his fingertips danced across the exposed skin of your thighs. You and your friend shared an apartment only a few blocks away from the company and you’d extended the invitation to all the boys to have a mental health day (which just consisted of filling your stomachs with trash food and playing a plethora of movies) but only Minho, Changbin, and Jisung showed up. Chan was working on songs, Felix had just gotten his hands on an old family recipe, Hyunjin was gearing up for another solo SKZ Player, Seungmin was hosting a music show (the one you had just turned on because it started five minutes ago), and Jeongin had taken a weekend trip home to see his mother and irritate his brother.

Everyone was watching Seungmin on the massive tv and Jisung was clowning him but you were only half paying attention to your surroundings. Your mind was pleasantly fuzzy as you got a little drowsy from Minho’s gentle touches. Yeah, he was turning you on a little, but the repetitiveness of it was soothing.

But then he pulled your hair back behind your shoulders, gathering the sections that usually framed your face and leaning in close to your ear as Changbin appeared in front of you. “Isn’t she pretty, Changbinnie?” You could tell he was wearing a playful smirk by his tone as Changbin leaned down into your personal space.

This was by no means unwelcome, the man was gorgeous and smelled like Christmas (of course he’d used the shampoo you’d made him recently, why wouldn’t he?). You allowed him to tilt your head back and gave him a tiny smile as a smirk settled on his face. “Stunning.”

Having his lips crash against yours while he roughly gripped your chin wasn’t what you’d planned for the day but you weren’t one to turn down attention, especially from these two. You heard a shuffling beside you but none of it really registered as you tried to stifle a squeak when Changbin nipped at your lip. You failed miserably.

What you didn’t know was that Jisung was getting pouty beside the three of you, even as he exchanged confused glances with your friend. “Ummm what the fuck?” She giggled out nervously, spotting Jisung’s excitement as her eyes turned back to the sudden make out session taking place before them.

Jisung, to no one’s surprise except your own, had a fat crush on you. You, of course, were oblivious to this fact. You found him adorable but you would feel guilty if you did anything to him. He was the most innocent thing and you couldn’t ruin that. That’s what caused you to pull back from the kiss, breathing heavily as you forced back a shy giggle (because even though you’d slept with them countless times, you were their precious baby and the attention always made you bury your face in your hands for a few seconds, which Minho adored).

“Guys…Ji is here..” you murmured to them, refusing to make eye contact with Changbin because that’s just how you always were in this sort of scenario. That’s when you heard the huff as he slumped down into the cushions.

“I don’t get why you treat me like a baby..” he grumbled, crossing his arms as your friend placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. “I’m a grown ass man, only a year younger than you. I know you’re fucking half the group, you always have hickeys after spending time with Channie hyung and these two. And Hyunjin always comes back looking absolutely wrecked, covered in hickeys and still sniffling even after two hours because every time he cries his nose runs - which by the way what the fuck do you do to him to make him cry like that - but you refuse to even entertain dirty jokes around me as if I don’t make some of my own.” He rolls his eyes and no one notices when Changbin and Minho exchange knowing looks. Jisung is focused on how irritated and sexually frustrated he feels but you and your friend are focused on his outburst.

You’d only heard him curse a handful of times and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it hot. But it was bothering you how upset he was. “Ji..” you bite the inside of your cheek as you try to think of what to say.

But before you can respond, Minho speaks up. “Why don’t you just show him what you do to make Hyunjin cry like that, princess? You should teach him how to mind his manners.”

You instantly shake your head. “He’s too sweet. I can’t just rock up with restraints and vibrators and ruin that innocent boy.” You say, finally looking over your shoulder at Minho. Jisung chokes on whatever air he was trying to inhale at the thought of you doing those things to him, his cheeks burning a furious red as he looks towards your friend to avoid making eye contact with you.

Of course, Minho notices this and just snorts. “I think he likes the idea, baby girl. Look at how he’s squirming right now.” He teases, his fingers starting to release your hair but not before giving a tug. “Looks like he might just bust before you even get the chance to touch him.”

“Hey!” Jisung scowls as his head whips around to face Minho. “I’m not that desperate!” This is met with laughter from every angle and Jisung’s cheeks go redder, his pants feeling even tighter. He never wanted the other members to know but it seems the cover on his humiliation kink is about to be blown. One thing he wouldn’t let slip was the skirts, but that was a discussion for another day. This was all to say he was not the innocent little angel you thought him to be. He was hornier than all of NCT combined, he was just good at hiding it. Well, until today.

Seungmin’s voice rang clear through the room as a performance ended on the show and Jisung just let out a groan of annoyance, grabbing the remote from the table and flicking the tv off. “Oh my god shut UP!” He huffed and got up. That’s when you finally caught on that it was more than just him being shy and maybe crushing on you. He was turned on just from seeing Changbin kiss you and he wanted you to treat him like that. “I’m just gonna go before this gets any weirder.”

“Don’t.” The word slipped out all too fast and your cheeks heated up a little as he stopped. “Good boy.” He would’ve keened if those words had come from you. Though he was still close to that reaction since it was Minho who spoke up. “I won’t show you what I do to Hyunjin.” His frown deepened and you sighed. “But you’ll listen to us and do what we tell you to do to him.” Changbin smirked at you and glanced over at your friend. “You too if you’re game, babydoll.”

“Bet. But we’re not fucking in the living room, I don’t have the money to get the couch cleaned.” You couldn’t stifle your laugh at her words and nudged Changbin back to stand up. You faced Jisung and, while the man was several inches taller than you, he seemed so small in that moment.

“Looks like you’re getting what you want. No more pouting.” You teased as you led him off to your room, the others following closely. You jumped a bit when Changbin’s hand connected with your ass and a slap sounded out across the room. He was always doing that, regardless of whether or not you were with the rest of the group. It seemed to be one of his love languages at this point.

“Fuck, that was a good one.” His attention shifted from you as he adopted a sly grin. “What about you, b/f/n? Is your ass off limits? I hope not, it’s a nice ass.” He teased.

That was one thing about Changbin and Minho. While they were both very much dominant men, Changbin had more fun with it. It’s not that Minho was rigid, he was just more serious in general. More mature. Changbin was your local gym rat that doubled as a walking shitpost. Certified dumbass in the most loving way possible. It’s only natural that the headassery would bleed into how he acted in the bedroom.

B/f/n’s cheeks were tinted pink as she responded, granting Changbin permission to play with her ass since he seemed so enthusiastic about it. The man lit up like a neon sign as he dropped back a bit to plant one on her, earning a squeak of surprise to accompany the slapping sound even though she knew he was going to do it. “Damn, okay, your ass is perfect. That was perfect. Fuck.”

Minho just rolled his eyes as you all entered your room, closing the door behind everyone. “Calm down, you’ve got plenty of time to play with their asses. Right now though we’ve got some teaching to do.” He smirked as you nudged Jisung to sit on the edge of your bed.

Jisung, the precious thing he is, kept his eyes down as his teeth made quick work of the insides of his puffy cheeks. You noticed and lightly patted his cheeks. “Stop that. You’ll hurt yourself and then be grouchy about it later.” You scolded gently as Minho took up residence at your desk and Changbin lounged on the giant beanbag chair in the corner. He’d have trouble getting up later but you’d just pretend you didn’t see it like you always did. You learned the first time he struggled that laughing was a poor choice when he’d yet to have his turn. Your hips ached for days from how he’d folded you.

“Actually, I think I’ll let you handle them,” Changbin started as his eyes locked on b/f/n. “I’m gonna have some fun with this one.” He beckoned her over and patted his thighs when she reached him, urging her to sit. But you didn’t have time to see if she actually sat before Minho was ordering you to kiss Jisung.

Domming in front of these two was just…strange. It was embarrassing in some ways because they’d only ever seen you as their good little girl. You gladly gave up any control with them and now Minho was demanding you take some back to exercise on Jisung. Had it just been the two of you, you wouldn’t be hesitating at all (aside from the whole “I don’t wanna dirty him” thing). It was a weird power dynamic.

So when you leaned in for the kiss Minho had demanded, you decided to ignore his presence and do things your way. Your lips brushed against Jisung’s and he let out a soft sigh. You couldn’t help but let your fingertips ghost over the front of his sweats and he let out a soft whimper but you pulled back from the kiss all too soon for his liking and he whined. “That wasn’t even a kiss!”

“Waiting is part of the fun, Ji. If you know so much, surely you know that.” You mocked as your fingers tangled in his hair, forcing his head back to look at you since you were still standing. The whimper he let out was glorious and you couldn’t help but lean back into his personal space to mock him some more. “I just don’t think you know as much as you say you do, babydoll. You’re in no position to demand things. You’ve seen Hyunjin after I’ve finished with him.”

It was less nerve-racking with only Minho paying attention to what was happening. Changbin was a little preoccupied with b/f/n, the sounds of them sucking face and gasping for air battling against your ridicule to break the silence. Well, their sounds and your ridicule mixing with Jisung’s desperate noises.

“Shit, baby, I didn’t know you could do that. You’re always so quiet and obedient.” Minho chuckled as he crossed his arms. “But you didn’t listen to me, angel. I said kiss him. Not toy with him.” Jisung felt seen and like someone was on his side so he made it known. “See! I told you it wasn’t a kiss!” You shot him a glare and he shut his mouth instantly as you turned your gaze back to Minho.

“It’s hard to follow instructions and dom at the same time though…” you pouted, hoping that would soften him so he let you do as you pleased. It didn’t.

“Okay? You’re still gonna do it. You wouldn’t dare go against me and we both know it.” Your pout melted into a look of dismay as you let out a whine. “Stop.” You froze instantly and he let out a sigh, causing you to straighten up.

“Sorry. I was showing off..” you bit your lip briefly. “Can I at least play with him a little? You know how much I love teasing..” your tone was far more polite than before and Minho made a noise of satisfaction.

“I do know how much you love teasing but look at him. Look at how sweet he looks, like you said. You can’t just go and ruin that. He’s not Hyunjin. You’ve gotta make him feel pretty, baby.” Minho coached gently, maintaining eye contact no matter how much you tried to avoid it. “Understand?”

You nodded instantly, your hold on Jisung’s hair loosening. Then he fucking whined. “You don’t have to stop that though..” he mumbled, trying to tug against your hand so you’d pull his hair again. You looked to Minho for permission and he nodded so you instantly tightened your grip again and the expression of bliss that made itself at home on Jisung’s face felt like a punch to the gut.

“Ask him what he likes. Clearly he likes hair pulling. Make him tell you what else he wants you to do to him.” Minho’s guidance gave you an idea and you locked eyes with Jisung despite his best efforts to look away.

“How about you tell me what you want? In return, I’ll kiss you for every detail you reveal. You want that don’t you, baby boy?” Your tone was like honey as you laid out the rules he needed to follow in order to really get what he wanted.

Jisung was beyond mortified at the idea of revealing everything with Minho and Changbin within earshot - not that Changbin would notice considering he was currently switching positions to get b/f/n on her back so he could bury his head between her legs. But the prize was just too good to give up and he desperately needed to hear you call him baby boy again. So he nodded, much to your delight, and began to list things off.

Everything he told you was pretty standard stuff that came with these dynamics. But the one that stood out to you was the one he practically whispered when you thought he’d run out of things to admit to. “So you were just thriving when I bullied you, huh? You want me to make fun of you? Embarrass you to the point you wanna cry just because that sort of thing makes your dick twitch?”

You had to admit, this was starting to veer back towards how you were with Hyunjin and you weren’t entirely sold on the idea of being mean to Jisung. But the gasp followed by a whimper that reached your ears as you leaned in closer made you even wetter and you knew he only let those sounds slip because he wanted you to ruin him just like you said you wouldn’t.

Minho, however, was watching in amusement as you coaxed all of this out of the youngest, his eyes occasionally flicking over to Changbin going down on b/f/n. She was letting out some pretty sounds as she writhed under his touch and both scenes were making him unbearably hard. “Enough of that, princess.” He said, turning his attention back to you. “Now that you know what he wants, tell him what you want. And make him give it to you.”

You briefly ignored the instructions, taking a moment to nip at Jisung’s earlobe before whispering. “I want you to lay back and let me ride that pretty face. I want you to keep your hands to yourself-“ you didn’t, you loved hands on your ass while you sat on someone’s face, but this was about exercising control and seeing if he could actually do it. “-and I don’t want you to touch yourself. I want you completely still, being a good little fuck toy for me. Understood?” You smirked as you pulled away, jerking his head back with one final tug before releasing him so he could get settled. His lips, swollen red from all the kisses, parted to let out a weak moan.

He started to lay back but you tutted at him. “Strip first. I wanna see everything you’ve so carefully been hiding from me since I started hanging out with you guys. I wanna see just how pretty you are.” His face betrayed him as he got up to undress, showing how nervous he was trying not to be. His cheeks were a lovely shade of rose as shaky fingers lifted his hoodie, revealing no shirt underneath to cover his chiseled body.

He wasn’t as buff as Changbin but he was more muscular than Minho and what was once thought to be a flat tummy was now revealed to be a nicely defined set of abs. His arms had gotten bigger since the first time you laid eyes on him too and your mouth practically watered as you became aware of your panties sticking uncomfortably to you. What you weren’t expecting was a small script tattoo on his ribcage. He didn’t seem like the type to like ink. You’d have to ask him about that later.

You let out a pleased sound as you stepped towards him, glancing up for permission as your hands lifted towards his abs. Of course he obliged, no way was he gonna pass up the chance to feel your fingertips on his skin. “You’ve been hiding from me. I didn’t know such a pretty boy could get any prettier.” Your tone made his blush worsen, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears, and your fingers tracing the lines of his abs and the swoops of his tattoo made his whole body fill with excitement. “‘M sorry, I didn’t think you’d wanna see me..”

“Don’t be silly. Even if we weren’t in this situation, you’re still fucking gorgeous and I think you should show it off more.” You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, before stepping back and starting to undress yourself. He followed your lead and began to remove his pants, trying to keep his eyes averted when your top landed by his hoodie.

Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the innocent label. He’d been boasting about not being innocent only a short while ago and now he couldn’t even look at you because you had your tits out. As if you weren’t about to sit on his face. It made you laugh as you shed the rest of your clothes and pushed him onto the bed.

“I thought of another thing I want.” You waited to see if he’d look at you as you climbed over him but he didn’t. “I want you to stop worrying about modesty. We’re literally having sex.��� You teased as you settled back on your knees to wait for his eyes to open, his hard-on flush against your ass without any barriers. Finally. You couldn’t help but wiggle your hips a little to tease him as you waited.

But he still didn’t look at you, even as you pulled a soft whine from him with your grinding, and Minho spoke up. “I guess you really are too innocent, Ji. You can’t even open your eyes to admire the beauty sitting on your lap.” His tone was mocking and you felt his cock twitch against your ass. So he wasn’t just into you talking down to him.

“If he can’t give me what I want I guess I can’t give him what he wants either, huh Minnie?” You knew this nickname would either make him whip it out or join in, he adored it. And both of these responses were good choices.

“That’s right, princess. I guess he told you all his kinks for nothing. Maybe you oughtta-“

“No! No..” His voice was small as he interrupted Minho, his hands flying to your hips to keep you in place since you’d started to move. He finally peeked out at you and he was right to be embarrassed. No way was he gonna be able to focus on much else other than your tits. “I’ll be good..”

Your hands gently wrapped around his wrists as you pull his hands away despite his protests. “I was starting to think you didn’t wanna look at me..” you feigned hurt with a fake pout, delighting in the way he violently shook his head as you leaned forwards to pin his wrists by his head.

“No! You’re pretty!” He blurted out, causing Minho to laugh as he composed himself. Everything about Jisung was becoming more frantic now that you had him naked. “You’re so pretty, noona, too pretty for me..”

Now that was an ego boost you didn’t know you needed. “Oh? I’m so pretty you feel ashamed to look? Better watch your words or I may develop a complex.” You teased as you leaned closer. Your lips briefly met his and you both sighed at the contact.

Honestly, if it weren’t for Minho orchestrating things, you’d probably still be toying with him. You wouldn’t be holding back if it weren’t for him. As confident as you were about treating Jisung differently than Hyunjin, Minho had to step in because you started heading in that direction the second Jisung whined about not getting a real kiss.

“Hands by your sides.” You ordered as you released him, fighting the urge to coo over how quickly he obeyed. You crawled up the bed and positioned yourself over his head but before you could even settle in, you felt his tongue against your pussy. You let out a surprised sound and lifted your hips away, giving him a little glare. “I thought I told you not to move.” He recoiled, licking his lips as he forced himself to stay put.

“Sorry. ‘M sorry..” He wasn’t sure what had possessed him, he just couldn’t help himself. The second he saw how wet you were, he forgot all about the roles at play here. Not that you’d ever believe him (well, you might after this), but he was a genius at pussy eating. He’d gotten some practice on a couple tours, making his reputation known to all the stylists, and he prided himself on it.

You slowly sank back down onto his waiting tongue and let out a sigh at the contact. You immediately began to rock your hips and huffed a little when he didn’t so much as flick his tongue. “You can move your mouth, Ji. Telling you to stay still doesn’t mean I’m telling you not to put in any effort. Besides, don’t you wanna brag about being my good boy and making me cum?” The choked noise he made left a grin on your face as he began to eat you out like a starved man.

You let out a satisfied squeak as you rolled your hips against his face, reaching down to tug at his hair. Your eyes had slipped shut at some point so you didn’t notice Minho had moved until he was biting at your neck. “Babygirl, I want you to stop before you cum. You aren’t finished until I say you’re finished. Understood?” You barely processed what he said due to the mental fog from both men’s lips and as much as you hated it, you nodded in agreement. “Good girl.” Your submissive side fucking preened and you almost lost all resolve to continue domming Jisung right then.

But then he sucked on your clit and you let out a soft cry, praising him for how well he was doing. Calling him a good boy grounded you again and you reveled in the symphony of pleasure filling the room. Both Changbin and b/f/n were letting out breathy moans and you could hear the sound of his hips slamming into hers as he railed her. Something about your best friend fucking one of your regular fuck buddies while your other regular fuck buddy guided you on how to fuck one of your mutual best friends just really did it for you.

Your hips stilled when Minho’s lips closed over one of your nipples. If you carried on with too much enthusiasm, you’d cum far sooner than anyone wanted you to. Your fingers found the button of Minho’s jeans and you quickly popped it, urging him to strip. “Please..” your request came out as a breathy moan and he happily obliged. He’d been waiting far too long.

Jisung was fighting hard not to wrap his arms around your thighs and force you to cum on his tongue. He didn’t want you to get in trouble and of course he didn’t want to get in trouble himself. He’d tucked his hands under his back so he wouldn’t grab onto you while he ate you out and he almost passed away when Minho praised him for being so obedient.

“Look at you, Ji. You’re making her lose her mind and you’re still following her rules. You’re being such a good boy. Maybe she’ll return the favor. Or would you rather share that pretty pussy and both of us make her cum?” This made both of you moan. The thought of being sandwiched between the two of them, knowing Jisung still wouldn’t dare try anything that wasn’t submitting to your every whim while Minho got possessive and called you the group’s good girl…it was absolutely delightful. “I think that’s what we’ll do then since you both like the idea so much.” He smirked and pulled you away from Jisung’s face, much to both Jisung’s and your dismay.

You’d been stretched like that only one time before and you were absolutely spent afterwards. But knowing Changbin, he’d probably insist on getting his turn with you before you could rest. “I’m gonna take over now, Ji, she’s about to be a babbling mess.” Minho warned as he moved behind you and situated you over Jisung.

In any other situation, Minho’s hand on Jisung’s dick would’ve been horrifying for both of them - of course Jisung would never admit the reason it would be horrifying for him was because of the minor crush he had on Minho. But considering he was guiding the tip towards your entrance, Jisung couldn’t help but buck his hips into Minho’s large (pretty) hand a little as he gave a few quick strokes before lining him up. You immediately took all seven inches, leaving Jisung gasping for air as Minho pulled your back to his chest. “Ride him. I wanna see his reaction.”

You needed no further convincing, eagerly rolling your hips as you rested your head back on Minho’s shoulder. Everything about Jisung was perfect, whether he agreed or not, and his dick was no exception. He was hitting all the right spots and it was fucking delicious. You could feel him bucking his hips ever so slightly as he got audibly worked up, his moans surprisingly higher pitched than you’d expected.

His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth hung open in a little ‘O’ as he whimpered and whined, trying to hold still for you. He’d wanted to fuck you for so long. He’d fantasized about how you’d feel, how you’d taste, how you’d sound. The first time he’d thought about fucking you, he imagined he’d be the one leading and that he’d have you bent over the nearest flat surface, screaming his name and begging for more. But then Hyunjin came home completely wrecked after saying he was going to hang out with you and all Jisung could imagine was being your baby boy. Now it was happening - albeit far differently than he’d ever imagined - and he was terrified to let you down so he was trying to be still as stone since you hadn’t given him permission to move.

You and Jisung weren’t the only ones who found this whole situation hot. Minho was about to go fucking feral. Jisung’s secret crush was definitely mutual and his sounds and expressions paired with your soft whines and your skin pressed against his own were getting to him. He couldn’t stand not being part of this anymore and gently pushed you forward so you were chest to chest with Jisung, his dick twitching at the sight of Jisung inside you. “Ji, be a good boy and take care of her.” He ordered before pressing two fingers inside you alongside the pretty dick filling you up.

Your jaw went slack and you mewled at the sensation, your eyes slipping shut as another, softer moan was dragged from Jisung. You felt his breath fan across your face as he lifted his head to capture your lips in a kiss. You couldn’t be sure if this was because he wanted to comfort you while you were being prepped to take a second massive cock or if he just couldn’t help himself, but you eagerly reciprocated.

You barely registered the sobs of pleasure filling the room that signaled the end of your friend’s first round with Changbin (because no one could stop at just one with him). The sensation of Jisung sucking and nibbling on your bottom lip was taking precedence over everything aside from Minho’s long fingers opening you up. But your attention was ripped away from that too the second you felt Minho replacing his fingers with his dick.

It hurt. There was no denying that fact. But you were comforted by Minho’s gentle touch, his fingers dancing along the length of your spine as Jisung gave up the fight not to touch you. You felt his hands on either side of your head, angling your face this way and that and he pressed little kisses everywhere. You appreciated the attention, focusing on how soft his lips felt on your cheeks, your nose, the outer corners of your eyes. You hadn’t noticed the tears that fell there until after Jisung had kissed them away and the cool air hit your face again as he moved on to litter kisses in other areas.

“You’re doing so good, baby girl. Are you okay?” Minho’s voice was laced with concern. Were you okay? To be honest, you weren’t sure. Jisung could see that and just continued to fuss over you as you hid your face in his neck.

“Lemme get used to it..” you almost whispered. Your lips brushing against Jisung’s throat made his dick twitch and you whimpered softly at the sensation. The sigh of content that left Minho told you he liked it too. He tried not to move too much as he leaned down to kiss your neck and shoulders but he was unsuccessful and you let out a soft whine. “Please..”

Hearing you beg sent a thrill through Jisung that he hadn’t expected, given how dead set he was on being your baby boy rather than making you his good girl. He felt the drag of Minho’s cock only a second later and the three of you moaned in unison as they began to alternate thrusts. Minho was right, you were definitely a babbling mess.

When your little audience noticed this, Changbin urged b/f/n to ride him in reverse so they could both watch you get railed. She gladly complied, her gaze locking on Jisung specifically. He was so pretty, making those sounds while he fucked you. The two of you had discussed this sort of thing at length - albeit hypothetically - when you first started hanging out with the boys and you’d both agreed that domming Jisung would be fucking amazing. He was already such a needy, innocent boy and it wouldn’t take much to get him to comply with your wishes. The man was praise driven (or so you thought) and he’d do anything you asked. Finally seeing it was going to be the end of b/f/n.

Jisung’s arms wrapped around your middle, just above where Minho’s hands were tightly gripping your waist. There was no way he was letting you get away from him, not when he finally got to have you. Hell, he probably wouldn’t let go even after you’d finished. He was split. Part of him was screaming and cheering that he finally got you to fuck him and that he’d been so good and so patient for you. But the other part of him was demanding he fuck you into oblivion and breed you. That second part was getting dangerously close to winning the battle.

It won when he made eye contact with Minho, who gave him a little nod and sped up, earning an almost-sob of pleasure from you. Your teeth and nails sunk into Jisung’s neck and shoulders at the change in pace, stars from the pleasure dotting your vision. “Fuck, please, harder…please..” you cried, your whole body burning in the best way.

But they didn’t listen. In fact, Minho did the exact opposite. When he stopped, you let out a soft wail of disappointment. You felt his chest press flush to your back as Jisung continued to fuck you but he soon stopped too and you felt like crying until you realized what was going on. You felt Jisung straining upwards and could hear a smacking noise beside your ear, mingling with muffled moans and groans from both men. They took a break from fucking you to make out.

“Fucking took you two long enough..” Changbin’s quip sounded strained and you were fairly certain that it was due to the fact he was balls deep in your best friend. Again. But then you registered what he said and made a confused face. Wait, had these two always had a thing for each other and just wanted a valid excuse to act on it without it being weird?

You, not being used to being ignored, let out a loud whine and wiggled your hips to get their attention back, huffing when it didn’t work. Jisung was so caught up in the kiss that he could barely register anything else. In less than thirty minutes, he’d locked lips with his two biggest crushes and was having sex with them. Nothing really felt real to him.

Minho, on the other hand, was memorizing everything he could about this moment because this was when two different sides of his life were crashing together. What he had with you was now being laid bare to Jisung, someone he’d always held at arms length for fear of fucking up the group dynamic. And both of you were enjoying it just as much as he was.

He couldn’t help but nibble on Jisung’s bottom lip, wanting the same reaction you’d gotten for the same action. You were getting desperate though and began to suck hickeys onto Jisung’s throat, trying to get some degree of attention back on you. Together, you and Minho made the poor man sing. Your neediness was a character flaw, really. You were so obviously relieved when you heard them gasping for air.

“Fuck, Ji, look at her being a little attention whore and begging us to focus only on her.” Minho’s dig made your pussy clench as you bit back a weak moan. “I think we should make her regret being so needy, don’t you?” And with that, both men were brutally hammering into you with alternating thrusts so you never got a break.

Jisung stuttered a short while later when he felt hot tears on his chest. Your moans had turned into sobs of pleasure and with your face buried in his chest, there was no missing the tears. You barely noticed Minho’s hand leaving your waist to squeeze Jisung’s thigh encouragingly, all you could feel was the weight of your impending orgasm. With that subtle reassurance, Jisung thrust up harder into you and you let out a scream as you came.

Your orgasm ripped theirs out of them far faster than it would’ve if they’d taken turns fucking you. All you could do was let out pathetic whimpers as their cum filled you, spilling out when they pulled out. You hadn’t noticed when they’d finished but your friend was no longer in the room and Changbin was stalking towards the bed. You sniffled and gave him a drunk smile.

“C’mere sweetheart.” You thought he was about to try and pull another orgasm out of you but instead he sat against the headboard. You crawled towards him on weak legs and he pulled you to him, situating you so your back was to his chest as he grabbed your thighs to hold your legs apart. “Ji, haven’t you been taught to clean up after yourself? Get over here.”

The noise you let out as Jisung began to lap up the mess of all three of you was nothing short of purely sinful. Your toes curled and your back arched as he once again ate you out, your brain absolutely fried from the pleasure. “Fuck, Sungie- fuck- I can’t- oh my fucking god I’m gonna cum again-“ you wailed, your body on fire from barely getting a break.

Jisung didn’t dare stop, opting instead to speed up his motions as tears filled your eyes again. “Cum for me then.” It was so simple but it sounded so hot coming from the man who had just been begging you to fuck him only a short while before. Between Jisung’s tongue and Minho teasing your nipples, you were done for.

You felt Minho place a hand on your tummy as your eyes rolled back in pleasure and your body began to shake with the intensity of your orgasm. But Jisung didn’t stop and it was getting to be overwhelming. “Sungie, please, too much-“ you sobbed, tears streaming down your face.

Minho pulled him away when he showed no signs of letting up and Changbin released your legs, your body slumping against his. “You good, princess?” The tears that had let up when Jisung was pulled back quickly rushed forth again and you shifted in Changbin’s arms, just needing to be babied for a few minutes.

Jisung began to panic at this and was about to start fretting over you when Minho grabbed his arm. “Let’s go get her some clothes and give her a minute with him. She’s okay. She gets really overwhelmed sometimes but within minutes she’s okay.” He still felt uneasy but followed Minho’s lead, making sure to pick out one of his shirts that he’d “accidentally” left after a sleepover in the hopes you’d keep it and start wearing it. He’d yet to see that so he was taking this chance to see how you looked in his clothes.

Your sobs died down as Changbin rubbed your back and kissed your head, whispering sweet words to you. This is what you meant when you said they knew you. They always followed the same routine afterwards. Changbin would sooth you while Minho got everything they needed to clean you up and get you settled.

You looked up at Changbin with misty eyes and gave him a little smile. “Better now, baby girl?” You nodded and let out a soft sigh as you stretched. “Better. Kiss?” You puckered your lips and he pecked them but you whined cutely and he quickly gave in to what you wanted, kissing you softly.

A moment later, Jisung and Minho were back with clothes and wet washcloths to clean you up. Changbin gently turned you back around and your cheeks flushed a bright pink when Minho nudged your legs apart to clean you. You avoided eye contact as he cleaned you up and whined when they made you sit up.

“Let’s get these on you and then you gotta go pee. Then we can cuddle.” Minho’s tone was authoritative but gentle at the same time and you couldn’t find it in you to argue back as Jisung pulled a shirt over your head with a little smile. You slipped your arms into the sleeves and smiled when you saw it was the shirt he’d left here a few months ago.

“You’re so fucking precious, Ji. But next time, I’ll be the one giving you aftercare, got it?” You looked back up as you took the panties they’d picked for you, taking a moment to appreciate the blush on his puffy cheeks that resulted from your words. Once you had them on, Minho insisted on carrying you to the bathroom despite your reassurances that you could walk.

You clung to him like a koala as he carried you, whining again when he didn’t immediately leave after putting you down. “I can’t pee if you’re watching me.” You pouted up at him. He could only laugh as he stepped outside to wait. When you were finished, you washed up and walked back out only for him to scoop you back up. “My legs still work, Minnie..” you pouted again and he kissed you.

“I know. But I wanna baby you. We go over this every time, princess. If I’m the one making a mess of you, I’m gonna be the one to coddle you afterwards. Now hush and snuggle with us.” It was almost an order but you were eager to comply, quickly settling in with Minho and Changbin on either side of you. But you refused to leave Jisung out and held your arms open.

“C’mere baby.” The name made him giddy as he carefully laid on top of you. He laid his head on your chest, one of his legs draped over one of yours while the other was stretched out. You could feel his heartbeat from where your hands rested on his back and you couldn’t help but kiss the top of his head.

“Keep calling me that..” he mumbled as he dozed off, a tiny smile of triumph on his face over the fact that he’d finally gotten his chance with you.

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

My Tasha

Word count: 7334

Genre: Mostly angst but the ending is fluffy

Pairing: Natasha x fem!reader

Warnings: A sort of suggestive scene? I think that's all (let me know if I need to add any)

Request: congrats on those 500’ love!!! they are well deserved for all of your amazing words 🥺 i was just thinking how cute it be for nat to take a liking to reader, so she tries all those “seductive” tricks the red room taught her, but r just reads it as a cocky fuckboy thing and rejects her? soft!nat appearing later to ask her out? 🥺

Summary: Natasha tries to seduce you at a party but you misunderstand, assuming she's just using you. Both of you mope before realizing what happened.

A/n: Finally I finished this! It was supposed to be 2000 words max but I got carried away and @teenwonder I blame you since you were the one who sent in this idea. I actually really like how this turned out, even if it differs from the prompt slightly so I hope you guys like it too because this probably took at least ten hours to write and I have lost way too much sleep over it. Enjoy!

Natasha looks in the mirror and lifts the corner of her mouth into a slight smile. She looks hot and she knows it, spending hours in front of the mirror perfecting the look. Her eyeshadow screams seduction and her lipstick highlights and colours the natural shape of her lips. Her lashes are curled to perfection and her makeup is applied with the technique she learned years ago that was guaranteed to make people stare. Her hair is straightened because it matches the look and also the last time she straightened it you had complimented her hair so she knows you like it.

Her dress is black, the colour that looks best on her, with a neckline that is dangerously low and the bottom riding dangerously high on her thigh. Her heels are her go to ones for anytime she wants to seduce anyone, they manage to work every time and have become a small symbol of luck for her and tonight she needs all the luck she can get for tonight’s party.

Usually people are easy to seduce, she just has to figure out the likes and dislikes of her target and play up to them. Tonight shouldn’t be much different except for the big added aspect of her actually caring. She’s never had to seduce someone she’s wanted to before so she knows it’s going to be harder than normal. Taking a deep breath she pushes the nerves away and smirks at her own reflection before going to meet everyone in the main room.

Your breath hitches when she walks in and you quickly look away so it doesn’t seem like you’ve been waiting for her arrival. She’s gorgeous, she always is, but tonight there’s something about her that’s different, like she put more effort than usual. You force yourself to stay calm and look away, pretending to still be interested in the conversation you had been having with Carol that you zoned out of the moment Natasha entered the room.

Carol’s looking at you strangely. “What?”

She gives a half laugh. “You think I didn’t notice you drooling over Natasha.”

“That obvious?” you ask and she nods. “Damn.”

“Damn is right, she’s smoking!” Carol whisper-yells, glancing over quickly and then back to you.

“Carol!” you exclaim aghast.

She laughs again. “Don’t worry I’m not trying to steal your girl, after all I have Valkyrie.”

“Yes and you constantly remind me of that.” you mumble which she ignores.

“I’m just saying that some people are already staring at her and are going to be all over her soon, you need to make your move quickly.” she finishes.

“I will.” you tell her, with no real intention of going to talk to her.

“Sure you will,” she says quietly at first before yelling in Natasha’s direction, “Hey Romanoff! Come here.”

Natasha is surprised and she hopes Carol isn’t calling her over because she noticed her staring. Logically she knows that Carol doesn’t want to date you and is dating Valkyrie but it looked far too much like flirting in her opinion. There were whispers and giggles and at one point you got all flustered and embarrassed. She doesn’t like how possessive she feels over you when she has no right to but somehow when it comes to you she can’t quite control herself.

Showing none of the inner thoughts that go through her head she weaves her way over to you. At first some of the team is staring because they got startled by Carol’s yell but a small glare gets them to look away again.

“Hey.” Carol greets when she walks over.

“Hey.” she says back with a smile and it’s not her fault if the smile is a little flirtier than normal and directed more towards where you’re standing. “What’s up?”

“I want to go find Valkyrie and see what’s taking so long for her to come back from the bar but didn’t want to leave Y/n all alone at a party and since you were alone too I thought it would be a great idea for you guys to spend the party together!” she explains quickly. “I’ll come back soon!”

With that she leaves and you and Natasha are left looking at each other awkwardly. She wants to say something to break the silence but all her earlier confidence is gone and she feels like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Which is half true, she is definitely not a schoolgirl but she’s never had feelings like this for anybody before.

“You don’t have to stay here.” you offer, feeling bad that she was forced to come here and babysit you. Carol is your best friend but sometimes you just can’t stand her. This is so uncomfortable and Natasha is looking at you weirdly and you just know that she’ll apologize and leave so she can spend the party with people who actually know how to have fun.

“I know but I want to.” she says and you can’t help looking away shyly and smiling. She smiles herself at your cuteness, now slightly more confident knowing that she can make you react like that.

---

She smirks as for the thousandth time that night you struggle to keep your gaze from dipping below her neck. The dress was a good choice and judging based on your lack of eye contact you appreciate it. She knows you find her attractive, it’s hard not to know that with you staring at her boobs every few seconds but as the night goes on she’s more and more hopefully that you want to date her. Your flushed cheeks and occasional stuttering give you away.

Some guy interrupts your conversation and she resists the urge to punch him. She doesn’t know what he’s here for and shouldn’t punch people for interrupting a conversation with a girl she really really likes (she doesn’t allow herself to consider love just yet).

“Hey beautiful.” he greets her, stepping into her space and ignoring you. Against her better judgment she does punch him and giggles as he staggers backwards muttering about bitches under his breath. Really the punch shouldn’t have affected him that much, it was light and not in an area that would cause serious injury, he was just weak.

“Holy fuck.” you whisper under your breath.

“That didn’t bother you, did it?” she rushes to confirm, not wanting to have upset you by resorting to violence. She wasn’t quite sure how to take your holy fuck, whether you meant it in a good way or not.

“It was so hot.” you breath and then immediately clamp a hand over your mouth once you’ve realized what you’ve said out loud.

You’re about to apologize but she speaks first. “Really?”

You don’t understand how she makes her voice sound so smooth and seductive but it makes your knees weak. You’re nervous but there’s no point in taking it back now and it does seem like she’s flirting with you so you continue.

“Yeah, what can I say I like strong women who don’t take shit from men.” you say, moving closer to her. You haven’t flirted very much before but judging based on how her eyes darken slightly you think it’s working.

She reaches out and runs her hand down the side of your face slowly, making you shiver. “Looks like we have the same type.”

She keeps her hand there for a second then leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You’re frustrated by how long it’s taking and try to take a small step towards her so you can kiss her. It doesn’t work well since you forgot you’re wearing heels and lose your balance, making her laugh, her breaths dancing over your lips. And then suddenly she’s not moving slowly anymore and her lips are on yours and it’s all you can think about. Your other senses are all dulled and you kiss her harder to prove that this is real.

After a few seconds she pulls back. “I didn’t want people to see,” she explains when she sees your pout, “hallway?”

You’re not sure if it’s even possible for you to do anything but nod and take her hand as she leads you out. Inside of taking you to the main hall she takes you to a side one that doesn’t get used often and only the avengers have access to. Glancing around again to make sure nobody notices she pulls you inside and immediately you’re kissing again.

She presses you against the wall and you grip her shoulders tightly, your nails dipping into her bare skin. When she pulls back again she notes in satisfaction that your lips are smeared with her lipstick and she applauds her choice of bright red. Inside of going back to your mouth she kisses along your jaw and your neck, the lipstick marking you. Happy with her work she moves back to your lips, humming happily at the feeling.

She likes it even more when she feels your mouth open to let her in, taking the opportunity to explore your mouth with her tongue. You let out a small whine and the noise reminds her of where you are.

“Come up to my room?” she asks, smirking. You’re about to say yes when you notice her smirk. It bugs you for some reason, it makes it seem like she’s winning some sort of prize. Breathing heavily you look more closely at her and notice her heels. It’s her seductive mission heels. And then you realize she often wears a black dress to seduce people as well. You feel like a complete idiot, she doesn’t want you for anything more than a quick fling. This was a calculated move on her part.

“No.” you tell her firmly, only able to hold back your tears due to sheer anger. You thought that you were friends, how dare she try to play with your feelings just because she knew she could. Taking advantage of her shock you push past her, running out of the hall and back into the party. You look like a disaster so as quickly as possibly to rush to the doors and leave, running to your room, thankful that everyone seems too invested in their own conversations to notice you going.

You keep running until you reach your room. It didn’t look like she was following you but you don’t want to take any chances. Flinging off your heels because they’re uncomfortable you launch yourself onto your bed and curl up, pulling the covers over your head and putting your face into a pillow. You’re probably getting her lipstick all over right now but you don’t care, you don’t have enough energy to care right now.

You berate yourself again for how stupid you are. You got so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t even consider that it didn’t mean the same to her as it did to you. It’s so obvious in hindsight. How after one kiss she wanted to sneak away so nobody saw, her glance back at the room before you entered the hall. She wasn’t looking for a relationship that much was clear. She invited you to her bedroom, not on a date.

You try to reason with yourself to make the pain go away but it doesn’t. You weren’t super close but you considered her a friend. Apparently she didn’t consider you one if she was willing to put your friendship aside for sex. You briefly consider that maybe she didn’t know about your feelings but you shake that thought off. She’s smart and reads people easily, she knew she just didn’t care.

You hate the tears that roll down your face. You can’t tell if they’re from sadness or anger and it doesn’t matter. Nothing seems to matter right now. Sobs wrack your body harder and you scream silently into your pillow. You hate this so much, you hate crying and you wish you could hate Natasha but you can’t. You hate yourself for letting yourself get hurt like this though.

---

Natasha watches you leave. She wants to run after you but the look on your face when you pushed by her stops her. You looked so disgusted that you had just made out with her and she can feel her heart breaking into a million pieces just thinking about it. She doesn't know what she did to get it. It’s obvious that you regretted kissing her but it hurts that you seem disgusted by it.

She allows herself a few moments to stand there and try to comprehend what just went on, a single tear dripping down her face. Swallowing hard she wipes it away and takes a breath to collect herself. She makes sure her dress is straight and runs her fingers through her hair so it doesn’t look too wild.

It doesn’t really matter what she looks like, she’s planning to slip out the back of the hall, the opposite way that you went, so it’s unlikely anyone will see her but she wants to be prepared on the off chance that the halls aren’t empty. Biting her lip to stay calm she walks out the end of the hall and slowly makes her way to her room.

She feels so stupid. She’s not even mad at you for feeling disgusted she’s mad at herself. She got so caught up in her own feeling that she never stopped to think about the fact that you don’t like her back. For a moment it seemed like you did but that was probably you being too nice to say no to her.

Her heels seem to mock her as she walks up the stairs with the way they clip clop. So much for lucky heels, she’ll never be able to use them again without remembering how badly she failed. She tugs on her dress from both the top and the bottom, trying to pull it longer in both directions. She felt so confident in it earlier in the mirror and especially when she caught you staring but now she just feels dirty and slutty.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” she mutters out loud to herself when she finally gets to her room. Looking in her mirror upon entry only makes things worse. She’s lucky that she didn’t see anyone in the halls because even after her attempts at cleaning up she looks like a mess. Her makeup is smudged all over and she can see the upset written plainly on her face.

Usually it’s easy to hide her emotions but usually she doesn’t feel such strong ones. You make her feel and she hates it. Only earlier today she loved that you made her feel. She loved the way her heart fluttered thinking about you and how she wasn’t always perfectly composed. You made her feel normal. But now she hates the way her heart betrays her, happy at even the thought of you.

Her only option right now is to forget and she thanks herself for always keeping a bottle of vodka in her room. A bad habit perhaps, but she rarely drinks from it and it is perfect for this situation. Drinking doesn’t help much, even after a while the hurt is still fresh in her mind, but it stops her from overthinking. When she eventually leaves the bottle and slips into bed it’s nobody’s business but hers if she cries herself to sleep.

---

You bury yourself deeper into your covers when you hear knocks at your door, hoping that whoever it is will go away soon.

“Y/n open up!” you hear Carol shout, still pounding on the door. “Unless Natasha’s with you, don’t think I didn’t notice you left the party earlier.”

Carol’s mention of Natasha makes a lump form in your throat and suddenly you feel the sudden urge to take a shower and wash all of her off you. You must have stayed silent for too long because Carol’s knocking stops and she speaks again.

“If you don’t say anything in five seconds I’m coming in.” she tells you.

You don’t know if you want her here or not. Carol is always good at making you cheer up but you feel embarrassed to tell anybody what happened.

“Four.”

Carol would understand though, she’s never been one to judge people for things and she was the one who helped push you towards Natasha, telling you she liked you back.

“Three.”

You realize that Natasha’s lipstick is still all over you and you’re still wearing the dress from last night. It’s too late to fix the clothes but you try to wipe the lipstick from your neck as quickly as possible (spoiler, it doesn’t go very well).

“Two.”

You’re still not sure if you want her to come in so you open your mouth to try to tell her to go away but the lump in your throat prevents you from speaking.

“One, I’m coming in now.” she says, opening the door. “Is that Natasha’s lipstick?”

It’s too much and you get overwhelmed, bursting into tears. Her grin of triumph from when she saw the lipstick quickly disappears and she rushes over to comfort you, wrapping you in a big hug.

“Do I have to kill her?” she asks, when you’ve calmed down a little bit. If you didn’t know Carol enough to know she’s actually a huge softy you would think she is dead serious.

“No,” you tell her, managing a weak smile at how quickly Carol comes to your defense.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “You have her lipstick all over you and you’re crying because of her. What did she do wrong?”

“It’s not her fault,” you protest. Natasha and Carol are friends and you don’t want them to stop being close because of you.

“It’s not her fault you’re crying?” Carol asks skeptically.

“I-um, she,” you stumble over your words because technically it is her fault you’re crying. “She didn’t mean to.” you finally settle on saying.

Carol doesn’t look any happier with the situation than she did before. “Please tell me what happened Y/n so I can go beat her up for you. Did she try to force herself on you or do anything you didn’t want?”

“No.” you say, shaking your head. Natasha may have only been looking for a one night stand or short fling but you can confidently say that she would never do that.

“Okay, then what did she do to make you so upset? It doesn’t look like she rejected you.” Carol is both stubborn and curious and you sigh knowing you’re not going to be able to get out of this conversation without telling her what happened.

“At first it was really nice, we were talking and then we were kissing. But then-” you pause and take a deep breath as Carol rubs a hand comfortingly on your back. “But then she asked if I wanted to go up to her room.” you pause again, trying not to cry for the second time this morning.

“What did you say?” Carol asks softly, knowing this is hard for you.

“I almost said yes, I was planning to say yes,” you tell her, “but then I looked down at her heels.”

“Her heels?”

“She was wearing the heels she always wears for missions where she has to seduce shady old men.” you explain. “And her dress seemed different than normal, like one she’d wear on a mission and she was smirking at me, like she got exactly what she wanted.”

“She treated you like a mission.” Carol states, a hard look in her eye. “That bitch.”

“Carol,” you warn, “you’re her friend too.”

“And as her friend I’m going to give her some friendly advice.” She emphasizes the word friendly giving the impression that it wasn’t going to be friendly at all.

“It will only make things worse.” you tell her. “I just want to forget about it.”

Carol keeps the hard look but softens a little, smiling at you. “Okay, whatever you want. We could spend the day watching movies and eating ice cream?”

“Okay.” you tell her. You’ve never been heartbroken before but you’ve seen movies and apparently this is what everyone does.

“I’ll go get the ice cream while you pick a movie.” she tells you, standing up. “I’ll even watch a disney one if you’d like.”

You give a halfhearted cheer, trying to convince Carol that you’re excited. She frowns as she leaves the room, that cheer was obviously fake. Any other time and you would be beyond happy that she was agreeing to watch Disney movies with you, you’ve been begging her to for almost a year. She can’t help but feel anger at Natasha and anger at herself. Anger at Natasha for playing with your feelings but anger at herself for pushing you to be with Natasha. She should have realized Natasha wouldn’t treat you right but she was so caught up in trying to pair you together that she didn’t see it.

---

Natasha wakes up as normal, feeling a headache forming already. Glancing towards her alarm clock she sits up in shock when she reads how late it is. She’s never in bed after noon. She groans when she realizes sitting up that quickly was not a good idea and makes her feel nauseous. She takes a few breaths, in and out, to calm herself and tries to remember why she drank so much. She was upset, she remembers that. She was upset because her plan didn’t work.

She feels a sharp pain in her heart when her mental blocks seem to go away and she remembers everything that happened, how the night had been going so perfectly and she had felt so happy only for it to all come crashing down when you ran away, disgusted that you kissed her.

“Stupid.” she tells herself, getting out of bed. She reminds herself of that as she goes about her normal morning routine, washing her face, brushing her teeth and getting dressed. She was so stupid to risk your friendship for something more, now it would be a miracle if you still wanted to be around her. Even if it hurt to pretend you hadn’t kissed she would go back to being friends with you in an instant if you still wanted her. She tries not to think about how big of an if that is.

When she is presentable she decides to head down the kitchen and grab some food. It’s been awhile since she last ate and there’s no use in trying to hide away and avoid her problems; she will either see you and have to confront them or you won’t be there. She knows that hiding away will only make things worse and appear weak, if she leaves her room and pretends everything is normal it will make her seem less hurt than she is.

“Hi Natasha.” Tony says in a weird voice when she enters the kitchen, waggling his eyebrows. She does her best not to show her obvious disappointment that almost everybody is here. The one upside is that you’re not.

“Hi Tony.” she says tiredly, walking over to grab a piece of bread and plopping it in the toaster.

“So Natasha,” he starts, oblivious to her unrelaxed mood, “how was last night?”

Natasha whips around lightning fast, staring at him. “What do you mean?”

He couldn’t possibly have heard, could he? She had hoped to talk to you before word got out about the rejection, to try to keep it on the down-low because the guys would never let her live it down. She assumed you wouldn’t tell anyone but you did leave the hall in the direction of the party so maybe you decided to stay.

“I mean with Y/n.” he says casually as Natasha fights to keep a straight face as her heart beats wildly in her chest. “Don’t think we didn’t notice how you both left early.”

Natasha lets out an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief. He didn’t know anything important.

“Well that may be the case but I can assure you nothing happened.” she tells him.

“Then where is she now?” Tony challenges.

“I don’t know, if you haven’t seen her she’s probably in her room.” Natasha responds smoothly. It’s just her luck that after being rejected by the girl of her dreams Tony thinks they got together.

“And where were you?”

Natasha gives him a deadpan stare. “My own room.”

He scoffs. “First of all you could be lying to us, I know you spies are good at that. But if you aren’t you need to get some balls and ask her out already.”

Natasha scowls. “A man’s balls are the weakest part of his body, I am good without them.”

Tony has enough self preservation to step back for a second. Natasha lets him think that her annoyance is solely over his sexist statement but really it wasn’t that bad and she’s just upset that she can’t have you so she really doesn’t want to be talking about asking you out.

“You should.” Clint speaks up.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Not you too.”

“See Clint agrees with me and I bet the others do too.” Tony says smugly. Natasha lets her eyes move slowly around the room and one but one they all look away when she catches their eye, showing her that while they are too nervous to outright say it, Tony is right and they do agree.

“I don’t care about that,” she says, “I am not and that’s the end of the story.”

“What not?” Tony persists. “You like her, you can’t deny that, so give me one good reason not to.”

“Because she wouldn’t want to and I respect that.” Natasha says calmly. Inside she feels her stomach twisting and she wants to break something. She may be good at hiding her emotions but this conversation is proving to be next to impossible.

Tony scoffs again. “There’s no way, that girl is so in love with you it’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is that you assume things about other people and can’t let this go.” Natasha tells him icily. “You don’t know what she’d say.”

“Then you don’t know either.” Tony counters.

“Then why did she say no when I asked her out last night?” Natasha snaps at him. There are gasps all around the room and to her mortification she is barely holding in the tears that spring to her eyes.

“What?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“I asked her out, she said no and that’s that.” Natasha explains, trying to keep her composure but failing when a tear falls down her cheek. “Excuse me.”

She hurries out of the room, no longer able to handle the talk of asking you out and the disbelieving stares. As she gets back to her room and lies in bed once more she notes in annoyance that she never got her toast. Not that she’s hungry anymore anyway. She doesn’t feel anything anymore except sadness and emptiness. She knew her feelings for you were strong but now that she knows for sure that you don’t want her they feel even stronger and it makes her realize just how much this meant to her and how much she lost.

---

“Hey.” Carol greets as she walks in the kitchen and heads straight for the freezer.

“Morning Carol.” Bruce says, looking shocked when he sees the amount of ice cream she’s holding. “Ice cream for breakfast?”

“It’s for Y/n.” Carol explains.

Tony’s expression turns dark. “What on earth does she need it for?”

“Girl problems, also known as none of your business.” Carols says, in an admittedly sassy voice.

Tony glares. “By girl problems do you mean what happened with Romanoff last night.”

He may tease Natasha but she was like family to him and he would not allow your feelings to be coddled while you stomped all over hers. He doesn’t care if you feel bad for rejecting her, you had flirted and let her on for too long and feeling bad was the least you deserve.

In an instant Carol is across the kitchen and inches from his face. “How do you know?”

“Hey, calm down.” Bruce says, stepping in when he notices Clint and Sam have both tensed up, presumably to defend Natasha’s honor. Even though he’s a man himself he doesn’t understand them sometimes, Natasha was more than capable of taking care of herself and starting a fight between Tony and Carol, the two most stubborn on the team, would only be a headache for weeks to come.

“How do you know?” Carol asks Bruce, thankfully stepping back from Tony.

“She was here a few minutes ago and told us.”

Carol curses under her breath. “That bitch.”

“Hey!” Clint says loudly. “If anyone is a bitch here it’s Y/n.”

“Yes because it’s all Y/n’s fault.” Carol says sarcastically.

Sam decides he’s had enough of Carol. “Yes actually, it is.”

“Bullshit.”

The three of them go back and forth with Carol, mainly cursing and getting a little off topic.

It’s when Carol calls Tony an idiot that Bruce speaks up. “You weren’t here to see Natasha cry.”

“What?” Carol turned to face Bruce, shocked. He isn’t one for petty arguments so she believes what comes out of his mouth. But why would Natasha cry? It doesn’t make sense, she was the one who broke your heart, not the other way around. “Natasha never cries.”

“Well she just did.” Tony says but it’s not in a confrontational tone anymore. He’s not sure what Carol knows but it’s obvious she didn’t know fully what happened.

“Why?”

“It was partly my fault,” Tony admits, “I was teasing her about asking out Y/n and she kept saying no and eventually snapped and told us that she did last night but Y/n rejected her.”

Carol scrunches her brow in confusion. “That’s not what Y/n told me- OHHH.”

“What?” The voice comes simultaneously from all four men at once.

“They are both idiots.” Carol says, smiling and laughing for the first time since entering the kitchen. “They are both huge idiots that don’t know shit about feelings.”

“What?” Tony asks again, wanting to know what Carol’s thinking.

“Okay I’ll tell you but don’t interrupt.” Carol warns and looks at all of them to make sure they nod in agreement. Once she is satisfied she starts. “So this morning I found Y/n in tears and covered in Natasha’s lipstick. Apparently they had fun at the party last night and then snuck away to makeout. Y/n was upset because Natasha asked her up to her room instead of on a date and she noticed that Natasha was wearing her mission heels, do you know them?”

“The ones that she uses to seduce old men for Shield?” Sam asks just to make sure.

“Yep.” Carol confirms. “So anyways Y/n is upset because she thinks that she was just some sort of challenge to Natasha so she left her there…”

“...but Natasha was actually serious about her.” Clint finishes.

Tony laughs. “They really are idiots.”

“I am definitely telling this story at their wedding and to their future kids.” Sam says, also laughing.

“Well first they need to actually talk to each other about this.” Bruce points out, lowering the happy mood of the room. “Right now they’re both in their rooms miserable and feelings like the other doesn’t want them.”

“We should get Natasha to talk to Y/n,” Carol suggests, “because I know that Y/n won’t believe us unless Natasha is the one to tell her.”

“Okay I volunteer to talk to Natasha.” Tony suggests.

“No.” Carol tells him.

“Well you’re Y/n’s best friend so she won’t want to talk to you either right now.” he counters.

“Yes but you’re also a horrible option, I think Bruce would be best for this.”

Bruce looks around the room. “Me?”

“That does make sense,” Clint agrees with Carol, “out of all of us you’re the best at calming people down and she’d be most likely to believe you quicker.”

“But-”

“No buts Brucie, don’t you want to see them together?” Tony pleads.

“Yeah come on Brucie,” Sam mocks Tony, “do it for love.”

Bruce sighs as he watches Tony pout and Sam flutter his eyelashes ridiculously. “Fine.”

“Get straight to the point,” Clint advises, “because she will kick you out if you don’t.”

“Okay.”

Bruce leaves the kitchen to head to Natasha’s room. It took ages for him to be convinced to join the avengers and every day he can’t tell if he regrets his choice or loves his choice. Certainly no other job in the world would force him to go talk to his scary assassin coworker so she and his other coworker can get together. He really isn’t paid enough for this.

A knock startles Natasha. She didn’t think anyone would come after her because she assumed they would all be too scared when she’s in a bad mood.

“Who is it?” she calls out.

“Bruce.”

“Bruce,” she sighs, “I’m sorry but I need to be alone right now, I hope you of all people can understand that.”

“No.” he responds, surprising both her and himself with how determined his voice sounds.

“Bruce-” she starts but he interrupts.

“Hear me out first Natasha,” he begs, “please.”

She thinks about it for a moment before giving up and sighing, she’s not in the mood to spend time arguing. “Fine, but you have to stay outside the door.”

“If that’s what you want.” he agrees, pausing a second to figure out how he wants to word things. “I just came back from an interesting conversation with Carol in the kitchen.” he settles on saying.

“Oh?” She tries not to think about what that means. Carol is your best friend and after her scene in the kitchen this morning she doesn’t think there would be any other reason he would bring her up.

“She was getting ice cream for Y/n because apparently she’s upset.” he offers as a means of explanation.

“Oh.” she says again and it’s so quiet she doesn’t think he heard her. “You can tell Carol that I’ll apologize to Y/n tomorrow, I need to gain control of myself first.”

She never thought about how it would be from your end of things. She forced you into more than you wanted and tried to ask you out and she selfishly focused on her own feelings when you probably were upset that she kissed you. Or you thought you would lose her as a friend. She doesn't think she is capable of talking to you without breaking down right now but in a few days she’ll be fine and able to pretend nothing changed.

“That’s not what she was upset about,” Bruce tells her, “Carol says she was upset because she thought it didn’t mean anything to you.”

“What, why?” Natasha can’t help but let her interest be taken. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, what Bruce said could mean a lot of different things.

“I feel like I’m in middle school and there’s broken telephone being played between two crushes.” Bruce jokes.

“Bruce, tell me why.” Natasha demands. Her voice is soft but they both know if Bruce stalls any longer she’ll drop the sweet act.

“Well Carol said she said that it seemed like you were acting as if she was your mission to seduce and not like you actually wanted to be with her.” Bruce says, relaying the information.

“Crap.”

Bruce waits for Natasha to elaborate but she doesn’t say anything. “Are you okay in there?”

“Yes, thank you Bruce,” she says, “I need to go fix this, you can leave now.”

He can’t help but feel relieved as he speeds away down the hall. He is never going to do anything like that again, it was way too awkward. He still doesn’t understand how the others forced him to do this, damn his heart for being persuaded it was a good cause. The one upside is that talking to Natasha did seem to work and with any luck she’d be able to fix her mistakes with you. If she didn’t he did all this for nothing and may very well hulk out.

---

Natasha paces back and forth in her room. If Bruce was right (and she has no reason to believe he would lie) you didn’t run away because you didn’t like her, you ran away because you thought she didn’t like you. She winces when she thinks about it. Looking back she can see why you were mistaken and thought she didn’t have true feelings for you because she did treat you like a mark. She analyzed what hairstyle and dress you would like and wore her good luck heels. Even the way she talked and acted was calculated to be exactly what you’d like.

She’s stupid, so stupid and if she had just asked you out in a normal way instead of trying to seduce you she could be on a brunch date with you right now. It had never occurred to her to try it any other way, she was taught that seducing was the easiest way to get people to like you so why should it be different for a normal date? In hindsight using red room techniques to get a date is a horrible idea and she can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Maybe she hasn’t shaken off the red room ideals as much as she thought she had.

The thought scares her, her entire life upon leaving the red room has been dedicated to being a force for good, the opposite of everything the red room stood for so to realize that they still have their claws in deeper than she thought is terrifying. She takes a deep breath and tries to make it go away, which is mostly successful as the thought is reduced to the back of her mind. She can take her thoughts and analyze them later, which is another thing the red room taught her to do she notes, but right now she has to focus on the thing that’s most important, fixing her mistake.

As she walks through the halls to your room she runs through things she should say in her head but nothing sounds right. Perhaps it’s for the best though, that way you can tell she’s genuine and not performing another script. She pauses as she reaches your door, finding herself almost shaking with nerves. What if you don’t want her anymore or Bruce misunderstood or worst of all you still think she doesn’t care?

She almost turns around and goes back, unfamiliar with this type of fear but she knows that if she does all chances of fixing things and having a relationship with you will be reduced to zero. Taking a deep breath she turns the knob and pushes the door open.

You don’t look right away when you hear the door open, too lazy to care. “What took you so long, you were supposed to be back with the ice cream ages ago.”

“I-”

You spin around quickly. “You’re not Carol.”

“Nor do I have ice cream.” She tries to joke but it falls flat.

“Why are you here?” you ask and she winces. It’s blunt and straight to the point, your tone quiet but practically screaming at her to get out.

Since you got straight to the point she decides to do the same. “To ask you out.”

You must look even more shocked than you feel because she quickly jumps in to explain. “That’s what I was trying to do at the party last night, although I know you assumed that I didn’t mean it. I know you noticed the heels and I know I was smirking and it seemed like I was playing you but it really was genuine, I was just trying to do it the wrong way. I was always taught in the red room that to get people to like you romantically the best way to do that is to seduce them but obviously that is wrong and I didn’t realize until too late.”

There’s a lot of information to take in but your mind gets stuck on one question. “How do you know all that about how I felt?”

“Carol talked to Bruce who talked to me.” she says, looking slightly embarrassed at how elementary that sounds. “So?”

“So what?” You know she wants to know if you’ll go out with her for real and you really want to immediately say yes but you also want to hear her ask you properly.

She seems to understand. “Will you go on a date with me Y/n?”

You hesitate one moment before responding. It’s unnecessarily mean but you just spent a good portion of last night and this morning crying over her and besides, she looks absolutely adorable as she shifts her weight from side to side nervously. She looks exactly how you want her to look, no makeup and wearing sweatpants. It’s natural and genuine and everything you would have loved to see last night.

“Yes.”

“Oh thank god.” she laughs in relief, the pitch of it breathier than normal.

“I like it when you do that.” you tell her.

She furrows her brow, confused. “Do what?”

“When you laugh like that or wear old clothes, like you’re not trying to impress me.” you explain.

“So when I do the opposite of what I did last night?” she asks, laughing at herself for being so stupid. Of course you didn’t fall for all the acts, if you did she wouldn’t like you as much as she does. You make her feel different and that’s a good thing, she shouldn’t have to act around you.

“Yeah, don’t get me wrong last night was hot,” you tell her, “but it’s not you. That’s agent Romanoff putting on whatever mask she needs to be for the night, this here is my Tasha.”

“Your Tasha, huh,” she teases, “possessive much?”

“Sorry.”

“No,” she tells you, “I like it. I don’t need to put a mask on around you because you’re you and I am your Tasha. But you’re also mine.”

“All yours.” you confirm and she visibly shivers. “Apparently I’m not the only possessive one.”

“Apparently.” she says looking at you in a way that makes heat rise to your cheeks.

“Since we wasted time last night maybe we could start with a movie date right now?” you suggest shyly, changing the topic.

“Well we do have time to make up for.” she agrees, sitting down on the bed beside you. “What movie?”

“Mulan.” you tell her pressing the remote to drop the tv down into your room. There were definitely benefits to living with Tony.

“A disney movie?” she asks skeptically.

“Have you seen it?” you ask already knowing the answer before she shakes her head. “Then don’t knock it, it’s a great movie.”

“If you say so.” she says, still slightly skeptical but much more open to it. Even if the movie is garbage she doesn’t think she’d mind watching it with you. She definitely doesn’t mind it when your head drops onto your shoulder and you fall asleep, tired from the emotional rollercoaster you just went on. And when the movie ends she doesn’t move, happy to have you there, even when hours later her shoulder is all tense and cramped. It scares her how much she feels for you already but it also feels freeing, she knows she is not just the product of the red room because their biggest rule is to not fall in love and she’s definitely going to break that soon, if she hasn’t already.

---

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[professorspork]

If you're accepting non-superhell prompts, I'd love to see a conversation between Nora and Emerald! I've been REALLY loving these microfics, I've subscribed to you on Ao3, I'll read whatever else you write

[Gahhh that’s so nice you’re so nice!! thanks for being patient on this one, finding my Nora took some doing]

It’s occurring to Emerald that she’s never had a close female friend before.

You say that like you’ve ever had any friends before, the voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Mercury needles her, but she brushes it aside. Like—okay, yeah, she’ll concede the point when it comes to Cinder. In hindsight, whatever they’d had going on between them may have been... super intense... but it probably had never been friendship, in the usual definition. But she and Mercury were friends, no matter what the judgy little shitstain version of him who lives in her head has to say about it. They’d always gotten along. Told each other stuff. It’s not like there’s more to it than that, right?

It had always been like that. Been—instinctive somehow, with guys. Before Cinder, on the street, it was always the men who’d been easiest to manipulate; who would empty their pockets for a smile and a sob story. And then she and Merc had been two sides of the same coin for so long, and then... well, Hazel’d liked her enough to die for her, apparently. (Which—that’s a door that she keeps closed, thanks. She shuts it firmly again, now.) Oscar seems fond of her, in a sweet, uncomplicated sort of way that she really doesn’t know what to do with, seeing as he shares headspace with like a trillion year old man and the idea that anything to do with that kid could be “uncomplicated” is batshit. Ren vouched for her once, and then again, and now he keeps doing it, like it’s habit, like she should just be used to the fact that people are going to have her back, to ask her if she’s eaten, to turn to her with a raised eyebrow in conversation like her opinion would be constructive.

Anyway.

Now that she’s noticed the pattern, it seems like the kind of thing she should probably… work on, or whatever. And Nora seems like an obvious place for Emerald to start. They’ve been thrown in together a lot, lately, Emerald and Oscar expected to fill in the gaps of what’s left of the old JNPR by default. Not that they’ve ever really had a conversation about it—Emerald can’t think of the last time Nora said two words to her that weren’t combat warnings like “more Grimm coming” or “on your left,” but. That’s probably just because things have been tense. She remembers Nora being friendly, on the whole of it. Off-puttingly friendly, even, back at Beacon.

How hard could it be?

The answer, it turns out, is absurdly hard. Nora’s barely ever in the temporary barracks they’re all living out of, instead always checking on the refugees, going on supply runs over esoteric requests, volunteering for extra patrols. Emerald used to find that kind of dogged do-goodery gag-inducing, but now that she’s been the helping hand herself a few times, she’s starting to see the appeal. The way people look at you when you’ve been of service, it’s—nice. Really nice. But Nora works utterly thankless jobs, the kind most people don’t even notice, let alone appreciate. And when they have their insufferably long leadership meetings and they’re talking about distribution of resources or whatever, Nora’s a fierce debater—jumping in to advocate for the people from Mantle sometimes even before May can. As far as Emerald can tell, she does this stuff just because... she believes in it. Because it’s the right thing to do, and someone has to.

She can’t imagine what it would feel like, to have the attention of someone like that turned on her. She’s craved it from the wrong people for so long, but now that she has her pick of options... she’s letting herself actually want the right kind, for once. She thinks.

Which is all to say that largely through no fault of her own, Emerald unexpectedly finds herself sitting with a profound, fervent desire for Nora Valkyrie to think she’s cool.

She hates that.

-

Fighting with Nora is easy.

(—er. Alongside. Fighting alongside Nora is easy. Emerald’s done fighting with these people. Very done.)

It’s weird, because Emerald’s finding working with a full team to be a real adjustment. When battles get big enough to merit it, she’s used to keeping to the sidelines to use her Semblance for nefarious purposes, or, in a jam, used to having Mercury’s six—literally, because all the forward momentum from his feet-first style always left his back wide open. Figuring out where to put herself so that Oscar can use her shoulder as a fulcrum as he dodges, or trying to aim for the Grimm Ren isn’t already shooting (ugh)—it’s taking work.

But somehow, it’s not work for Nora. Nora seems to anticipate with perfect ease how Emerald will move or what she’ll be doing; Nora bobs and weaves around their ragtag little band with her war hammer like it’s breathing.

It doesn’t bother Emerald until it does, and she means to bring it up casually but there’s never a good time. So it just… stews, and stews, until she can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

Which means that instead of the earnest question she intends it to be, it comes out like this:

“Okay, seriously? It’s creepy how you do that.”

It’s just the two of them, plus the handful of dweeby Atlesian tech-types they’re escorting back from their foray installing some fancy hydro-filtration modules on the outskirts of the camp. And it’s not like Emerald had felt outmatched by the half-dozen Ravagers that had decided they looked like lunch—she can shoot Ravagers in her sleep, at this point—but still. The way Nora had moved around her, it was like they’d been fighting side by side for years.

Nora just cocks her head to the side. “Do what?” she asks, like she hadn’t just basically read Emerald’s mind in front of the water nerds.

Emerald does a complicated gesture with her hands, wrist over wrist, and then flicking two fingers—trying to evoke the way Nora had flipped over Emerald’s back and then kicked off, just trusting Emerald would reel her back in with a chain in midair before a Grimm could fly away with her sorry ass. “That.”

“Oh!” Nora laughs and rubs at the back of her neck, looking sheepish. “It’s nothing. I guess it’s just not a big deal for me? Like—I was there when Ren built StormFlower. The cables are newish, but we practiced so much back in Atlas… I dunno. It’s just reflex, when your weapons are so similar. Fighting with you, it’s almost like fighting with him. I don’t even have to think about it.”

Nora swallows, then, and makes a face Emerald can’t interpret—disappointed, maybe, or ashamed. Which: good. She probably should be, taking things for granted like that.

“Well—just—” Emerald’s not even sure what she wants to say. Ask, next time? Don’t? “You shouldn’t make assumptions. I’m not your boyfriend, okay?”

The venom she puts behind the word is directed more at herself than Nora—frustrated, again, that she’s put herself in the position of wanting so desperately to be liked.

Pathetic.

Nora just nods, looking glum.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, cheeks pulling in a bitter smile. “You’d think I’d be able to keep that one straight, huh?”

She says it with such pointed irony that for a second Emerald wonders if she’d gotten it wrong somehow, but like—Nora and Ren are a thing, right? That’s—everyone knows that.

“Hey, what—?”

“Let’s just go,” Nora says, and Emerald automatically falls into line behind her.

They make the rest of the walk back in silence.

-

Sometimes at night, when she can’t sleep, Emerald likes to climb up to the roof of the barracks and look out over the refugee camp.

It’s—peaceful, is all. A good reminder of where she is; how far she’s come. The night sky in Vacuo has more stars than she’s ever seen, and being able to watch over all these people who have somehow become her responsibility… well.

A part of her will always be standing on the rooftop at Beacon, looking down on pure chaos as a queasy, frightened sensation twists in her gut and its noxious voice whispers you did this, you did this, you did this. What did you think was going to happen, you stupid little girl? You don’t get to feel sorry for it now.

But she does.

Weird how the only thing that’s helped is actually doing something about it.

She hears a scuffling noise over her shoulder, and she’s got Thief’s Respite drawn and ready before she can even really register what she’s heard. She relaxes when she sees it’s Nora at the other end of the barrels, unarmed and hands raised—a funny little smile on her face, like yeah, fair enough, I should have known better than to try and sneak up.

“Just me,” she says, unnecessarily.

Emerald holsters her guns. “Can I help you?” she asks, and—what is it about her voice, that makes sentences that would be nice if any other human said them come out straight-up hostile?

Nora shrugs, hands dropping to her sides. “I was hoping we could talk; I figured you’d come up here if I waited long enough.”

Well, see—what kind of lesson is she supposed to take from that? She’s been hoping for Nora to talk to her for weeks, and acting like a bitch is the thing that gets her what she wants? Good guys are supposed to know better.

And there’s the way she said it, too. Like everyone knows Emerald comes up here to brood; like it’s a big open secret. The knowledge sits uncomfortably in her stomach, makes her feel watched. Even now, even here, she can’t get a moment alone. Not really.

“What, so you’re spying on me now?”

Nora’s eyes narrow. “I have a pretty bad track record when it comes to losing people. Makes a girl want to put in a little hustle when it comes to keeping tabs on her friends.”

And Emerald would snark at that, or maybe apologize, or something, only—

Nora thinks they’re friends?

“Well, take a seat, I guess,” she mumbles, scooching to the side as though she needs to make room on the massive, empty roof.

Nora walks over and joins Emerald on the asphalt, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Seemingly unsure of where to start, she stares at her hands. Emerald stares too, but her eyes can’t help but wander—tracing the way scars, silvery in the moonlight, spiderweb up Nora’s bare wrists and forearms to fetter her shoulders, clavicle, neck. Like cracks in a pane of glass, right before it shatters.

(Only that’s not it at all, is it? It’s not a sign of weakness, but a warning of strength. I care this much, her scars announce to the word. You wanna try me?

Hazel’s arms always looked like that.)

Emerald doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence, sure that whatever she’d say would be incredibly stupid.

Luckily, Nora has no such qualms, and opens with: “I really admire you, you know?”

Emerald stares, jaw slack, certain she’s heard wrong. “I—what?” She’d say something defensive, like yeah right or you don’t have to make fun of me, only Nora’s eyes are so wide and so guileless they don’t leave any room for argument.

“I mean it,” Nora adds. “I know we don’t know all that much about each other, but… here’s what I do know: I can’t remember a time I saw you without Mercury right behind. Just like me’n Ren. And the way you fought for Cinder…” Nora smiles a sad, private little smile. “You don’t fight like that unless it’s personal; unless someone means something to you. Just like me’n Ren. And now you’re here. All on your own. And you didn’t have to be. That’s—don’t you think that’s crazy brave? I sure do.”

Of course she fucking doesn’t. Crazy brave would have been walking away the first, tenth, hundredth time she had a flash of panic about what she was doing. Or, better yet, doing something about it. Crazy brave is taking thirty thousand volts to get to your friends; it’s flooding your veins with pure crystalline power and saying Go, I’m doing what Gretchen would have done, it’s—

She closes that door.

“It’s not like I really had a choice,” she sighs, dodging the question.

“Oh, you know that’s not true,” Nora scoffs dismissively, tilting sideways to nudge Emerald with her shoulder.

And Emerald jolts, because—look, it’s not like no one touches her. They have to manhandle each other all the time in battle, and… and Oscar gives her high fives sometimes, which makes her embarrassingly pleased. But what Nora’s offering now, that kind of buddy-buddy casual contact…

… it’s been a while, is all.

“So, why did you want to talk to me?” Emerald asks, overwhelmed and suddenly desperate to find a way to get this conversation over with. She feels like she’s sprinted five miles; like she’s had the crap kicked out of her and she has to go somewhere to lick her wounds. Too much, too fast.

Nora laughs—a chuffing, cynical noise that doesn’t sound at all like her. “Looking for pointers? See, I’m trying this thing where I do things on my own, but I just—I suck at it. Like today; you saw. Even when I’m not with Ren, all I do is… is act exactly the same way I do when I’m with Ren. Like I literally don’t know how to exist without him, whether he’s actually there or not. And I know that’s not fair to anyone; I didn’t mean to treat you like—” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “You’re not just some stand-in. It’s not you at all. I’m just—broken, or something. One trick pony.”

“No, hey—”

“But you figured it out,” she barrels on, which is good, because Emerald doesn’t actually have a clue what she would have said there. “You don’t have anyone and somehow you’re just, like—good to go!” Nora says it cheerily, like it’s a compliment, but has the grace to balk a little when she hears how it sounds. “…sorry. That’s—sorry.”

Emerald shrugs, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin there. She feels like an idiot; building it up for weeks like spending time with Nora would solve all her problems when, surprise surprise, Nora’s just as fucked up as she is.

“Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have any hot tips,” she mutters into the crooks of her elbows. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Like—you want to know the really sad part? I was just following your lead.”

“My…?” Nora can’t even finish repeating it, which: Emerald can’t blame her. It’s so dumb. “Huh?”

“Come on. You know.”

“I don’t,” Nora says, voice thick with exhaustion. Like she’s sick of herself. “Ask anyone—I’m not the brains of the operation.”

Hearing Nora talk about herself that way makes Emerald’s chest feel tight; like her ribs have locked in place so her lungs can’t expand. She doesn’t know how to explain it; not without sounding like a starry-eyed fangirl or a moron with a crush and that’s not what this—it’s only that—

She chooses to start a different way.

“You wanna know why I switched sides? Like, really why?”

Nora softens, and reaches out to touch the back of Emerald’s left hand, where it dangles over her knee. “Sure,” she says, but Emerald barely hears it; it’s taking all of her concentration not to clench her fist or pull away in response.

“I overheard Oscar—or, Ozpin, I guess, I don’t know—talking to Hazel about Salem, about her goals. And… listen. No one joins under Salem because they’re trying to kill the world, okay? I mean, no one but Tyrian, anyway. We were all just trying to… find ways to get by. And when Cinder found me, she—” Emerald swallows, hard. This cuts too deep, too close. It’s not something she can just say. “I wasn’t trying to be some big villain, or something. I was just—looking out for the people who were looking out for me. And why wouldn’t I? No one else ever seemed to think I was worth it.”

“Of course you are,” Nora cuts in, quiet but vehement. “Everyone is.”

“See, the worst part is that you mean that when you say it,” Emerald grumbles, scrubbing at her face until smears of color kaleidoscope behind her closed eyes. “I figured people like you didn’t exist, and then Cinder and Merc were glad to prove me right, and—I let them. You know? And maybe if I’d just held out a little longer…”

“You’re not the only one here who’s ashamed of her past. Harriet tried to blow up Mantle, like, a month ago.”

“That’s not—forget that. I’m talking about you. Nora.” It’s the first time she’s ever said her name like that—addressing her, in conversation. It feels… astonishingly intimate, for so small a thing. Emerald powers past it. “Every day, I see you do something ridiculous, like double back on a patrol because you forgot you promised some kid a candy bar, or something, and that—matters. To me. It’s so stupid, but it’s not, because… argh! I want—it’s—” She tries to get her mouth to form the words, that’s the kind of person I want to be, but they stop in her throat.

Still, Nora seems to get the message. Her eyes seem suspiciously shiny for a moment—but when she blinks, it’s gone. “I… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emerald grumbles. Saying it like she means it: seriously. Don’t mention it.

“I understand what you mean, though. For years, the only person who looked out for me was Ren. And if he’d said…” Nora trails off, then, cocking her head to the side as she works through something. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just. I remembered something. I was about to say that if Ren told me the only way for us to get by was a life of crime, or something, I would’ve taken his word for it, but—the opposite happened. We decided to enroll at Beacon. And that wasn’t his idea; it was mine. I always wanted to be a Huntress. To… to be the one strong enough to help people, instead of always needing the help. He wasn’t sure if we would make it, but I was. We were together, right? How could we lose?” She chuckles, a little, shaking her head at herself. “Get a load of that. He followed me.”

They smile at each other, then. Like they’ve figured out something profound. Maybe Nora has; Emerald hopes so.

“I’m glad you’re here, Emerald,” Nora says, and—there it is again. The frisson of electricity that comes with being referred to by name.

Of course, then Emerald ruins it by blurting out:

“Of course you are, all your other friends are dead.”

Which—“Fuck!” she sputters, because she didn’t mean to say that. What is wrong with her? “Sorry! Sorry.”

Nora only grins at her, feral and incisive. “Yeah, well. Yours are evil, so. Pick your poison. At least I’m proud of mine.”

Touché.

“Still glad I’m here?” Emerald jeers, because her first instinct is still to press on the bruise to see how much it hurts.

Nora laughs, and gets to her feet. “Believe it or not, yes. If putting your foot in your mouth was all it took to get booted from Hero Club, I’d have been kicked out a long time ago.” She reaches down to offer Emerald a hand; Emerald takes it, letting Nora pull her to standing. “Now go and get some rest, huh? None of us can ever sleep when you’re up here thinking so loud.”

“That an order?”

“Advice. Friends give it, from time to time.”

And—yeah. Maybe they do. 

[gukyi]

if i told you | jjk

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

{friends to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst, we’ve got it all folks word count: 22k warnings: slightly underage alcohol consumption, mention of words that could be spoken on an crime documentary series but nothing graphic, ravioli-stealing, idiots to lovers, as per usual a/n: finally! here is the long awaited jungkook fic that i have literally been slaving over since the beginning of january. was this fic supposed to be 10k? yes. did i somehow end up writing 22k anyway? of course! in any case, please enjoy my absolute baby who i love and cherish!

check out the post-script drabble here!

Jeon Jungkook loses his job at the university call center on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year. 

You know this because on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 2:07PM, seven minutes after he normally starts his job at the university call center. 

He’s lucky that you’re the only one who doesn’t have class in the 2PM hour. 

“Y/N!” He shouts through the thin wooden door, his voice probably echoing down the thin hallway of your apartment complex. 

You open it before the second knock—you only rush to the door to get him to shut the fuck up, and not because you’re excited to see him, you swear—to see him standing on the other side, XXL university hoodie draped over his figure, down to his mid-thigh, baggy hood pulled over his head like a sad college-aged Star Wars character. He looks exactly like a jaded sophomore year college student would. He is beautiful. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the call center right now?” You ask in lieu of a normal “hello” or even a “what the fuck are you doing here, it’s 2PM”. Jungkook does not wait for you to invite him inside your apartment, immediately kicks off his shoes by the entrance and tugs on your apartment slippers that are a size-and-a-half too small for his feet, and marches over to your shared fridge to fish through the tupperware containers with your name written on Post-it notes for a mid-afternoon snack. 

Jungkook waits until he’s got an entire piece of frozen supersized ravioli shoved into his mouth before he responds. “I was fired,” he says over a mouthful of pasta and cheese.

“What?” You ask, eyes widening as Jungkook shuffles through your kitchen drawers for a fork, which means that the first piece of ravioli that he ate he did so with his bare ass hands. Like a heathen. Like a ravioli-craving twenty-year-old heathen. 

“I was fired,” Jungkook repeats. He stares at the microwave resting on your kitchen counter for a good ten seconds before he continues to eat the cold, unheated pasta. Every time he’s in your apartment (which is frequently), he tells you how it’s a fire, water, and explosive hazard to have your microwave on the counter like that. As if there is any other place in your apartment for it to go. Maybe out on the tiny balcony you have that overlooks the busiest street on campus. 

“Care to offer an explanation as to why?” You ask, coming up next to him. Jungkook is nearly finished with your tupperware of ravioli, and normally you’d shout at him for it, but seeing as he was just fired from his only source of income as a money-starved college student, you’ll cut him some slack. Just a little. 

“You remember that old, angry alumnus that told me that asking for donations in order to benefit low-income-slash-first generation students was selfish and rude of me, and that I wouldn’t be in college if it weren’t for what his generation accomplished?” Jungkook asks. 

You remember that vividly. Jungkook spent an approximate two hours and thirty-seven minutes on FaceTime with you ranting about this one “old man bitch” who he had to speak to during his day at work, all while you did your economics problem set to the sweet, mellifluous sound of Jungkook’s shrill shrieks. 

“The one you lost your temper at and shouted at for being ungrateful and elitist?” You ask pointedly. You have a feeling you already know where this conversation is going. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes. He finishes the ravioli (goddamnit, now you’re going to have to find something else to eat for dinner at 11PM tonight) and turns around to place it in the sink. For once, it is not piled high with dishes from up to a week ago, so Jungkook even squirts a bit of Dawn onto a sponge and washes the plastic container for you. “Well, as it turns out, telling an old racist elitist that he’s old, racist, and elitist does not go down well with my boss.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse. Jungkook sighs, walking over to where you’re taking it easy on the couch. “Oh no,” you say, eyes widening as he grins, plotting something. “Do not, Jungkook. Jungkook, do not!”

He jumps, catapulting himself onto the couch and landing on top of you with a thud. You let out a groan as the weight of his body hits you, foreheads nearly knocking into each other. Jungkook is a good foot-and-a-half too long for this dinky leather couch that’s always sort of smelled, feet and ankles hanging off the opposing arm rest just so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your shoulder like he always does. You hate when he does this. Hate when he jumps onto the couch while you’re casually reclining just so he can collapse on top of you. Hate the feeling of his body resting against yours, soft breathes against the skin of your neck. Hate how it always makes you want more, how it will never be enough. 

“Have you been working out?” You mumble against the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re more muscle-y than usual.”

“I added weights to my routine,” Jungkook tells you mindlessly. If your roommates walked into your apartment right now and saw the both of you on the couch, you’d never hear the end of it. “Taehyung said it would make me more swole.”

“As if you need to be any more buff,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jungkook’s the most athletic person you’ve ever met in your entire life. He could probably pick up your dinky couch with you sitting on it without batting an eyelash. Even Superman would tremble at the sight of him. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters into your skin. “God, what the fuck am I gonna do now? I need money to pay for everything in my life and my one source of income is now totally invalid because an old guy got what he deserved.”

“Are there any work-study positions still available?” You ask, hand reaching up to stroke at his hair, smoothing it down. Jungkook’s preferred cuddling position is big spoon, but he still demands that he be coddled as though he were the little spoon. 

“No,” Jungkook says with a huff, “they’ve all been snagged by try-hard freshmen who need money like me.”

“I distinctly recall you being a try-hard freshman who also needed money,” you tell him. “That’s why you applied to work at the call center, isn’t it?”

Jungkook sits up, the weight of his figure crushing your legs as he rests on top of them. If you stayed like this forever, you’d probably lose feeling in your lower body, but you’d also get to stay with Jungkook forever, which is a trade-off you would genuinely consider. “Yeah, but the call center hires everybody. You just need to be like… decent at communication. And I’m pretty decent at communication.”

“You never text me back,” you tell him pointedly. 

“That’s because I prefer showing up unannounced at your apartment or other places you frequent,” Jungkook reminds you excitedly. He’ll never let you forget about the time you were wrapping up a small seminar with your history professor and Jungkook burst through the doors with a whole thing of carrots and hummus because you had texted him that you were hungry. You could not look your history professor in the eye for the rest of the semester. “I’d say that’s pretty decent communication.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure out another way to market your decent communication skills to get another job,” you tell him. “Have you considered the boba place on Oak? You could get me employee discounts.”

Jungkook leans over just to pinch at your cheek, fingers gripping onto your face and pulling like a grandmother. “You just want me for my money.”

“You’re my best friend, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him. “Of course I do.”

This is what Jeon Jungkook’s obligatory university Facebook group introduction post read:

Hi, I’m Jungkook and I’m thinking of majoring in visual studies or computer science (really different lol I know)! I played soccer in high school but don’t think I’ll be continuing in college because I was pretty bad at it. I’m looking for a roommate and I’d really like to live in New East House, but anything works for me as long as it has a bed. Hit me up if you think we’d made a good match, but I like talking with everyone lol. 

I’m really into music and can play the guitar, drums, and piano. I like listening to all types of music (yes, even country which slaps kinda hard sometimes) but my favorites are The 1975, Frank Ocean, Troye Sivan, and Khalid. Will bop to Justin Bieber on occasion as well. 

I play Ultimate and am really interested in joining the club team here so hit me up and we can practice sometime because my skills are a little rusty. I also do a little skateboarding but I am definitely not a skater. 

Hit me up if you think we can be friends lol I’m excited to meet you all!

It was accompanied by several pictures, a couple of which are selfies at that anime girl angle, one of him with his friends at prom all doing that Frat Boy pose, and a couple of him with his family. To an outsider doing a very quick glance, it pretty much reads the same as a rather extensive dating profile. 

The truth of it all is, as you were scrolling through the hundreds of obligatory university Facebook group introduction posts in search of a freshman year roommate, you stumbled upon Jungkook’s intro post and you thought this: No. Way.

The moment you laid eyes on his first above-the-head angle selfie, you knew that it would be unlikely that you and Jeon Jungkook’s paths would ever cross. He played guitar and did Ultimate Frisbee, and you wanted to audition for your university’s symphony orchestra. He was beautiful but in that sort of college frat boy who can crush you at beer pong kind of way. Craziest of all, he was a computer science major, and you were walking in as an undecided humanities concentration. 

Impossible. There was no way the two of you would ever meet, and you accepted that right off that bat. At a school your size, you would go through these four years not knowing a majority of your class. Jeon Jungkook was just one of the casualties. 

On the very first day of orientation, Jeon Jungkook comes up to you on the sidewalk, wearing a white t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap, and shorts, and asks you if you’re here for orientation as well? He’s lost. 

Jeon Jungkook is the type of guy you imagine getting eaten up by any girl who meets him almost immediately. He’s charming and endearing the same way a baby deer is, but has no problem wearing clothes that remind you of how fit he is. He is, for lack of a better term, extremely good looking. 

“Yeah,” you had said on the sidewalk, squinting to look up at him since the sun was in your eyes. “I’m heading to the auditorium right now. Wanna walk with me?”

“Okay, sure,” Jungkook had replied, smiling with all of his teeth. Even in the sweaty summer heat, he looked even nicer in person. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Jungkook. What’s your name?”

You knew that already. How could you have forgotten? 

You had grinned up at him. The universe has always worked in mysterious ways. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

When Jungkook doesn’t know what to do, he stress eats. Most often, you are the single witness to this action, which has literally no effect on his body mass whatsoever since he immediately burns off every calorie (and then some) at his next gym session. 

That is precisely why you are sitting in the second-best dining hall on campus eating a pretty measly salad and french fries, while Jungkook returns from the serve-yourself cafeteria with his sixth plate of food. Next to you is your mutual friend Chaewon, a filthy rich international student from Korea who is probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. 

“I think I’ve called every cafe, bubble tea shop, clothing store, and paid internship within a five-mile radius of this place and nothing,” Jungkook says with a sigh, keeping Chaewon updated with his job-search antics. It’s been several days since he was fired, and while being keenly cognizant of your bank account isn’t necessarily a bad thing, when it means that Jungkook refuses to leave campus because he is in hyper-saving mode, it sort of rustles your jimmies. 

“Have you tried babysitting?” Chaewon supplies helpfully. 

You laugh aloud at the mere thought of Jungkook stuck in some middle-aged parent’s house with their toddler for hours on a night where he could be living it up on campus. Jeon Jungkook? A babysitter?

“Wow, what the heck is wrong with me being a babysitter?” Jungkook questions, offended. 

“First of all, you don’t even let me beat you in Mario Kart on your Switch and I am your best friend. If you ended up gaming with a four-year-old boy, your over-competitiveness would take over you and you’d crush the poor kid and his spirit,” you remind him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that the man cannot cook to save his life, and you can’t even entrust him with microwave dinners because of his irrational fear of modern oven technology. 

Jungkook pouts. He knows you’re right. 

“It’s not like you were going to look into babysitting, anyway,” you say with a shove, nudging his shoulder with your own. 

Jungkook sighs, and despite all of the shit you give him on a daily basis (part of the responsibility of being his best friend), you do genuinely feel bad for him. Even if his job at the call center wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating nor morally rewarding, he didn’t absolutely hate it and he made a pretty decent earning off of it. He unzips his backpack and fumbles for his laptop, opening it up to reveal a Google Chrome window with approximately thirty-seven tabs open of places to work on and around campus. Meanwhile, Chaewon’s phone buzzes on the table, and she heaves out a great, exasperated exhale before picking up and immediately launching off into incredibly speedy Korean. 

“If only the bubble tea place was hiring,” you lament, kissing goodbye all of the free bubble tea you had been dreaming about if Jungkook got hired. 

“I’m glad I don’t work at the bubble tea place,” Jungkook tells you with his eyebrows raised, “otherwise I’d have to see you every day!” 

“You already see me every day!” You should back, but it’s not like Jungkook doesn’t know that already. He’s the one always barging into your apartment or sitting down next to you in the library when you’re trying to study. 

“But maybe you should try drinking less bubble tea, otherwise you’re gonna blow up like a tapioca pearl like that one girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Jungkook warns, pinching your cheek as if to make your face round like a tapioca bubble. 

“I can think of nothing I’d want more than to be a tapioca pearl for the rest of my life,” you state simply. It would be much less stressful than to be a college student. 

“If you were a tapioca pearl, I’d eat you!” Jungkook says, and you, out of the security of both your head and your heart, choose not to think too much into it. 

As Jungkook teases you about your slight obsession with bubble tea, Chaewon finally puts the phone down after what very well was several minutes of angry Korean. She lets out this deep, long sigh, like all of the pent-up rage within her is exiting through her exhale. 

“You good, Chae?” You ask her, a little concerned. Even after knowing her since the beginning of your freshman year, you’ve never once seen her get mad, though she looks pretty close to it now. 

“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “My mom is having this stupid company ball here and she really, really wants me to attend.” It is obvious that Chaewon does not, in fact, want to attend. You’ve seen Chaewon nearly every day for over a year, and you’ve never even seen her wear a pantsuit. You couldn’t imagine her joy at having to dress up in a ballgown. 

“But fancy free food,” you point out. Even if she does have to be trapped in a penthouse ballroom with her parents’ stuffy business friends, the catering company will probably be god-tier. 

Chaewon pretty much bangs her head on the dining hall table. 

“Wow, I didn’t know someone could hate catered food so much,” you say, a little alarmed. 

“It’s not that,” Chaewon says, rubbing her forehead. The pasta on the plate in front of her has remained untouched for nearly ten minutes now. You wonder if she’s even hungry anymore. “My mom wants me to bring a plus-one.”

Your eyes widen. An excuse to dress nice and eat good food? Hell yeah. 

“And it can’t be you, Y/N, it has to be a date,” Chaewon says. It’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in dating whatsoever, no matter the gender of the object of her affection. You pout. Damn. “My mom said, ‘he can be whoever you want!’ but that means that he has to be an attractive Korean guy who’s got a future job in finance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of broccoli. 

“You will?” Chaewon asks. Jungkook just single-handedly saved Chaewon from a night of unbearable business talk with a boy she doesn’t know and cannot relate to. 

You scoff. “You’re just a regular Korean dude, Jungkook,” you tell him. 

Jungkook pouts, bottom lip turned out. “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

You refuse to answer that question. You’re afraid of what you might say if you open your mouth. 

“Seriously, you’d do that for me?” Chaewon turns to Jungkook with platonic stars in her eyes. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Sure. I’ve got a suit. I’ll ask my friend Jimin for a crash course in finance before the thing. When is it?”

And just like that, you and Jungkook’s weekly Friday Mario Kart night gets a rain check. 

 Jeon Jungkook is the sole best decision of your life. 

And it’s funny and twisted and wonderful, because he is the one thing you had failed to account for in your life. He stands there on the sidewalk in the blazing sun, black baseball cap nestled safely onto his dark brown hair, and in the split second it takes for him to open his mouth and say hello, everything changes. 

But no longer is the image you conjure in your mind when you think of him a picture of him on that very first day of orientation, lost and excited all at once. It is of him barging into your apartment and eating all of your leftover ravioli. It’s him laying on your dinky couch like it belongs to him, surfing through all of the Netflix shows available and eventually just settling on old Gilmore Girls episodes like he always does. It’s him standing in your closet to judge your latest clothing purchases and take back any items that you’ve stolen from him over the years. 

It’s imagining him not as a guest but as a permanent fixture in your home, in the place that makes you feel safest. Because that’s who Jungkook is, now. He is that place. He stands in your apartment rattling off a list of why microwaves are a severely underestimated killer, and it takes every inch of your being not to ask him to stay. To spend night after night cuddling on the couch, or make a home-cooked meal together on a Sunday evening, or get lost underneath the sheets on your bed.

Jungkook stands in your apartment like he belongs there. And only in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine that coming true.

Such is the case of that Friday night, when he’s supposed to accompany Chaewon to her terrible, awful, brain-melting parents’ business gala. You haven’t seen him all day, too busy with your club meetings to make time for him after your classes are finished for the week. College is never-ending in that horrible, unstoppable way. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when you hear the knock on your door. Two of your roommates are at a rush event for their sorority, and the other sleeps through your smoke alarm on a regular basis, so you are tasked with the job of opening the door. 

On the other side is Jungkook, as he frequently is. 

Your heart practically freezes in place, like his eyes have shot right through it. Instead of his usual baggy outfit and a bucket hat, he’s standing outside of your apartment in a crisp navy suit (complete with a pocket square), rings lining his fingers and hair tousled in that effortlessly-styled kind of way. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a young, successful CEO. Like the love of your whole fucking life. 

Coughing to distract from the fact that you’re practically drooling, you say, “Wow, you clean up nicely.”

Jungkook looks down at himself, almost as if he had forgotten he’s wearing a full suit entirely. “The pocket square is Jimin’s,” he explains, “but yeah. I didn’t want to let Chaewon down by not dressing up to code.”

He’s got remnants of makeup left on his face, having faded and smudged throughout the night. There’s a bit of black underneath his eyes from the liner, a smoldering effect that makes the dark brown of his irises even deeper. “You look tired,” you comment. “Why are you here, why don’t you go home, Jungkook? Get some sleep.”

Jungkook shrugs, looking over your shoulder to see if his arrival has woken up any of your roommates. “Your place was closer,” he says like it’s nothing. 

Like it doesn’t make your breath catch in your throat, stop in its tracks. He spends an evening dressed up in a stuffy suit and tie surrounded by old businessmen and their preppy daughters with whom he has nothing in common, and when it’s nearly two in the morning and he can finally relax, he drives to your place instead of his own. Like it means nothing. As if it means anything at all. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, and even knotted and messy it still looks flawless. “If I’m bothering you, just let me know. I know it’s late.”

It’s so hard to say no to him. 

“Just come inside already before you wake up the neighbors,” you tell him, sighing to pretend like it’s a minor inconvenience. And even running on barely any sleep with makeup smudged underneath his eyes, Jungkook grins as you let him inside your apartment, caving in, just like you always do. 

The first thing he does when he’s inside is take off his fancy loafers and peel off his suit jacket, resting it against the back of the couch. You fumble around in the kitchen for the kettle, instinctively starting to make two cups of tea. Routine. 

Looking up, you watch as Jungkook loosens his tie and takes it off, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his white dress shirt. By the counter, you turn your back to him so he doesn’t see you mentally combust. It’s impossible that he doesn’t already know what he does to you. 

The kettle finishes boiling the moment Jungkook settles onto your couch. He keeps the television off so he doesn’t wake your roommates, and scrolls on his phone with his knees tucked underneath his chin. Thirty seconds later, you’re joining him, handing him the cup of tea before sitting down next to him, severely underdressed in comparison. 

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” You ask. 

“The food totally slapped,” Jungkook tells you. “Chaewon’s parents really pulled out all the stops.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muse. 

“We spent most of the time lounging by the catering table and distracting each other by making up stories about all of the rich people there.” Jungkook laughs. 

“Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself, though,” you say. Perhaps Jungkook could withstand a few blows to his ego, but Chaewon’s future pretty much depends on her impressing her parents and their comrades. 

“No!” Jungkook tells you defensively. “Jimin told me everything I needed to know, but all of Chaewon’s friends and their filthy rich CEO parents thought I was so handsome that I didn’t even need to speak.”

You roll your eyes. Of course Jungkook wouldn’t give up the chance to remind you of his hellishly good looks. 

“You just stood there, looking pretty?” You ask. Not as if he doesn’t do that already. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Jungkook teases, a greasy smile sent your way, like he doesn’t know the answer anyway. 

You huff. “Dressed up like this? Anyone would.”

“Chaewon said I was like her fake trophy husband,” Jungkook jokes. “She did all of the schmoozing. It’s not like I could have contributed anything anyway. Unless everyone wants to hear about C++.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk all tech to me,” you tease, nudging him with your arm. “So sexy, keep talking.”

He laughs. “If we keep talking about Python I might get a little too excited.” He wiggles his eyebrows just for good measure and you giggle, holding onto this moment for dear life as you let it etch itself into your brain permanently. Times like these, you know you can’t forget, saving them for a rainy day thirty years down the line when you’re in love with someone that’s not Jungkook. When you look out the window and think about what might have been, if only things back in college had been a little bit different. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes on the table. He’s got two notifications, one from Instagram of Chaewon tagging him in a post, and another from Venmo. 

“Fuckin’ damnit,” Jungkook swears, letting his phone drop on the couch cushion. 

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him. 

“Chaewon just Venmo’ed me a hundred dollars,” Jungkook says with a sigh. And it’s not one of those times when you see your bank account balance go up and get happy because yay, money!, it’s when your friend pays you anything over what they actually owe you out of the goodness of your heart, and you refuse to accept it. 

“She did?” You ask, eyes widening. A hundred dollars? That’s more than Jungkook would make in three shifts at the call center. 

“‘Thanks for bailing me out tonight. You definitely deserve more than 100 but then you’d be mad at me. But please don’t be mad at me!’” Jungkook reads off his phone. “I just stood there looking like eye candy. I didn’t do a thing to help her, what the heck?”

You pull out your own phone to check Chaewon’s latest post. 

It’s a picture of them together in the skyscraper penthouse the gala was held in, Jungkook looking dapper in his suit with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Chaewon in a dress worth more than a semester’s tuition throwing up a peace sign like the trendy Asian she is. They look like a K-drama couple. Like two celebrities basking in their fame and wealth. 

Shoutout to my one and only Jeon Jungkook for being my fake date tonight! Thanks to your good looks and charming personality for impressing all of my parents’ rich friends and their daughters. Love you 3000 💕

“Wow, whoever took this picture of the both of you knows their shit,” you say, impressed. You had always thought it impossible for Jungkook to look better in pictures than in real life, but this photo is coming rather close. If you were any more shameless, you’d ask Chaewon if she has any more photos of him. Just him, preferably. 

It’s not as if she doesn’t know about your gargantuan crush on him anyway. 

���I don’t think I’ve ever looked that good in a photo in my life,” Jungkook says with a laugh. Impossible. He yawns, placing his empty mug on the little end table next to the couch. 

“You should set it as your profile picture,” you suggest, leaning your head on him and pretending like this is normal. He yawns again, stretching out as he rests his body against yours. “Hey, we should go to sleep. Unless you want to go home?”

Jungkook groans, snuggling in closer. “No, your bed is big enough for the two of us.”

And who are you to resist?

You wake up to the sound of a phone buzzing furiously on your bedside table. You crack open one eye just a sliver to see who the culprit is and immediately eradicate it, when the sun filtering through your Venetian blinds hits your cornea. You groan, shutting your eyes once more as you smack your hand around to get it to shut off. 

The movement, however, causes the bedsheets to shift beside you, and when you turn, you find Jungkook nestled up tightly beneath your duvet, an arm stretched over your side as he hums in his sleep. 

You’re best friends. 

This is normal. 

(The feeling of your heart beating out of its chest has become rather normal, as well.)

He’s wearing a raggedy old t-shirt of yours that has always been too big on you but fits him just perfectly and a pair of joggers that he keeps at your place “just in case”. Just in case he stays the night. Just in case you ever need them. Selfishly, you will yourself to fall back asleep, shutting your eyes tightly and pretending that maybe, if you never wake up, this moment will freeze in time, locking the two of you together for eternity. 

He mumbles to himself in his sleep, a murmur of nothing as he shifts over slightly, hand dragging up your side. 

God. 

Next to you, the phone begins to buzz erratically again, and wide-awake, you look over to realize that it’s Jungkook’s, and that it’s Chaewon on the other end. 

This is at least the second time she’s called, which means that, despite how tempting it is, you probably shouldn’t silence his phone and go back to lying in bed with Jungkook and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

Sighing, you pick up. 

“Jungkook!” Chaewon shouts on the other side. For a brief moment you wonder why on earth she’s so energetic so early, but it’s less that and more the fact that you are overwhelmingly lethargic rather late in the day. “All of my friends said you looked really good in those photos I posted of us. Do you think you’re free next Wednesday night? Seunghee wants you to accompany her to a double date her parents are forcing her to go on!”

“Chaewon—”

“Oh, Y/N! How’s it going?”

“I just woke up,” you mumble quietly as Jungkook stirs beside you. 

“Of course you did,” Chaewon says, and you can see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “Wait, why do you have Jungkook’s phone if you just woke up? Oh my God, don’t tell me—”

“Shh!” You hiss into the phone. Jungkook is slowly beginning to wake up, and you can only pray that he isn’t listening in to the conversation between you and Chaewon. “No, we did not. He got back after your thing and we promptly passed out in my bed, fully clothed,” you whisper loudly. 

“Jungkook went to your place last night? He was so tired, I thought he was going straight back to his. We even got dropped off outside my apartment.”

What? Chaewon and Jungkook live within a three-minute walk of each other. Your apartment is ten minutes away from both of them. 

“You did?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Who’s that?” 

You turn around to see Jungkook lying on his back, head resting on a nearly-deflated pillow of yours as he looks up at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is mussed, some parts styled and stiff with hair gel, and some parts tangled and unkempt. He looks like he’s been lying in that position for a while, hand resting behind his head as he gazes up at you. 

“It’s Chaewon,” you tell him softly as she laughs on the other end. “She just called your phone. Are you free next Wednesday?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook, still half-asleep. “When?”

“Next Wednesday,” you repeat, a hand on the phone like it’s going to do anything to stop Chaewon from listening to you two. “Chaewon says she has a friend who wants you to accompany her to a double date she’s been set up to go on by her parents.”

“Mmmrph,” Jungkook mumbles. It’s clear he hasn’t even thought about his plans for the rest of the day, let alone next Wednesday. 

“He’s not available right now,” you say into the phone. Chaewon snorts. 

“Fine,” Chaewon says with a sigh. “Can you pass the message on when you guys are done pretending that you aren’t fucking behind my back?”

You suck in a breath. “Chaewon!” You hiss. “We are not—” you quickly turn back to Jungkook, who, by the looks of his hooded eyes and bewildered expression, isn’t listening in, “—fucking!” You whisper. “You know we’re not!”

Chaewon laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Call me later, Y/N, we should grab ice cream or something.” She hangs up. 

“Who was that?” Jungkook asks sleepily, eyes still half-lidded as he sits up in your bed, soft skin, brown hair, pouted lips amongst a sea of white, bundled up in your thick duvet as if sitting on a cloud. 

“Chaewon,” you tell him. 

“Oh, why was she calling?”

“She wanted to ask if you were free next Wednesday.”

“To do what?”

Maybe you were worried about Jungkook listening in to Chaewon grill you about your relationship (or serious lack thereof) for nothing. 

“She has a friend who wants you to go on a parent-mandated double date, trophy boyfriend style,” you explain. Jungkook groans. 

“Pretending to know business is mentally, physically, and morally draining. It feels like I’m selling my soul to capitalism,” he says with a sigh, collapsing back against the mattress. “I just wanna stay here forever. It’s so cozy.”

“Come on, Kook,” you say, tugging the duvet off of him to reveal the rest of his body. He curls into himself at the exposure, refusing to budge. “You’ve encroached on my apartment long enough.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook whines, drawing out your name for good measure. “Noooooooo.” He reaches out to cling onto your wrist, which means that if you want him out of your bed, you’ll have to drag him out.

“Jungkook, you’re swole, you know I can’t tug you out of my bed,” you say with a pout. He knows every trick in the book to use against you, and worst of all, he knows you’re weak to all of them. 

“Good,” Jungkook says with a loopy smile, pulling you back onto the bed like it’s nothing. You yelp as you come crashing on top of him, your body bumping into his as he wraps his arms around you and flops back onto your bed. You laugh and shout at the feeling as Jungkook cuddles up in the warmth of the sheets, pulling you in tightly to his body. “It’s so warm here, let’s stay like this forever.”

“What about food?”

“You keep a stash of Clif bars under your bed, we’ll eat those,” Jungkook suggests. 

You attempt to wriggle out of his grip, hoping to escape before he holds you long enough to get addicted, hooked on the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours. But Jungkook is nothing if not persistent and clingy, and he wraps his arms tightly around your torso like a koala, warm and soft. “Come on, Jungkook. It’s nearly noon. Let’s be productive today.”

“Gross.”

“Let’s not sit in bed all day.”

“Grosser. Let’s just stay in your bed all day and pretend that we don’t have any real responsibilities.”

“Given that we’re in college, that may be slightly difficult.”

“Fuck that, your GPA doesn’t matter anyway. Unless you have plans on going to grad school?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, turning to look at you. 

“No way, I’m not paying for another four years of this shit,” you immediately declare. Let the capitalist system of higher education extort another two to four years worth of tuition out of you for the same degree? Absolutely not. 

“Then why move?” Jungkook says with a grin. 

“Because,” you say, stumbling for a real answer. 

“Not good enough.” He grins cheekily. “I vote to stay in bed.”

“I vote to do my readings, your CS homework, and get back to Chaewon about Wednesday.”

“God,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “What’s Wednesday?”

“Oh my God, you need to call Chaewon. Right now. Before you ask me what you have on Wednesday one more time after losing all of your brain cells lounging around in my personal bed and refusing to leave,” you say, eyes wide as you worm your way out of his grip, dusting yourself off and heading to your closet. 

“Noooooooo,” Jungkook says, reaching out a desperate hand. “Y/N, come back.”

“Call Chaewon. Call her!” You order, fishing around in your closet for some fresh clothes. You’ve been wearing the same one since Thursday night. You are disgusting. 

Jungkook groans but obeys, picking up his phone and pressing her contact. “Hey Chae, it’s Jungkook. Listen, I’m literally going to Venmo you back what you paid me because you? Literally didn’t need to pay me at all? And I’m actually mad at you for it? Wait, what do you mean am I up to getting paid on Wednesday—”

The phone call presents the perfect opportunity for you to dash out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, where you splash yourself with cold tap water like a model in a face wash commercial (who already has perfect skin, so why does she need this new face wash, seriously?) to clear your head. It’s been a weird twelve hours. Even weirder knowing that across the hall, Jungkook is sitting in your room, on your bed, in your clothes, under your bed sheets. Knowing that maybe, in another universe, on another timeline, you would be in the exact same positions, only everything would be different. 

You wash your face, hoping to wake yourself up. Convince your mind that the past twelve hours have been nothing but a dream, and that when you walk back into your room, Jungkook will have vanished. Or he would have never been there in the first place. 

You leave the bathroom and return to your bedroom to see Jungkook tugging on his suit jacket, wearing the same clothes he had on when he knocked on your door at 2AM last night. He’s still on the phone, wrapping up the conversation with Chaewon. 

“Yeah, yeah, tell her that I’m down. She can just text me, give her my number. I’m happy to do this for you and your friends, Chae. Plus, she’s gonna pay me and I feel less bad about it because it’s a service and she’s not a close friend like you are. Yeah, it’s all good,” he looks up to see you standing at the door, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, Y/N just got back so I’m gonna go. Maybe we can grab dinner or something tonight? Cool. Bye.”

“Dinner without me?” You ask with a pout. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. “You’re always invited.”

“Have you figured out what’s going on on Wednesday?” You tease him as you walk him to the door. 

“Chaewon has a friend, Soojin, who wants me to accompany her on a parent-mandated double date with a business partner’s daughter,” Jungkook explains. “Apparently all of Chaewon’s friends realized I make a pretty good fake trophy boyfriend.”

You rub his shoulder. He’d make a great real boyfriend too. Not that you think about that all of the time, or anything. “Gonna put that on your resume, big guy?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiles. “Dinner tonight? We can go to the ramen place you really like.”

“Sure thing, is Chaewon coming?”

“If she wants to. Otherwise, it’ll just be us.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him. “See you then.”

“Hopefully before,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night, by the way.”

“Anytime,” you say. Maybe one day, it’ll be true. 

Next Wednesday, there’s a knock on your door at midnight. 

Who else could it be?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. And then it was supposed to be just a two-time thing. And before you knew it, Jungkook’s number and his services were circling through the ring of wealthy international students, jumping from phone to phone as people crammed to get him to accompany them on their next double date, next business gala, next ballroom dance. 

You had always had a feeling that his charming, charismatic personality would eventually draw everybody towards him, so electric and magnetic that you couldn’t help but want to know him, make friends with him, be close to him. From the moment you saw his Facebook introduction post, you knew it was only a matter of time before everyone on campus knew his name.

[October 17th, 4:12PM] You: do u want to get dinner tonight

Jungkook: would love to but have to go to kim family business dinner with dahyun sorry :(

You: ok next time then!

[October 23rd, 1:03PM]

You: yo what r u doing You: i have so many readings to do rip You: do u wanna come to greene w me and study

Jungkook: heejin is taking me shopping for a fancy suit for her family’s event tomorrow i can’t :/ Jungkook: but i am going to get macaroons for u at the mall so we can see each other later!

You: yummm sure thing!

[October 30th, 9:58AM]

You: hey ik you’re asleep rn but we are still on for tomorrow right? 🎃 You: can’t let our one (1) year long halloween tradition of buying last-minute candy and watching the nightmare before christmas together die

[October 30th, 11:13PM]

Jungkook: omg i just saw this now im so sorry Jungkook: uh yeonjoo wants me to go to her sister’s halloween party tm so idk if i can make it this year

[October 31st, 2:02AM]

You: ok You: thanks for telling me

It’s no fun watching The Nightmare Before Christmas by yourself, you realize this Halloween. All of your roommates are out frequenting one of the hundreds of parties being thrown on campus tonight, and although you’d normally be up for getting drunk and dropping it low, you just aren’t in the Halloween spirit this year. Wonder why. 

Armed with the knowledge that your roommates probably won’t be back until three or four in the morning, you shut your laptop and decide to go to bed early. Early being midnight, but it’s early for you and that’s all that really matters. 

You don’t know why you’re being such a stick in the mud this Halloween. It’s always been one of your favorite holidays, never one to pass up free candy nor the option to dress up, but this one has been particularly lame. You don’t have a costume, your local drugstore is out of mini Skittles packets, and you don’t have someone to spend it with. 

Realistically, you have no reason to be sad that Jungkook isn’t available tonight. It’s not as if spending Halloween together is some ancient tradition from birth that binds the two of you together. You did it for the first time as freshmen, and you were foolishly hoping to do the same thing as sophomores. It’s not a tradition if it only happened once. 

You look in the bathroom mirror, stained with nail polish and dry shampoo and old skincare, and you sigh. Jungkook has every right to prioritize his current and only source of income over a night spent lounging on the couch doing nothing. It’s not as if you haven’t seen your best friend in over a month and this was the only night you both had free. Jungkook drops by after every single event he goes on. Every single one. He stands outside your door dressed in a fancy suit, or a silk button down, leather shoes and expensive jewelry bought for him by the girls he goes out with.

No matter the time, he knocks on your door and says hello, steals a cup of tea and a bit of your heart along with it, before bouncing out of your living room and off to his own apartment. He doesn’t stay the night anymore, doesn’t worm his way underneath your duvet and refuse to move until morning comes. It’s hard to tell if you’re grateful about it or not. 

Sluggishly, you peel off your clothes and wash your face, changing into some old sweatpants from the tenth grade and a t-shirt with an embarrassingly large hole in the armpit. This Halloween, you are dressing up as a lonely college student who is going to bed early on Halloween night because she has nothing better to do!

There’s a knock on your door. 

Your first instinct is to freeze up. When there’s another knock, your second instinct is to grab the closest object to you (which happens to be your water bottle) for self-defense. 

And then, you hear,

“You’re not watching The Nightmare before Christmas without me, are you?”

To spare yourself the shame, you won’t say that you practically leapt out of bed the moment you heard his voice. You calmly removed the covers, and casually walked to the front door. That is what you did. 

When you open it, Jungkook is standing behind it, grinning, wearing the greasiest police officer outfit you’ve ever seen in your entire life. This flew at a marketing company’s heir’s Halloween party? He’s even got what looks to be a fully-loaded water gun in his holster. 

“Don’t tell me this is what you wore to some fancy-shmancy Halloween party,” you say disapprovingly, eyebrows raised as you look him up and down and pretend that you aren’t just ogling his figure. 

“It was fine, Yeonjoo’s sister just graduated college. If anything, she was more okay with it than Yeonjoo was,” Jungkook says with a shrug. You don’t even need to let him in at this point, just watch as he tugs off his shoes and steps inside your apartment like it belongs to him. 

“What was Yeonjoo dressed as?”

“Princess Leia. We made for a very mismatched pair,” Jungkook says, chuckling to himself. “Ooh, did you guys get new tea?”

“You can have some if you want,” you tell him, shutting the door as he eagerly pulls out a box of teabags, turning on the electric kettle on the counter. “I think it’s Wild Berry Hibiscus.”

“Sounds good already,” Jungkook says, and he lets out a sigh that sounds so exhausted, so tired and aching, as he leans back against the countertop, head resting on the cupboards above it. 

“You could have gone home, you know,” you tell him. Even from the couch you can see the droop in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. He’s been going out several times every week for the past month, and he still has a truckload of CS assignments on top. He spends precious hours schmoozing with wealthy businessmen and women, shaking people’s hands and posing for pictures in the fanciest clothes he owns and then some. The selfish part of you wants him to stay. The part that loves him knows it would be better if he went home. “You still can.”

“No,” Jungkook insists, shaking his head. “We have a tradition to uphold, don’t we?”

Even though The Nightmare Before Christmas is seventy-six minutes long, the night ends long before that. You haven’t even reached “This Is Halloween” before you feel a head hit your shoulder, and crane your neck to find Jungkook having fallen fast asleep beside you, half-full cup of Wild Berry Hibiscus next to the laptop in front of you. He’s still wearing his stupid police officer costume, the navy blue uniform tight against his body. His lips are parted ever so softly, eyelashes fluttering as little non-sounds exit his mouth, hints, whispers of snores. 

He hasn’t slept over since the first time. You’re not sure if you want the trend to continue, or if you just want to be a little bit selfish tonight, greedy, taking and taking and taking. He’s so beautiful like this, so innocent and gentle and soft. It would be such a shame if you had to wake him. 

And so, gingerly, you rest your head against his own, breathe in the quiet little sounds that leave his parted lips, memorize the feeling. It’s not the first time Jungkook’s accidentally fallen asleep on you, but there is something about this moment, sitting on your couch a few minutes past midnight, as the rest of the world celebrates around you, that is so intimate. Like here, in your apartment, you and Jungkook have your own little bubble, tucked away in a corner of the universe far from the noise of the rest of the world. And it’s here that you wish you could stay forever, for once never wanting the feeling to end. Wanting time to freeze in its very steps, the clocks stop and the orbit halts, and it is just you and Jungkook, forever. Like characters in a movie, on pause for eternity.

The moment ends when Jungkook shifts beside you before eventually coming to, slowly opening his eyes as he turns to look at you. You smile at him, dazed and tired, as he sits up properly, staring down at your half-opened laptop and the half-full cup of tea next to it. 

“Thought you’d end up sleeping here again tonight,” you joke, even though it isn’t really a joke. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside you, in the crevices between your bones and the dark corner of your heart, you had hoped that he would stay. 

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Jungkook asks, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. It’s nearly two-thirty in the morning. 

“Just for a bit. I didn’t want to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to head back to your apartment or anything,” you tell him. 

Jungkook nearly jumps up off the couch at that, like he’s got springs in his shoes. Suddenly he’s wide awake, brown eyes blown open as he scrambles to gather his belongings, taking the cup of tea and quickly dumping it out in your sink. 

“Hey, don’t you want that?” You ask. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll come by some other time and have some, it was really good, I just fell asleep while drinking it,” Jungkook sputters, words moving a mile a minute as he tugs on his heavy black officer boots, scuffed at the tips from wear and tear. It’s as if he’s desperate to leave. Like your apartment has somehow offended him. Or worse, you. 

“If you want to stay, Jungkook, you can,” you tell him, standing up to run to the door before he pulls the damn thing off his hinges with how fast he’s moving. “I don’t mind. My bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“No, I should—I should get going. My… plants need watering. Right now. I totally forgot.”

It’s not a completely bullshit excuse. Jungkook has a fair few pothos amongst his other worldly apartment belongings, hanging from his ceiling or potted in old mugs and janky shoes. But it’s still a pretty bullshit excuse. It’s dark. Jungkook waters his plants every Sunday, and it’s Friday. It’s obvious he wants to get the hell out of your apartment for whatever reason. 

All you can do is hope and pray that it isn’t you who’s driving him away. 

“Oh—okay,” you tell him, opening the door as he furiously laces up his other boot. 

“Thanks for doing this. Next Halloween will be more fun, I swear. I won’t fall asleep on you. Or anything.”

“Okay, see you soon, then?” You ask, searching for a clue, a hint, anything that will tell you that it’s not you, that he hasn’t found you out yet. That you can still be friends, be best friends, because even if you want to kiss him, hold his hand, roll around in bed with him, loving him from afar is good enough. 

“Yes, yes, definitely. Dinner? Uh… sometime this week? I’ll text you. I have to go. Plants. See you!”

He dashes down the hallway. 

And you end your Halloween the same way you started it. Alone. 

Jungkook ran out of your apartment the other day like it was infested with cockroaches. Or the Black Plague. Or your microwave had just beeped. It was as if simply being inside it was going to scar him for life. 

Maybe your apartment is cursed. Jungkook does believe in ghosts. That’s another reason as to why he fears the microwave. Tiny ghosts could be living inside the microwave chamber and you’d never know. But Jungkook knows better. He knows that they’re there. 

“He just… ran out?” Chaewon asks, clearly bewildered. The two of you have been working on the first floor of the library all day, obviously doing everything in your power to not actually complete any of your assignments. 

“Yeah, something about his plants.” You sigh. 

Chaewon narrows her eyes, the same way she does when she’s plotting something. “Interesting.”

“What?” You ask, nudging her to see if you can worm a less mysterious response out of her. 

“Nothing,” Chaewon says with a nonchalant shrug. She clearly has something to say. 

“What?” You repeat forcefully. Chaewon doesn’t get to go all cryptic on you just because Jungkook ran out of your apartment like it had set fire. 

“I know I’ve only known you guys for, like, a year and a bit now, but you two have the strangest relationship I’ve ever seen,” Chaewon comments like it’s nobody’s business when it is, in fact, specifically two people’s business. 

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” She pauses, thinking. In the silence, she begins to pack up her belongings, shoving her laptop into her bag and gathering up the small pile of candy wrappers slowly amassing in front of her. “I’ve never seen two best friends have a relationship quite like yours.”

“Thanks?”

“What are you doing for dinner? I’m eating with Yoonji, but you’re welcome to join if you want,” Chaewon offers. Even though you have no idea who Yoonji is, Chaewon would never exclude you from eating with them.

“I’m getting Korean food with Jungkook, but thanks for the offer,” you say, only to be greeted with Chaewon rolling her eyes. He said he’d meet us outside?”

Sure enough, when you head out of the glass doors at the front of the library, Jungkook is waiting dutifully on a bench close by, headphones in as he nods his head and taps his feet to the beat of the music, lost in his own world. He doesn’t even realize that you’ve left the library until you’re two feet in front of him, when he recognizes your beat-up white sneakers and looks up at you in glee, eyes crinkled into crescents. 

“Ready to go?” You ask happily. Your stomach has been rumbling ever since Jungkook suggested you go out to eat this morning. 

“Hell yeah I am,” Jungkook says, putting his earbuds away as he stands up. “You coming, Chae?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m eating with a friend.” There’s nudge against your shoulder, and when you turn to face her, she winks. “But you two enjoy yourselves! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

Before you can publicly berate her for being so goddamn obvious, she’s rotating 180 degrees on her heel and speed-walking in the opposite direction, zooming off so you don’t get the chance. 

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” you comment mindlessly. Twenty-four hours away from Jungkook feels like a lifetime and a half. Forty-eight is a light year. 

“I’ve been busy,” Jungkook says vaguely, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Doing what, going out to fancy restaurants and galas?” You half-tease. It’s sad but true—Jungkook spends his nights living a life you could only dream of. And all of these rituals you share, from studying in the library until three in the morning to crashing at his place and taking naps on separate couches, get put on the backburner. 

“Hey, it’s hard work pretending to be rich,” Jungkook pouts. “Besides, the craziest thing about going to those things is that rich Korean people don’t serve Korean food at their fancy gatherings. They serve shit like caviar.”

“Is that why you’re so desperate to get Korean?” You ask pointedly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook emphasizes. “Man, I just want some tteokbokki.”

“Then we’ll go and eat all of the tteokbokki you can dream of,” you promise. You round the street corner and on the edge of the main road and an alleyway sits a tiny Korean restaurant the size of a bedroom, no more than six cramped tables inside. It’s run by a family who passes it down through each generation, dependent on the starving college students nearby to keep it alive. 

It’s Jungkook’s favorite place. The owner gives him a discount every time he sees him. 

(It’s impossible not to fall in love with Jungkook. Impossible to not be drawn to his presence, his personality. Like moths to a flame, you can’t help but come closer.)

“Ah, Jungkook!” The old man behind the counter greets as the bell above the entrance rings. “Sit! Sit!” He points to your favorite table, a round one in the far left corner that’s right next to the biggest window. “Usual?”

“Tteokbokki, too, please!” Jungkook shouts. The man gives you both a thumbs up and heads back into the kitchen. 

“It’s been a while since we came here,” Jungkook notices. You both usually eat lunch on campus and Jungkook has been largely unavailable for dinner. 

“Almost sounds like you missed it,” you poke fun. 

“God, I missed it so much,” Jungkook exclaims, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I didn’t realize that it would be so much work to get dressed up in a suit and look hot.”

“Don’t make it sound like such a drag.” You frown. Jungkook needs to put in literally zero effort to look hot. Sitting across from him in this tiny Korean restaurant as he wears nothing but a massive hoodie and black joggers, he looks hot. When he wakes up in your bed in a raggedy t-shirt, he looks hot. When you catch him at three in the morning in the library after eighteen straight hours of studying, he looks hot. 

Jungkook sits there and radiates light. Radiates warmth and joy and beauty. Laughter and hope. He’s the college version of a Disney prince. Perfectly imperfect and completely out of your reach. 

“I wish I could take you with me, you might enjoy it,” Jungkook sighs. “Plus, I have literally never seen you wear something fancier than business casual. Imagine you in a ballgown!”

“In your dreams, Jeon,” you rebuke. “Free catered food sounds nice but having to mingle with the 1% does not.”

“Touché,” Jungkook concedes. “I don’t know how Chaewon does it.”

“She’s a goddess.”

“Indeed.”

Jungkook pours you a cup of water from the pitcher that the old man dropped off, and then pours one for himself. “Chaewon said that I did well, though.”

Not surprising. Jungkook excels at everything he does. 

“Of course you did, you sexy beast,�� you chide. 

“She said I’d make a good boyfriend.”

You choke on your water as the man’s son brings out your food, and you desperately attempt to avoid eye contact as you sputter and cough into a napkin, gaze pointed away from both a surprised waiter and a concerned Jungkook, who awkwardly thanks the man and leans over to pat your back. 

“You good?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

Coughing, you say, “I’m okay, I’m okay. It just—it went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Jungkook doesn’t buy it, and the little coughs escaping your throat don’t do much to corroborate your claim. “Seriously, Jungkook. I’m okay. It’s just water.”

“You looked like you were on the verge of death,” Jungkook frowns. 

“That’s just my face,” you fire back. “Just keep talking about what you were saying earlier. What was it?”

“Being a good boyfriend,” Jungkook says, and with no water near your lips to distract you this time, your mind bears the full force of his words, weighing down on your shoulders like a calculus textbook. 

It’s not as if you aren’t already aware that Jungkook would be the best boyfriend in the entire world, bar none. Not as if you don’t sit in bed and dream of a parallel universe, a life other than the one you’re living in right now, where Jungkook is lovely and wonderful and yours. He knocks on your door at a random hour in the afternoon with Chinese takeout from the local restaurant. He remembers your homework assignments when you forget them. He sits in bed with you and judges the Instagrams of the guys on the latest Bachelorette season. It’s as if he was already yours.

“Believe me,” you scoff. “The people know how great of a boyfriend you are.” 

“It’s fake, though,” Jungkook reminds you. “It’s only for a night. An evening, really.”

“Better than nothing,” you sigh. “If only I had enough money to rent myself a fake boyfriend for a night.”

“If only your parents were the CEOs of a multibillion dollar cooperation,” Jungkook adds on. 

“Truth,” you say, and you and Jungkook toast to that. Toast to knowing that some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Toast to knowing that some of those people can get for themselves something you can only imagine in your wildest dreams—a night with Jungkook. More than just a night. A night spent dressed up in your fanciest clothes, arms wrapped tightly around each other. A night spent as a couple, rather than you and Jungkook. 

Toast to knowing that even if you’ll never get to have him like that, you get to have him like this, and you’d rather it be like this than nothing at all. 

“You don’t need to rent a fake boyfriend for a night, Y/N,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve downed the water in your glasses (stay hydrated!). “You shouldn’t feel pressured to spend time with people you don’t want to spend time with.”

You don’t understand, you sigh. I’d give anything to spend time with you. 

Jungkook pays. He says that he’s made more money accompanying wealthy socialites—even ones that don’t go to your school, because word gets around—than he would in a month’s worth of shifts at the call center. He says he’s never looking back. He’s probably not going to give up the gig for a while, either. 

“Just because you have cash now doesn’t mean you get a free pass to pay for everything we do together,” you warn. You’ve always split the price of meals, split the price birthday cakes for your friends. In the beginning of freshman year, Jungkook ate a quarter of a bag of goldfish you had and paid you fifty-three cents to account for his consumption, which you immediately sent back to him. You still fight over it, finding surreptitious ways to incorporate it into the Venmo payments you make to each other. 

“I’m rich, I can do whatever I want with my money,” Jungkook proclaims. “And if that means treating my best friend to a meal, then that means I’m gonna treat her to a meal.”

“That’s very rude of you,” you tell him pointedly. “Zero out of ten, worst best friend in the entire world. Will not accept my Venmo payments.”

Walking down the sidewalk, side by side, Jungkook wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a side hug as you come to a stop at a traffic light. “You always do so much for me and Chaewon. You deserve to be treated once in a while, Y/N.”

“Why, ‘cause I go out to CVS at ten at night to get you Nyquil after you catch the common cold from some sweaty guy at the gym?” 

“That,” Jungkook nods, conceding, “and also because you’re one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. The people who know you are lucky to get to say your name.”

If only Jungkook knew that he was the exact same. It’s an honor to know him. It’s a blessing to love him. 

“What fancy clothes do you own?” Chaewon’s lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. 

“I don’t know,” you respond, brows furrowing. You get up from your desk chair to start fishing through your closet,  “I have, like, some business casual stuff.”

“How about a dress?”

You whip around suspiciously, eyeing Chaewon as she lounges around in your room and acts like she isn’t plotting something nefarious. “Don’t you think you could tell me what you’re trying to convince me to do before you ask me if I have the appropriate clothing?” 

Even lying on her back, Chaewon still manages to roll her eyes, sitting up to meet your gaze. “There’s a gala tonight to celebrate some big business deal being closed and I want you to come with me,” she says like it’s a chore, exasperated. 

“Me?” You frown. “Why not Jungkook?”

“He said he had some thing to do for some other girl,” Chaewon says. The topic clearly is not at the forefront of her mind. It’s a little too obvious that it’s at the forefront of yours. “Besides, I was given no date restrictions and you deserve to have a little fun tonight. It’s a Friday!”

“I just want to stay in bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you tell her. 

“You’re already out of bed,” Chaewon points out unhelpfully. 

“Well, then I want to get into bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you rephrase. 

Chaewon pouts. “Noooo, please? It’ll be fun, I swear,” Chaewon pleads.  “It’s a huge party and hundreds of people are going to be there. Everybody gets to bring a plus one. You won’t be the only person who doesn’t know anything about business and has to cling onto their date in order to survive.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me want to go so much,” you deadpan. 

“Seriously, Y/N. When was the last time you went out on a Friday?”

A while ago. You and Jungkook started having Mario Kart nights on Friday in the middle of your freshman year after you both came to the conclusion that every frat party smells, sounds, and tastes like the same fifty shades of college regret. You haven’t gone out since. 

“Not that long ago,” you lie. It’s been months.

“Yeah, right,” Chaewon scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t see your Bitmoji on the SnapMap sitting in your damn apartment on a Friday at 11PM,” she scolds.

“I’m gonna turn off my location,” you declare. You’ve had enough of Snapchat exposing you and your location. People can live in mystery about your whereabouts from now on. They don’t need to know. Chaewon certainly does not. 

“No excuses, you’re coming with me to the gala! You must have something to wear in that closet of yours, don’t you?” She slides off of your bed with a thud and joins you as you stand in front of your clothes. None of them scream fancy. None of them even whisper it. You stand back as she shuffles through your clothes, hangers squeaking as she shoves them along the rail. Chaewon tears through your clothing faster than you skim through your economics readings. “Aha! What do we have here?”

She whips out a dress from the very back of your closet, right behind the blazer you never wear because you’d rather be caught dead than in business attire. It’s old—you don’t think you’ve worn it since the beginning of your freshman year when you thought you actually had to dress up for parties. Needless to say, you dry-cleaned it the following Monday and never wore it again. You don’t even recall bringing it to college this year. 

“This is perfect!” Chaewon cries. “Really says ‘I can fucking dress myself’, don’t you think?”

“Are you implying that I can’t dress myself?” 

“You should definitely wear this,” Chaewon decides, dodging the question. “Gucci and Louis Vuitton are overrated, anyway.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.” Chaewon thrusts the dress towards you.

Chaewon shakes her head. “Of course you don’t.” 

Three hours later finds you one makeup and hair session later, standing in the lobby of a magnificent skyscraper wearing a dress that maybe could have done without the cup of frozen yogurt that you ate before you arrived. Now you remember why you haven’t really worn it since the beginning of last year. Has it shrunk?

“I feel like a loser, Chaewon,” you hiss as she bats her eyelashes and gets directed to the private elevator that will lead you both to the top floor. “A money-less, jobless loser.”

“At least you’re honest, Y/N,” Chaewon whispers back as you step into the elevator. Despite being nearly an hour and a half late (“Fashionably so!” Chaewon exclaims.) you are crowded into the back corner, several other couples stepping inside to join you, all of them wearing clothes that cost more than your tuition for all four years of college, combined. “That’s better than most of the people here.”

Nothing separates the rich from the poor like morality. 

When the elevator doors open, you and Chaewon are the last group to step out, milling about in the corner until the path is free. And when you turn your gaze away from her, you realize just why Jungkook’s so keen on going to events like these, why he never turns down an offer when it lights up his phone screen. 

In movies, rich people flaunt their wealth so extravagantly that it almost looks fake. From gigantic ice sculptures to ten-feet-tall chocolate fountains, entire orchestras and dresses worth thousands of dollars, it makes you wonder if rich people really do see those items as necessities when throwing a party. They rent out entire European castles and the press publicizes every one of their actions. To you, it looks contrived, unrealistic. Even if rich people have enough money to sustain the bottom 99% for hundreds of years, how could they spend their money on nonsense like this?

As it turns out, the ice sculptures and chocolate fountains are only half of the story.

At this gala, the hosts have spared no expense. The entire penthouse is made purely of glass, from the ceiling, to the floor, to the walls in between, giving you an absolutely breathtaking view of the city lights dozens of feet below you, of the stars millions of light years away. It’s as if you’re standing in a bubble, frozen in time, the world sparkling and twinkling and shimmering around you. You didn’t even know a place like this existed on Earth. The price to book it must be astronomical. The view, even more so. 

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, mouth dropping open at the sight. It’s a movie come to life. It’s a picture straight out of a fairytale. 

“Pretty sweet, right?” Chaewon says, clearly proud of herself for convincing you to join her. “The Parks and the Ohs really felt like celebrating.”

“No shit,” you say, dumbfounded. Chaewon wraps her arm around yours and leads you out of the elevator, her poise and grace akin to that of a princess. She’s been to this place before. She could do this in her sleep. 

“Pictures first, then we eat, and then we mingle,” Chaewon instructs, and you nod diligently. She’s the only way you’re going to make it out of this night unscathed. Without her, you don’t know what you’d do. 

On the average day of an average life of an average person, pictures means getting a stranger to take a single pic on your shitty iPhone at your worst angle, which you will begrudgingly post to your Instagram later after extensive editing. 

But this is not your average day, and these are not average lives of not average people. Pictures means professional photographers with entire setups, standing with their cameras held up to their eyes, poised and ready for the next shot. It means couples, one by one, stepping in front of a gorgeous backdrop and posing, over and over, as five photographers at once cram to get their best angle, the cleanest photo. 

You don’t know how to pose for photos. You barely remember what the proper formatting is for your essays, depending on the citation structure. And yet, Chaewon is ushering you over in front of the photographers, immediately striking one of her classic, perfect poses as you flail about, trying to figure out what to do with your hands. 

“Just relax,” Chaewon advises. Even standing beside you, she can see you panicking in her periphery. “And smile. You’re beautiful, so show them that.”

Eventually, as the photographers switch positions to get different angles, you stop worrying about your hands, stop worrying about your bag, your feet, your head tilt, and just grin. You may not have millions of dollars to your name, but it’s a Friday night and you’re living the life of a billionaire with no responsibilities. You deserve to live a little. 

When the next group comes up, Chaewon nudges you out of the way and whispers to one of the photographers, who nods dutifully in response. Wrapping her arm around yours once more, she guides you to the massive catering setup, tables and tables lined with delicacies from every country you could imagine. And of course, a gargantuan chocolate fountain in the middle of it all. 

Your stomach rumbles. Clearly, the frozen yogurt was not enough to hold you off. Or maybe it’s just because you’ve been eating college dining hall food for weeks now, and are probably going to throw up if you have to have dry beef one more time. 

“If you want to, you should try the caviar. It’s delicious. Avoid the eggplant, it tastes like foot, but the brussel sprouts are delicious. Kimchi’s good, too. Classic,” Chaewon instructs as you walk around the tables, placing servings the size of quarters onto your plate just so you can have a taste of everything. Chaewon sticks to some ribs, pan-seared salmon, and a vegetable so expensive you’ve never even heard of it before. 

“Im Chaewon, is that you?”

“Mrs. Kim!”

A strange older woman comes up to the two of you as you’re dishing up, and Chaewon’s face immediately lights up. The woman goes in for a hug, a barely-touching pat of the shoulders and hands. Over her shoulder, you watch as Chaewon rolls her eyes and pulls a face. 

“How are you, dear? You look so grown up,” Mrs. Kim says. You watch as the light slowly fades from Chaewon’s eyes with each second that passes. 

“I’m very well, Mrs. Kim. Did you get your hair done? It makes you look so youthful.” Chaewon’s a master. She glares at you when Mrs. Kim isn’t looking, raising her eyebrows as if to say learn, young padawan. This is how it’s done. They go on for a couple minutes, showering fake compliments on each other as you slowly begin to eat. You scrunch your nose up. Chaewon’s right. The eggplant does taste like foot. 

“And who is this?” Mrs. Kim asks, turning her focus onto you. You look up like a deer in headlights, a brussel sprout puffing your cheek. You were not meant to mingle and eat at the same time. 

“This is one of my closest friends, Y/N,” Chaewon introduces for you. You nod your hello, chewing the brussel sprout in the most nondescript manner possible in an effort to save whatever is left of your dignity. “She’s pre-law.”

You are not pre-law.

“Oh, how wonderful! You must have a lot you want to accomplish in life,” Mrs. Kim says. God, you couldn’t care less about how Mrs. Kim feels about you.

“Yes, definitely,” you say awkwardly. 

“We really must be going, Mrs. Kim. My parents will want me to make sure I do my rounds,” Chaewon says, a hand on your arm as she makes to get you both the fuck out of there. 

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Kim concedes, sending you and Chaewon one final goodbye before moving on to find her next victim. 

When she leaves, Chaewon seems to let out the biggest exhale of her life. “Holy fucking shit, I thought she’d never leave,” she exclaims, grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in a single go. “She’s an associate of my father’s, so she’s always trying to kiss my damn ass. Like, sorry that you need to brown-nose your boss and his daughter just so you bribe your idiot son’s way into college.”

“You like mingling, I take?” You joke. 

“Just murder me.”

“Have any tips?”

“Flex as hard as possible without actually flexing. Try to speak to people your age because they are usually more bearable than people older than you. The best conversationalists are anybody under the age of ten,” Chaewon tells you. She picks up another glass of Prosecco. “Want some champagne?” 

“You have it,” you tell her. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Chaewon shrugs. Not as if they’re running out any time soon. She gulps it down and places it on the tray of one of the caterers as they whiz by her. 

The rest of the night passes by in the same way the beginning of it did. Chaewon drags you around the penthouse, talking with her father’s business partners and associates and their sons and daughters and husbands and wives for no more than two minutes each before moving on. She’s got her technique down pat. Greet, compliment, shade, flex, compliment, say goodbye. It’s foolproof, because you immediately notice that everyone else in the room has adopted the same approach. 

Business gatherings like these are just one big game of who can be the most-liked and the least-liked at the same time. And the answer: everybody, all at once. 

Halfway through the evening, Chaewon collapses against the back wall, totally unafraid of the possibility of the glass giving out behind her. She doesn’t care. If it breaks, it breaks. 

“Tired?”

“I just need a break,” Chaewon declares. “Because everyone in here is so fucking fake, and you’re the only one I can talk to without wanting to rip out my eardrums.”

“I’m honored,” you say sarcastically. 

“When I say you’re the only honest one here, I mean it,” Chaewon says. You lean back against the wall next to her, looking out into a sea of people in fancy clothes with fancy food and fancy friends. “Look at all these people, Y/N. All these fucking people, and you’re the only one who’s true.”

And then, you spot him. 

He’s far away, standing in a group of people you don’t recognize, a hand on the small of another girl’s back. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, tight-fitting and tailored, a silver watch sparkling on his wrist as he adjusts his sleeves. One of the other young men in the group says something funny, and he tilts his head back to laugh, chuckling as the girl beside him curls into his arms. 

You suppose it would have been ignorant of you to assume Jungkook was elsewhere on a night like this, at a gathering where everybody who knows anybody is here. 

Jungkook must not know you’re here. He mustn't, otherwise he would have come over to find you. You must have entered at different times, spent the night wandering around different parts of the penthouse. Clinging onto Chaewon’s arms, you must have avoided his gaze, and he, yours. 

Chaewon hasn’t spotted him either. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better, if you’re the only one stuck with the knowledge that he’s here tonight. Chaewon would pity you. Other people would ask you how you knew such a worldly, experienced man like him. And you would spend the night wallowing in sadness, wondering why it’s never you that gets to spend the night next to him. 

From this distance, you can see Jungkook perfectly. The light from the moon shines down on him like a goddamn spotlight, catching the sparkling on his wrist, leaving a silver gleam in his slicked back hair. You watch as he laughs, smiles, talks, grins and beams and socializes. Of course he’s here. Of course. He’s so good at this, so good at being real and genuine and happy. 

Chaewon says the only person in the room who is true is you, but how can that be? How can that be when Jungkook, the most honest, wonderful, real person you know, is standing in front of you? You aren’t honest. You aren’t true and real and whole. You stand on the sidelines, a wallflower in a room of daisies and roses, and pine from afar. Watch as he pretends to date a girl that’s not you, wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek, and you act like everything is alright. 

It sucks, being trapped like this for fear of him seeing you. You know that would be worse—if he saw you standing alone and decided to take matters into his own hands. Seeing him up close in a penthouse like this, a movie set, shimmering and sparkling, it would be worse. Jungkook pulls the girl beside him in close to his side, smiling as he listens to someone else speak. She’s the perfect height in those heels, just tall enough to rest her head in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. You imagine them walking into the room together, hand in hand. Imagine them posing for the pictures like a real couple, a pair of celebrities. 

You suppose you have no reason to be jealous of her, of him, of what they have. Jealousy is when resenting someone for having something that you once had. You never had a life like that with Jungkook. You’ll never have a life like that with him. Never get dressed up to go out, never get to be his date to an event. Never get pictures taken of you as a couple, never feed each other candies and strawberries dipped in chocolate. You can’t be jealous of her. You were never in the running to begin with. 

“Ready to get back out there?” Chaewon asks, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. 

A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne flutes, offering it to the both of you. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chaewon tells you as she takes a glass for herself. 

You sigh, casting another glance over at Jungkook. He and his date are moving around now, joining another social circle on the opposite side of the penthouse. He looks so at ease, so comfortable. He belongs there, in the middle of it all, talking and laughing and grinning. And you? You belong back at home, underneath your duvet covers playing a game of Mario Kart. Not here. 

You shake your head. You could use a drink or two in this state. “I’d love one, actually. Thank you.”

That night, you stay at Chaewon’s place. 

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“Hello to you, as well,” you say with a scowl as Chaewon sits down across from you at the local ramen place. 

“Listen,” Chaewon begins, “I’ve been thinking. You need to confess to Jungkook.”

You nearly spit out the complimentary water you were served. “Excuse me?”

“You need to. You’ve been acting weird and that’s the only thing that’s going to fix it,” Chaewon declares. 

“What do you mean I’ve been ‘acting weird’? Care to explain?” You ask, offended. You haven’t been acting weird. Well, that weird. Maybe a little weird.

“Jungkook told me you haven’t seen each other for the last eight days,” Chaewon points out. Eight days? It’s more like seven and a half. Not that you’ve been counting, or anything. 

“So? We’re busy people,” you defend. It’s a good enough excuse. You’re sophomores in college. You have classes. Clubs. You have to meal prep. 

“So? You guys are best friends. You make time to see each other at three in the fucking morning if you haven’t seen each other yet that day. And you haven’t seen each other for eight whole days? What’s wrong with you?” Chaewon demands. 

“Nothing! What the heck, I invite you out to a best friend ramen date and you just blaspheme all over me like this?” You accuse. This is not how you imagined today to be going. This isn’t how you imagined this week to be going. “Besides, it’s only been seven and a half days. He’s over-exaggerating.”

“Seven and a—holy fuck, you are literally the worst. Can you just stop resisting? If you tell him, everything will be fine and go back to the way things were,” Chaewon says, blinking, flabbergasted. 

“No, they will not,” you hiss. “Everything will change if I tell him. We’re best friends, Chae. Imagine if I told you that I loved you. What would you do?”

“I’d love you back, that’s what!” Chaewon tells you. “You deserve to be loved back, Y/N. Nothing would change between us. I already love you. You’re one of my most favorite people ever. I would never regret something if it was with you.”

“It’s different with him, though,” you try to explain. You don’t know why—you just know that it is. The way you’re friends with Chaewon and the way you’re friends with Jungkook are entirely separate. You love Chaewon. You’re not in love with Chaewon. 

“Is it? How?” Chaewon says. 

“I don’t know, I just—it’s different with him.” There’s no way to describe it. Jungkook appeared in your life and it was as if everything just clicked into place. There isn’t a single thing in your life that makes more sense to you than Jungkook. “It’s always been different with him. With you, I—I knew that we would become really close friends once we started talking a lot more in the beginning of freshman year. But with him—I don’t know. From the moment I met him, I knew that I would fall in love with him. When he said hello to me, I was fucked. There’s never been any hope for me, Chae. I just have to live like this forever.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes. “No, you don’t. You don’t even see what the fuck is right in front of you.”

“You?”

“God, I’m friends with idiots. Literal idiots. How you guys have made it through nearly a year and a half of college is beyond me,” Chaewon says to nobody in particular. “Seriously, tell me, Y/N. What do you think will happen if you tell him? Just out of curiosity.”

“I don’t know—” you pause. A lot of things. He tells you he just wants to stay friends. He rejects you because he’s not interested that way and you can’t really be friends anymore because it’s weird now. He’s already interested in somebody else. He’s already dating somebody else and you never even knew. He’s not looking for a relationship right now. Things get awkward because you confessed to your best friend that you’re in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same. You end up never speaking to each other. You never see each other. You go through the rest of university seeing each other on the Green by chance and not knowing what to do. You graduate and move on with your lives. And suddenly, he’s just a past friend you used to have. No longer a part of your life. No longer given the chance to. “He rejects me. We never speak again and have to avoid each other at all costs. He lets me down easy and I feel like a total loser for having confessed in the first place. There’s a lot.”

“Jesus, Y/N. Aren’t you forgetting a possibility?” Chaewon says, eyebrows raised high. 

“I’m omitting a lot of them,” you tell her. Including the one where, in the next three years, you end up in a hellish dystopian wasteland and you have to band together to survive but it’s awkward and terrible because you love him still and he doesn’t feel the same, never has and never will, and now you have to fight off zombies and a corrupt autocratic government all while dealing with your own goddamn feelings. That may be the most unbearable one of them all. 

“How about the one where he actually feels the same?”

“Too unrealistic,” you tell Chaewon. It’s the truth. Why else would Jungkook be traipsing around with beautiful, rich, worldly girls on his nights off? He does it for the money, sure, but he likes it. He loves the experience, loves living that sort of life. You’d never be able to provide that for him. “You know that’s never going to happen, Chae. We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, he thinks that we’re just friends. And I’m not gonna fuck everything up by telling him that I’ve been madly in love with him for the past year and a half.” You can think of nothing worse. 

“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe he thinks that the two of you are just friends because you refuse to actually show him how you feel?” Chaewon asks pointedly, eyebrows raised in disapproval. She looks about ready to walk out of the restaurant. “You never do things to give him a reason to think otherwise.”

“Why would I?” 

When your ramen arrives, Chaewon takes a deep breath, downs the rest of her glass of water, and moves on. It’s clear that if she thinks about this any more, her head will explode. 

Nothing’s ever going to change between you and Jungkook. You knew, when you first met him, that it was always going to hurt like this. That loving him was something you had to sacrifice to stay close to him. He lights up every fucking room he walks into, and it’s all you can do not to sit there and bask in his warmth. You would rather catch a single one of his rays than be in the darkness. And if being friends with him means that friends is all you’ll ever be, then so be it. You’re lucky to have him like this. Why take the plunge? 

“Just—” Chaewon says as you begin to pull apart the noodles in your own bowl. “I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now. And you deserve to be happy, Y/N. You deprive yourself of all of these wonderful things, and I just want you to know that you deserve every single one of them. But telling him? That’s something that even I know would make you the happiest. You shouldn’t live like this, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re missing out on if you do.”

The streak of not seeing Jungkook ends the next day, when you come back from an evening grocery store run to find him standing outside your door, hand about to knock on the wood. He’s all dressed up again, button-down and slacks, hair styled and parted, and you watch as he takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s waiting for the best time to knock. 

“Jungkook?”

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lays his eyes on you. 

“Oh, Y/N!” He exclaims. “I was just about to see if you were home.”

“You could have just texted, you know,” you say jokingly, joining him at the front door as you fumble for your keys. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. 

“Well, make it up to me by helping me unpack these,” you demand, kicking the door open as you reach down to grab your reusable canvas bags filled with groceries. Immediately, Jungkook is leaning down to grab all of them for you, hauling them inside like they weigh nothing. You stare as he heads over to your kitchen without breaking a sweat, biceps clenching as he lifts the groceries up onto the counter. 

“What’d you get?” Jungkook asks, slowly beginning to take out the groceries. He’s in your apartment so often that he’s memorized where all of your food goes, from the correct shelf in the fridge for produce to the proper cabinet for cereal. 

“Just like… groceries. I saw a box of peppermint chocolate bars that I thought you might like, they’re in there somewhere,” you say mindlessly, pointing to a random canvas bag. Immediately, Jungkook abandons his putting-away-groceries duty to fish through each of the bags, hunting for the box of goodies. “And I got some cheap Trader Joe’s wine. You know. Just for emergencies.”

“Trader Joe’s wine and peppermint chocolate bars,” Jungkook comments, nodding in approval. He finally finds the box and tears it open sideways. “Sounds like a perfect dessert if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What, did you eat already?” You ask, busting out the wine and a couple of mugs, because you don’t own any wine glasses. Nothing says cultured like drinking seven-dollar wine out of mugs with kitschy sayings like “don’t talk to me until this is empty” or “coffee is my first love” written on them. 

Jungkook shrugs. He grabs the box and heads over to your couch, already kicking back and relaxing. “Yeah, I went to some restaurant for another double date,” Jungkook says. “It was one of those places where everything is so expensive but the portions are the size of my fist. Of your fist.”

“You sound hungry,” you note, filling up the mugs and joining him. “And mad.”

“I’m getting reimbursed for the money I spent tonight, so I suppose I could be angrier. But I’m starving. Let’s finish this entire box of chocolates and do nothing else.”

“Your words, not mine,” you say, although his proposal sounds more than appealing to you. 

You turn the television on for some background noise, switching to a channel showing old reruns of unsolved serial killer cases, because nothing sets the mood better than the words “then, slowly, he took the knife with which he killed her and began to slice away at her body”. Jungkook doesn’t seem to pay the television any attention, though, instead focused entirely on the chocolate in front of him, calling his name. 

He takes an enormous bite out of one before moaning far too sexually for your liking, tossing his head back in bliss. “Oh my God.”

“Good?”

Jungkook moans again in response.

“Please don’t orgasm on this couch. Who knows what other bodily fluids were on here before we bought it,” you ask calmly. 

“I’d say that’s nasty, but you guys did cover this with one of those couch covers, so it’s not like my body is coming into contact with other people’s body stains,” Jungkook reasons. The couch cover is the single best purchase you’ve made this entire year. Possibly your entire life. “But they’re delicious. You made a good purchase.”

“I thought you would like them,” you say. “You’re the only person I know who actually likes the combination of mint and chocolate.”

“People who say that it tastes like toothpaste are brushing their teeth with the wrong kind of toothpaste,” he tells you pointedly. “I don’t understand. This is God’s combination. It’s perfect.”

“As long as you love it, that’s all that matters,” you tell him with a pat on his back, breaking off a square of the chocolate bar for yourself. It is pretty good, even if mint chocolate ice cream does sometimes taste like toothpaste. But you’d never tell Jungkook that, of course. 

Jungkook takes a swig of the wine, picking up the mug and gulping down about half of it, the wine bitter on his tongue. “Goes great with this wine, too,” he jokes. You take a sip yourself. It’s… not very good. Actually, rather sticky. No wonder it was only seven dollars. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know it tastes like ass,” you tell him honestly. To be fair, you and Jungkook have both had worse. Compared to the shit served at frat parties, this may as well be beautifully-aged Malbec. 

“It only tastes a little bit like ass,” Jungkook compromises. “But it doesn’t not taste like ass.”

“Let’s finish it now so we don’t have to have any more of it later,” you decide. “You’ve probably had some of the best alcohol in your life this semester.”

Jungkook thinks back, tilting his head to the side as he begins to recall all of the instances in the past few months when he’s had anything to drink. “Soju’s still my favorite. But yeah, I’d say I’ve had wine that probably costs more than my textbooks for this semester if I hadn’t pirated them all.”

“The beauty of being a CS student,” you muse. 

“You know it,” he says, holding his half-empty mug out as a toast to himself. “But seriously, even if this Trader Joe’s wine literally tasted like garbage, it would still be better than all of that other shit.”

You turn to him, skeptical. Even the single night you spent with Chaewon, in a penthouse amongst the stars, drinking champagne and eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, was more than you could ever dream of. You woke up the next day on an air mattress in her bedroom and wanted nothing more than to go back to basking in the luxury, desperate for another taste. It was addicting. How could Jungkook ever prefer what he has right now to what he had last night? 

“Really? Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” you tell him. You can take it. Jungkook has every reason to prefer the fancy meals, the penthouses, the suits and ties to your janky little apartment and old clothes from high school. The two aren’t at all on the same level. They’re not even in the same goddamn game. If you could drop everything to have what Chaewon has, what the other girls and boys who pay for Jungkook’s company have, you would. 

“I’m not,” Jungkook tells you seriously. “I mean it. I would rather sit in your room, hunched over your tiny Switch because you lost the HDMI cord to plug it into the television, playing Mario Kart than out there, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“But it was fun in the beginning, wasn’t it? Getting to be rich without the moral ambiguity that comes along with being part of the upper class?” You ask. It must have been. Jungkook looked so happy when he first started doing these gigs, coming back to your apartment in a state of bliss, a little tipsy from the expensive champagne and steak. He’d knock on your door and tell you all about the night, from how older businessmen handed him their cards and offered him jobs, to the hundreds of ice cream flavors you could only ever dream of eating. Everything seemed so wonderful to him.

Jungkook shrugs, pouring himself more wine. “Yeah, I guess, but it gets so old after a while. Like, no wonder Chaewon was so desperate for me to go with her that first time. It sucks the damn life out of you. You walk around and mingle and pretend that you’re the greatest person on Earth, talking about yourself and kissing up to the other people for an entire night. Honestly, sometimes it’s worse than my CS homework. And I hate that shit.”

“Chaewon mentioned that the eggplant usually tastes like foot,” you add. Jungkook nods in agreement. 

“Yeah, it does. She warned me about it the first night and I, like a fool, tried it because I usually like eggplant. And it still tasted like foot. Never again,” Jungkook says, shivering at the mere thought of it. It’s funny, actually, because you did the exact same thing. “But the food is like, the one thing I pretty much don’t have the right to complain about. It’s delicious and usually free.”

“But I hope that you’re having fun,” you tell him honestly, because you do. When you’re sitting in your room, eating two different pints of Ben & Jerry’s, you hope that Jungkook, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, is enjoying himself more than you are. Because he deserves it. You never want there to be a time when he’s sad, when he’s unhappy or bored. Jungkook deserves to live the happiest version of life he possibly can. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I do,” Jungkook says. There’s a second half to that sentence. “I do—it’s just that… It's so fake, you know? I feel like such a goddamn actor when I’m there. I get to live this extravagant lifestyle for a few hours but in return I don’t even know who I’m looking at when I look in the mirror.”

Oh?

“Like, I pretend to be this business student, when I’m not. I pretend to have millions of dollars to my name, when I don’t. I hold hands and pose for pictures with people Chaewon is vaguely familiar with and nothing, literally nothing, feels real. I don’t know.” Jungkook takes another swig from the mug. “Even the relationships I have when I’m there are fake.”

“Do you hate it that much, then?” You ask him. If it’s so awful and terrible, then why does he keep doing it? Keep dressing up and going out, holding hands with and wrapping his arm around them?

“No,” Jungkook says, sighing as he leans back into the couch. “I don’t hate it. I just—I wish I had something real afterwards to come back home to.”

Real? Like what? Like you? You aren’t real. You sit next to your best friend and pretend that everything is fine. That nothing hurts. You’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since you laid eyes on him, and you’re doing everything in your power to make sure that he’s the only one that doesn’t know. 

“That’s why I’m always coming back to your apartment afterwards,” Jungkook says. He chuckles, but it isn’t his usual laugh. It sounds forced, contrived and fake. Jaded. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it almost immediately. Then, he breathes, long and slow. Thinks. The silence is almost unbearable. Waiting to hear what he has to say, even more so. “You’re the most genuine person I know. What we share—it’s real.”

Tonight is the least lonely you’ve felt in a long time. 

Even though Jungkook has something tonight, you aren’t aching to be by his side, desperate to spend more time with him. He told you that he was really looking forward to this one, that it wasn’t going to be some stuffy gala or blind double date. He said something about going to karaoke with the girl and her friends, singing Britney Spears songs and taking shots of soju for hours on end, screaming his voice hoarse. And even if you aren’t there with him, you’re happy because you know that he’s happy, that he’s genuinely enjoying himself. 

So, you aren’t that lonely. 

Content with the state of your life as it is, you take the night off, ready to prepare yourself for a weekend that will almost certainly consist entirely of just work. Chaewon’s voice echoes in your mind (“I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now,” she had told you), but it’s different now. Because you are happy. You are happy, because Jungkook’s happy. The two of you see each other just as frequently as you used to. He texts you about his terrible CS homework and the Shiba Inu he just saw being walked across campus. It’s all gone back to the way it used to be. That’s what you had wanted. 

You were prepared for this. You knew that it would eventually boil down to this, down to whether or not you could take Jungkook not knowing how you feel any longer. But right now, you don’t care. Jungkook not knowing has always been a part of your friendship. The love you hold for him, in the spaces between your bones and deep in the cracks of your heart, that has always been there. You see it, hear it, feel it, whenever you’re with him. Even when you’re not with him, it will remind you, appear in the silence, the emptiness. It will always make itself known, because it’s become a part of you. From the moment you met him, it had settled into your heart.

Staring out of the window by your living room, overlooking the ugliest parking garage on campus, you sigh. You can’t see the stars from here, not even in the dead of night, but that’s alright. There is something so peaceful about the navy blue sky. About how mysterious and unknown it is. It calms you. You put on a movie that you’ve genuinely been wanting to watch for a while, sit down in your bed, amongst your duvet and sheets, pillows and plushies, and enjoy yourself, for once. It’s a good night. 

And then, much like most aspects of your terribly convoluted, over-complicated and confusing life, it all comes crashing down. 

There’s a faint thud from outside, a soft little non-noise that you assume is coming from the street. Not wanting to interrupt your movie—she’s just about to confess, holy shit—you ignore it. It’ll go away eventually. 

Then another thud. You pause, leaning towards your window to see if you can figure out the source. Silence. You’re just about to press play, when you hear it again. And again. It gets louder and louder, making up in volume what it lacks in rhythm and order, until you realize it’s someone knocking on your door. And not just knocking casually. It’s as if someone is shoving their whole body into it, shoulders and chest and feet hitting the wood as they bang on it. 

“Y/N?”

Oh, God.

Pushing off your duvet, you tug on your slippers and wipe away the crust around your eyes as you rush towards the door. You know who’s on the other side. You’re not sure if answering it is the better or worse option. 

You’ve always had an uncanny ability to pick the latter. 

When you open the door, Jungkook, in a fancy sweater pulled over a white button down and black jeans that could almost pass for dressy slacks, is standing on the other side. 

Correction: he’s sort of standing on the other side. He nearly topples over when you pull open the door, having clearly been leaning on it, and you barely have time to reach your arms out to catch him. 

“Oh! Y/N!” Jungkook exclaims, as if he’s surprised to see you inside your own apartment. “I was hoping to see you.”

“I figured,” you tell him, laughing. You guide him inside, and even in his state he remembers to tug off his clean white sneakers, kicking them towards the shoe rack. “It’s so late, Jungkook, you should go home.” 

“No,” Jungkook whines. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“We saw each other this morning, Jungkook. And this afternoon, right before you went out,” you remind him. The words go in one ear and out the other, and he pulls you in close to him, wrapping his arms around you as he presses his body against yours in a sweaty hug. His grip is tight around you as he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing you in as if you’d been gone for years. Slowly, after a few seconds, you pull away from him, a hand on his shoulder to get him to look at you through his too-long bangs, hanging over his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? I’m right here, don’t worry. I never left.”

“I had a lot to drink tonight,” Jungkook tells you, blinking rapidly. “Like, a lot. They just kept ordering soju and I just kept drinking it. It was really good. Have you had strawberry soju? It’s delicious.”

“I might have had it once or twice,” you fib, not able to recall having it one way or another. “Come on, sit down,” you point him towards the couch, but he refuses, clinging onto you even as you make your way towards the kitchen. “Jungkook, please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“But I missed you,” Jungkook repeats. “I missed you a lot. I thought about you the entire time I was there.”

You can’t say you didn’t do the same. 

“Next time we’ll do something together then, hey? Something really fun, like going to an arcade or bowling,” you promise him with a pat on his shoulder. “But you need to drink some water, JK. Can you please sit down?”

“No, I want to be with you,” Jungkook says like it’s nothing. Like the feeling of him wrapped around you like this, holding onto you and telling you that he misses you, that he thinks about you, doesn’t mean anything. You don’t think your heart has beaten since you opened the door to see him standing on the other side. 

(You don’t think it’s beaten since you met him. Since he came up to you on the pavement, asking you for directions. Since you told him your name, and he told you his.)

“Ah, fine, just be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you concede, because it’s so easy to let him have his way, so easy to say yes to him. You manage to grab an empty water bottle and fill it up with what’s left in your Brita, too lazy to refill it after it’s left bone dry. Slowly, you make your way to your bedroom, out of view of the central living space, where your roommates could burst through the door at any moment and see you taking care of your drunk best friend on the sofa. 

Slowly, you settle on your bed, sitting off of the edge of it as you cajole him into drinking some water, whispering soft nothings to make sure he finishes the whole thing. 

“Does your head hurt or anything?” You ask him, already looking around for the stash of Advil you usually keep on your nightstand.

“No, no, I’m fine, Y/N, seriously,” he promises, even if you can see the glazed-over look in his eyes, the way his sweaty bangs stick to his forehead. “You’re too nice, you know? Always treating me when I show up at your place. Even when you don’t invite me.”

“You know I never mind seeing you,” you tell him. “You can come over whenever you want. I’m always here.”

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook says with a pout, and it makes you furrow your brows. When have you not been? Jungkook’s been going out to events ever since the beginning of the semester, and without fail, you’ve always been waiting for him at home, knowing he’ll turn up one way or another. Except, there was— “That one time a couple of weeks ago, I went to this crazy big gala with Eunha, there were so many people there, and I came back home afterwards and knocked on your door, and your roommates said they hadn’t seen you all day. Where were you that day?”

He had come? You didn’t know if he would. 

(Or maybe, you did. You knew he would show up at your door once he got back from that night, and selfishly, not wanting to see him after the fact, the leftover version of him, the part he leaves behind when he goes out. You knew he would be there and you couldn’t bear the thought of being the second girl he spends the night with. The other option. Maybe, you’ve known all along that you’ll never quite stack up to the girls he goes out with, and that sometimes, when you see him all dressed up while you’re in your hoodie and sweats, it reminds you is nothing more than a casual friendship.)

“I must have been out late with Chaewon that day, I’m sorry,” you apologize, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. “I didn’t know you would come.”

“I always come after my events. You know that.”

“I didn’t know if you’d remember to,” you correct. 

“I’d never forget about you,” Jungkook says, the alcohol erasing his filter. Making him honest. “I really missed you, that day. I had been waiting the entire night to see you.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you promise, and this one is for real. 

“You know, today?” Jungkook says, pulling his head back so he can get a good look at you, your eyes meeting his own. “Today, I was so sad on my way here. It was so terrible, because I was drunk and sad and I missed you.”

“You were sad? What happened?” You ask, leaning in. Jungkook? Sad? Who would do such a thing to him? Who would erase the smile on his face, his crescent eyes, and replace them with tears? 

“This girl and I, she was a lot of fun. We sang a couple duets together and we were pretty good,” he hiccups, “kept winning. It was fun. She and I talked for a long time. I definitely liked her the most out of all of the girls I’ve gone out with. Besides Chaewon, of course.”

“What happened? Did she do something you didn’t want? You know you can tell me, Jungkook,” you ask, a hand on his arm. 

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t know. She was fun and I was drunk. We were on our way back in the Lyft when she leaned over and kissed me. And I kissed her back, and it was kind of nice. I haven’t really kissed someone like that in a while,” Jungkook tells you. And even though you’re hearing these words from him, hearing how he had all of this fun with a girl who isn’t you, how he kissed her in the backseat of a car, you rally, blinking away the tears you can feel forming in your eyes. It’s none of your business, you tell yourself. You and Jungkook aren’t together. You don’t get to feel bad about him kissing someone else. 

“Did you like it?” You ask, each word a pin in your chest. 

“It was pretty nice,” Jungkook admits. “We, uh, we made out a bit in the back of the car until we got to her place. And then we got out of the car and she asked me if I wanted to go back with her, to her room. And—and I almost said yes.” Jungkook looks about ready to combust. At his side, his fists are clenched so hard you’re worried he’ll pop a vein. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you tell him, looking him in the eyes so he knows that you don’t mind, that he can tell you these things without worry. Jungkook may be the love of your life, but he’s your best friend, first. He’s always been, before anything else, your best friend. 

“But there is!” Jungkook cries, standing up in anguish. “There is, Y/N, you don’t understand! I almost had sex with her!”

“You’re allowed to, Jungkook!” You assure him, standing up to reach out to him. 

“No, Y/N, you don’t get it,” he tells you coldly, pulling his hand away. “Why aren’t you mad? Aren’t you angry that I nearly had sex with her?”

“No, what the fuck, Jungkook, why would I be mad?” You shout back at him. “You can do whatever you want with your body, it’s not my job to police it! I’m your friend, not your mom!”

“But don’t you want to be more, Y/N?” He rounds on you. “Don’t you want to be the one kissing me, fucking me? Why aren’t you jealous?”

“Were you trying to make me jealous, Jungkook? Is that what you were trying to do? You wanted to get a reaction out of me because my best friend nearly fucked someone else and then didn’t? What the fuck, Jungkook? What do you want from me?”

“I just want you to tell me you fucking love me back!”

“Jungkook, what—”

Jungkook, eyes dark and furious, pushes you against your closet door as your lips part, feeling the breath get knocked out of your lungs. He’s so close. He’s right there, you can see him, watch as he looms over you, hands clenched in your hoodie as he presses you against the wall. And then, wordlessly, he’s leaning down, crashing your mouths together. 

Suddenly, your heart starts. You gasp into the kiss, the feeling of his mouth on top of yours. It’s fervent, hot and angry and passionate, his body against your own as your hands reach out to press against his head. You seize up at the feeling, almost as if in shock, before melting into his touch, leaning into him, desperate. You can feel his breath mixing in with your own, feel the way his chapped lips meet your overly-moisturized ones, feel how his hands drift from where they’re bunched up in the front of your hoodie to your waist, your hips, your thighs. Jungkook kisses ruthlessly, kisses like he’s trying to prove a point. Holds onto you like he’s afraid to let go. 

When you part, gasping for air, Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, blinking. 

“Jungkook, you’re drunk—” you tell him firmly, refusing to let get your hopes up if what you have in front of you is really just an intoxicated best friend. Your heart is beating miles a minute, about ready to thump right out of you, chest heaving and mouth agape. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook argues back. “Even when I’m sober I love you. Don’t tell me I’m confused because I’m drunk.”

“You show up at my place at one in the morning, tell me about how you made out with some other girl and almost slept with her just to get me angry, kiss me, and tell me not to tell you you’re confused?” You demand. “Jungkook, I’ve never been more confused in my life than right now, can you please just—���

“I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook says, and even though he’s angry, red in the face and sweaty, when he says it, it’s soft. It’s a whisper, a murmur. He says it not to convince you, but so you know. “I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long, ever since I fucking met you. And I thought you might like me back but you never did anything about it, and so neither did I.”

“You need to go home, Jungkook,” you tell him, hiccuping. When you blink, you feel the warm tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them. “You can’t just come into my apartment and tell me shit like that. How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” Jungkook asks, looking you in the eyes. He’s angry, that’s for sure, but even underneath, you can see the desperation, see how he’s just waiting for an answer. 

“Go home, Jungkook. Please. Let’s talk about this when you aren’t drunk, okay? I’m confused and I need to clear my head,” you plead, pushing him towards the door. “Please, okay? Be safe, too. I’ll call Chaewon to give you a ride,” you tell him, grabbing your phone. 

Jungkook puts a hand on your wrist. “I’ll be okay, Y/N. I just… Please, tell me. Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it did, but Jungkook, I can’t—”

“It meant something to me, too,” he tells you firmly, lets the words sink into the air around you.  He heads for the door, pulling on his shoes. He looks so sad. “Good night, Y/N.”

You place a hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Jungkook.”

It’s barely nine in the morning the next day when a knock wakes you up. It’s soft at first, one every couple of seconds, before it gets progressively louder. Slowly, you get out of bed, trying to tame your hair as you rub the sleep from your eyes. 

“Y/N’s in her room. Is that for her? That’s so cute. Yeah, she’s probably awake. You can just knock.” It’s your roommate. 

You scramble to make your bed, pouring some water from the water bottle by your nightstand into your hand and splashing your face, wiping it away with an old t-shirt as you run towards the door, pulling it open just in time. 

On the other side is a much more tired, much less drunk Jungkook, one hand raised and about to knock, the other holding a bouquet of daisies. 

“Hey,” he says shyly, mouth breaking into a smile the moment he sees you. 

“Hey,” you say back. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, head hurts like hell, though,” Jungkook says. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, s-sure, of course,” you say, stepping aside to let him into your bedroom. 

“These are for you.” Jungkook holds out the bouquet towards you, wrapped up neatly in cellophane and tied at the stems with a bow. “So you don’t have to keep Febreze-ing your room all of the time.”

“They’re beautiful, Jungkook,” you tell him, grinning as you take them from his hands. Today feels different from yesterday. It feels lighter, fresher. New. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I—” He pauses, taking a second to think, “I meant what I said, yesterday. Maybe not all of it, but. Most of it, yeah. I meant it.”

“Why did you try to make me jealous, Jungkook?” You ask him. “Why did you think that would work?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “I shouldn’t have, and I fucked up. I just got so… so tired of waiting to see if you’d ever come around. I just wanted you to tell me. And then I guess I got so fed up that I told you instead.”

You place the bouquet on your dresser before walking towards him, reaching a hand out. “Yeah, that was a pretty big asshole move of you,” you chide, grinning to yourself. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs. 

“But I’m happy you’re here,” you tell him. “And happy that you meant what you said. Maybe it could have been said in a less angry way, but hearing it made me happy.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” Jungkook grins. “You’re my favorite person, Y/N.”

“When you asked me, yesterday, if that kiss meant anything to me? And I said it did?” You begin, Jungkook nodding in front of you. He’s positively beaming. “It still does. I want to do that every day, Jungkook. Every hour. Every single second for the rest of my goddamn life.”

“You do?” Jungkook asks. 

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. From day one, it’s always been you.” You smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Feels like you’re fucking flying. Like you’re weightless. 

“I love you, too, Y/N. I never want to be away from your side,” he declares, and like a cheesy, rom-com movie, like the shitty novels you used to read in eighth grade, he pulls you in close and presses a kiss against your lips. Wraps his arms around your waist as he holds you tight, kisses you in the middle of your bedroom, in your hoodie and sweatpants, a bouquet of daisies on your dresser. He kisses you because he can, because for every second of every day for the rest of your goddamn life, he can kiss you, over and over and over. 

“We owe Chaewon an apology,” you tell him when you’re parted, sitting on your bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

“Hell yeah we do,” Jungkook agrees. “She’s been on my ass for ages about telling you.”

“Mine too.”

“She’s such a great best friend,” Jungkook comments. “Knew all this time that her two friends were madly in love with each other and didn’t say a damn word to either of us. That’s loyalty.”

“We should do something for her, to make up for it all,” you suggest. 

“You know,” Jungkook says, grinning, “I know this guy who made bank this semester by going on fake dates with a bunch of really rich girls. Maybe he could help.”

“I know him, too,” you joke. “He’s the love of my fucking life.”

Jeon Jungkook quits his job on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 7:18PM, eighteen minutes after he normally heads out on one of his many dates. 

“Y/N!” He shouts, banging wildly on your door. You rush over to open it, letting the pasta water on the stove boil over and sizzle on the heat. He’s barely gotten in a second knock when you turn the doorknob to reveal your smiling boyfriend in his oversized hoodie.

“Don’t tell me you’re blowing someone off for me,” you say, inviting him inside. He places a kiss on your cheek on the way in, taking off his shoes and coat as you rush over to take care of the pasta.

“Me? Blowing someone off? Never,” Jungkook says, mock offended. “I actually quit the dating thing, this afternoon. A girl asked if I was free and I said that I wasn’t, because I have to go home to my girlfriend making me a meal. Don’t you love the sound of that?” He asks, pleased with himself.

“You quit? I thought you liked doing that stuff,” you say, using the spaghetti fork to move around the linguine. “Hope you’re cool with boring old pasta for your meal tonight. You could have had caviar if you hadn’t quit.”

“I don’t care, it smells so good,” Jungkook tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he stands behind you, watching you cook from over your shoulder. “Look at you, being all domestic and shit. It’s very cute.”

“Stop rubbing in the fact that you’re the better cook, I get it. Pasta is all I got right now.” You pout, turning down the heat as you move to pour yourselves two cups of tea. Jungkook follows you the entire way to the kettle, grip on your waist never faltering. “You can keep going on those dates, you know. I don’t mind. I get to see you in a suit when you get back, and then I get to take it off of you. It’s a win-win.”

Jungkook pinches your waist in response. “If you have a thing for suits, you can just tell me, you know. I won’t be mad.”

You turn around to whack him with the spaghetti fork. “I do not!”

“Alright, Y/N, guess I won’t wear a suit next time you call me at two in the morning—”

“I never said you couldn’t,” you interrupt, making Jungkook laugh. 

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” Jungkook coos as you begin to dish up the pasta, making sure to add peas because Jungkook loves peas with his spaghetti. “But I quit because I have enough money to sustain me for the rest of the semester. I’ll work over break and get a new job next semester when the new work-study positions open. Don’t worry about me,” he assures you. 

“But didn’t you like going out and everything? Getting dressed up and drinking fancy champagne?” You ask, setting the plates down at your dinky kitchen table, a single scented candle lit in the center. 

Jungkook thinks about it for a split second, and then he shakes his head. “Nah. I like hanging out with my girlfriend more.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” you reason with a grin. 

Jungkook laughs, leaning over the table to plop a kiss on your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you pea-eating loser,” you chide, “I love you too.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[stickyy]

if it's not too much of a hassle,you can write about hawks with a SugarBaby (reader) because he's like a SugarDaddy BUUUT Instead of being the one who dominates,¿is the reader who does it? hawks only gives her money and gifts as payment for a little of your attention,hawks pays the reader to dominate it and pay for his company,if you step on his crotch he will surely thank you (femdom and ¿mommy kink?). I was thinking a lot about this dynamic and I found it VERY interesting,¿what do you think?.

warnings: sub!hawks degradation, findom, femdom, mommy!kink, cock stepping, spit kink, an instance of face slapping, hawks is a little bitch simp with a fat wallet, reader is kind of a bad bitch ngl 

wordcount: 2340

notes: anon this is IT this is what im mf talking ABOUT!!!

PERFORMANCE

Keigo all about spectacle. Chaotic destruction in the pursuit of a villain, the dramatics of combat, blinding camera flashes, cacophonies of squealing fangirls, the sheer wealth that comes with the exclusivity of the top 10- he’s no stranger to the limelight. Popular for a reason, he’s young and powerful, deceivingly coy despite it all, and it drives the public wild. He has them in the palm of his hand. A playboy poster child, spectacle is his middle name, and he wears it well.

He gives you a different performance behind closed doors.

You’re working, finishing an uneventful shift at your dreadfully mundane day job. You’ve been counting down the hours, which, ironically, causes time to slow down. Scrolling through your social media feed, you just want to pass the time. You’re skimming an article about music when your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘heyyyy :)’

A grin spreads across your face. The number is unlisted, which is exactly why you know who it is. Excitement bubbles in your chest, the monotony of the day suddenly shattered. Keigo must be in town; he knows not to contact you unless he has something to show.

You check to make sure your read receipts are enabled, before staring at the message on the screen, not bothering to type a response. It’s a waiting game; you want him to work for it, to put on a show only for you.

Two whole minutes pass before you receive another.

‘i’m back in town tonight! :D’

You make no move, not yet appeased. It takes five minutes for him to cave:

‘can i see you?’

‘i need to see you’

‘missed you so much, mommy’

‘let me take you out to dinner? please?’

The prospect of a nice dinner outshines the takeout you were planning to order. A quick google search gives you a few options, and you decide on a steakhouse. They have wagyu, which you’ve been dying to try. Of course, coming in at $120 a steak, you hadn’t gotten a chance to yet. 

You send him the link, along with a short message:

‘8 pm, wear something nice.’

He instantly responds with a ‘thank you mommy :)’. You can’t help the the giggle that comes out of your mouth.

-

Keigo takes you back to his place after dinner. You make a point to keep your red-bottomed heels on, the click-click of your stride setting the tone for the night. He slips into his role easily, taking your coat and purse (both gifts from him; $1,790 and $2,850, respectively) to hang up. You take your place on the plush couch in his living room, legs crossed as you lean back, thoroughly satisfied from your meal. You never pay, of course- you don’t even go out of your way to acknowledge the check, but you were able to sneak a peek at the tab, which came in at a whopping $459.85. You didn’t think that two people could spend so much on a meal, but Keigo always found a way to spoil you.

He comes back into the room with a bottle of wine that you had requested last time you saw him (1990 Château Haut Brion, $875; even you had to admit that was ridiculous), handing you a wine glass and pouring your drink. He moves to fill his own, but you stop him.

“I didn’t say that you were allowed to drink tonight,” it’s a casual statement, but your pleasure ignites at the slightly dejected look on his face as he closes the bottle. It’s such a contrast to how you see him in the press. He never stops performing, you know, but this act is different. His fans see his chest puffed and wings flared, you get to see him on a leash.

“Why don’t you come sit next to Mommy?” you offer, Keigo perks up, meeting your gaze as he moves to take a seat next to you on the couch.

“The floor,” you correct before he can do otherwise. His breath hitches and he hesitates for a moment, but he kneels next to you anyways. He’s so pretty beneath you. It minimizes him, his usually proud aura squandered from your elevated point of view. It doesn’t help that he loves it- loves slipping into his role of being lesser. It excites him, and that, in turn, spurs you on. You thread your free hand through his hair and he visibly relaxes, pressing into your palm as his wings unfold slightly. The two of you stay like that for the moment as you sip on your wine, the luxury made so much sweeter by the hero in your company.

“Did you miss me?” you break the silence with your question, tilting his head up toward you to make eye contact. He nods enthusiastically, subconsciously scooting closer to you.

“Yeah,” his voice is saccharine, gaze full of adoration, “couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Of course, you sick freak. You’re supposed to be off saving the world, and you’re thinking about the girl who won’t even fuck you if you don’t pay up first,” you tug on his hair roughly, causing him to hiss in pain. A grin graces his features despite the abuse.

“You know I can’t help it, you drive me crazy.”

He shifts, and you can see the outline of a bulge in his pants.

“You’re fucking kidding,” you scoff, “all I’ve done is play with your hair and you’re already hard?”

He’s so easy to fluster when he’s like this, willing and pliant in your hands. He nods again, always so unashamed in his perversion.

“I didn’t touch myself at all, like you told me to, and it’s been so long,” his eyes plead with you, slightly rocking his hips for any kind of relief. He wasn’t allowed to jerk off so long as he was seeing you.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re easy for it, baby. All it takes is a little affection to get you to empty your wallet. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

He whines quietly, pupils visibly dilating . “Yeah, I’m pathetic, just a slut for Mommy.”

With a hum, you set your glass down and uncross your legs. “Unzip your pants.”

He obeys, getting the zipper stuck twice in his haste. Cute.

You press the flat of your heel against the tent in his boxers. The moan he lets out is sinful, grinding up against you in search of any sign of relief.

“These heels are so nice, aren’t they? Probably one of my favorite gifts,” you reminisce, admiring the way the shiny leather contrasts against his skin. You can already see a wet spot forming on his boxers. “Do you remember how much they cost you?”

He’s lost in the sensation, too preoccupied to answer your question. You step down slowly, watching his face contort into one of pain, though the grinding doesn’t cease.

“Answer me, Keigo.”

“F-fuck, what was it, like $700?” his voice cracks, his breathing labored.

“Close enough. Aren’t you embarrassed, spending all that money on shoes just so you can rut against them?” your words send a shudder through his body. The act is starting to fade as he nears his orgasm, his playful exterior melting into one of desperation.

“I’m close, fuck I’m close,” Keigo almost sounds panicked, his hips desperately bucking in pursuit of his first release in a long time. You remove your heel abruptly, pouting at him. He lets out a pitiful gasp as the loss of sensation, a sob making its way out of his throat.

“You know what you have to do if you want to cum,” you say sternly, feigning disappointment. He jumps up, stumbling across the room for his jacket and reaching for his phone in the pocket. You notice his hands are shaking as he taps his screen a few times, before your phone chimes in its place next to you. You look over, and grin at the Cash App notification. 

‘birdbrains🐤 sent you $1,430 for i love you mommy <3’.

“Holy shit, Kei, you’re that desperate to cum? If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d assume you can’t get anyone else to fuck you,”  You’ve always made his pay before he touches you, but he’s never broken a grand for just an orgasm.

“Please, Mommy,” is all he gives. He’s already back at your feet.

You spread your legs, unable to contain your arousal at this point; seeing the winged hero so broken always sets a fire in your stomach. “Make Mommy feel good, and I’ll let you stuff that needy cock inside of me.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He’s immediately between your legs, pulling your lacy panties to the side (one half of a custom made designer set, $650) and shoving his face between your thighs. He always eats you like his life depends on it, obscenely slurping on your gushing entrance. He’s good at it too, expert tongue on your clit, pushing two fingers inside and prodding at your velveteen insides, causing you to bury your hands in his hair to keep him in place. You moan loudly, not bothering to hold back your noises. This is always about your pleasure, and you make sure to remind him of that first and foremost. It’s not necessary, though; you're convinced that he’d go bankrupt if it meant he could have even an hour of your time. You can do anything to him, say anything to him, and it only drives him crazier.

To prove your point, you squeeze your thighs against his head, effectively suffocating him. He doesn’t let up- if anything, he begins to lick and suckle more enthusiastically, hands gripping your thighs tightly. You keep him there for a solid minute, watching him struggle in your grip. It’s enough to push you over the edge, and you shout as you grind against his face, riding out your first orgasm of the night. You let up, spreading your legs again and he gasps for air, tears flowing freely as he catches his breath.

“Thank you Mommy, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he huffs between gasps, face glistening with your juices. You grab his chin and lean down to give him a kiss, feeling him melt into you as he lets out a little moan. The taste of your arousal on his lips causes you to shiver in pure euphoria. You pull back but keep his chin in your hand, coaxing his mouth open before you spit, tilting his head back and watching your saliva slide down his throat.

“Good boy,” he perks at the praise, smiling despite himself.

“Go ahead and strip for me, and I’ll let you have that orgasm you want so bad,” you say as you stand, peeling yourself out of your dress. He obeys, albeit slowly as he’s more distracted watching you strip in front of him, eyes tracing your curves as you undo your bra and slide your panties down, opting to keep on the heels. You notice, but decide to let it slide this time. You gesture for him to sit and he obeys, grabbing your hips as you straddle his lap. His cock curves against his stomach, an angry red and damp with the obscene amount of pre dripping down his length.

“This looks like it hurts,” you lilt mockingly, gently running a finger up his length to gather some of his pre. You smear it on his lower lip, raw from your earlier abuse.

“It does, fuck- Mommy, please,” he’s back to begging, eyes misty, “Please let me fuck you Mommy, I promise I’ll make you cum again, I’ll make you cum as many times as you want-”

“Shh,” you stop his babbling, positioning yourself over him, “keep your hips still for me, okay?”

He nods, and you begin to sink onto his length, slowly.

He moans, eyelids fluttering as your gummy walls begin to constrict around his length. He struggles to keep himself from squeezing your hips and fucking up into you, but he manages in fear of a punishment. You take your sweet time before bottoming out, staying completely still. Keigo chokes on a sob, thighs quivering with the effort to stay put, and you watch him for just a moment longer, revelling in the sight. He’s flushed down to his chest, eyes lidded and pupils blown, skin dewy with sweat and tears and your slick, wings fluttering behind him. 

If only his fans could see him now.

You take pity on him and start to move, allowing him to take your weight in his hands, bouncing you on his cock. It takes a lot of focus not to get lost in the sensation, squelching noises filling the empty air as your mind starts to blur, his cock rubbing against the spongy walls of your pussy. He’s nothing if not enthusiastic, moaning unabashedly, eyes trained on your face. He’s already close, but there’s a determination in his eyes that confuses you slightly; he has permission to cum after all. It’s when the blunt head of his cock hits something gooey inside of you that it makes sense; of course he’s making good on his promise to make you cum first. He’s a good boy, after all. It doesn’t take long, his hips jackrabbiting as he abuses that spot in you, forcing the pressure in your stomach to pull taut, and eventually snap. You cum with a squeal of his name, vision darkening as you watch him finish, stray tears flowing down his cheeks. You catch a few with your thumb and lick them up.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Mommy,” he’s breathless, but you can tell he’s not totally satisfied; it’s been weeks since he’s seen you, after all. He begins to roll his hips again, face scrunching in the sweet torture of overstimulation. 

You land a firm slap on his cheek and he gasps, giving you a surprised look.

“You know what you have to do if you want another orgasm.”

The show goes on.

[wh6res]

taeyong — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. when your soulmate gets a wound or cut, flowers bloom on the same spot in your body.

synopsis. you’re desperate to meet your soulmate. maybe you can put a stop to the flowers stubbornly blooming on your wrists.

warnings. tread cautiously. mentions of mental illness (depression, attempted suicide), swearing, manipulation, implied self-harm, dubious content, forced relationship, unconsensual touching near the end, ty pulling the sadboi agenda

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

by the time you’re graduating high school, you’re used to the sorry glances people sent your way. 

for someone so young, you have more flowers blooming on your skin than any adult. a few small pieces of it blooming in the corner of your cheek, near the jawline. a few of them on your thighs. 

but the most concerning piece is the one on your wrists that are fully covered by the flowers, your skin nowhere to be seen with all the lilies of the valley tainting your skin. 

yet the worse has got to be the summer before senior year. you had been halfway done with the college entrance examination for a local university. your parents said the pain you felt the first time will turn into a mild itch whenever the flowers form on your skin. 

it started small, absentmindedly scratching at something on your neck. initially, you thought it was the heat, your sweat, and the fabric of your clothes irritating the sensitive skin. but when you walked up to the proctor to turn in your exam, you knew that apologetic stare like nothing else—but his eyes had flickered down to your neck. 

when your friends blew up your phone, asking where you are to celebrate, you lied and headed straight back home, head ducked, collars upturned, hiding the lilies of the valley wrapped around your throat like some insignia. 

a year later, you end up studying soulmate theory in university. they say it’s a useless course as there can be no scientific explanation to soulmates. you like thinking you chose the course because of sheer interest but really, you’re just finding an explanation, some external reason that probably bore no results but you trudged forward anyway. 

you’re restless in the pursuit of finding him—or her, you couldn’t care less. the hurt you feel weighs heavy in your heart each time you feel them blooming on your wrist, mind plagued with worry. 

your roommate interrupts your deep thinking as she practically throws herself onto your bed. “i have an idea!” she cheers, determined. “why not part-time in the school clinic? that way if people come in, you can compare their cuts to your flowers.”

“now, you just might be onto something there.”

the hunt for your soulmate still wasn’t easy despite working in the university’s clinic and it only got worse each day. your schedule is killing you, you’re slightly getting behind in some subjects, and you practically live in the library. 

contrary to popular opinions, soulmate theory can be a fucking bitch to study about. what with learning psychology, astrology, and botany all together. it was interesting how all these things can be factors in how people are paired to become soulmates. interesting, but rather complicated in a sense, too. 

they say psychology and astrology dealt with two people’s compatibility. while botany, the meanings of the flowers themselves, was theorized to predict how the soulmate connection will affect their relationship—ultimately, roses were a really, really good sign. 

you have been busy messing up your hair, utterly frustrated and irate—astronomy’s messing with your head and you can’t go a minute without scratching your wrists as the flowers bloomed after the other. 

then something unexpected happened. 

a lanky guy dressed in an all-black ensemble walked into the clinic. well, it was more of a being carried between two guys by the arms rather than walked in. everything about his clothes looked way too big to fit his delicate frame and it hardly looked like it was for fashion style purposes. his skin hugged his body to the bone, eyes sunken, and he looked so frail that a tiny shove would’ve sent him sprawled on the floor. 

his name was taeyong and he lied on the bed unconscious, with handkerchiefs wrapped around his wrists like bandages—courtesy of his friends, who looked deathly worried for the fate of their poor friend. if he had lost any more blood, he would’ve died. you had never seen the clinic in such chaos, people running around, anxious. your leg muscles were sore from going back and forth from the nurse’s side to the cabinets storing all the medical supplies she needed. 

it had been a whirlwind, and after your superior had patched and properly bandaged his cuts, you were left to look after him in the meantime as nurse jung tried contacting his guardian. 

his friends—who you learned were named yuta and jaehyun, were snoozing outside on the bench across the hall, parallel with the clinic’s double-glass door, as they waited for their friend to wake up. 

depression. suicidal. taeyong has been like that for his whole life, jaehyun stated earlier. you can only shoot a sorry look at the unconscious boy lying on the hospital bed. 

it had already been dark outside when you came in to switch out his bandages for new ones—only to realize that his cut is exactly where you had been scratching earlier before he showed up. 

you retracted, unbelieving of what that possibly entails. along the way, you’ve pieced together that your soulmate is probably struggling through something heavy, something that weighed him down so much that it made him believe hurting himself is the only solution, what with all the flowers on your skin. 

“it’s him…” you mumble, wide eyed as you eyed the faded scars around his wrists, eerily aligned to the flowers blooming on your own. 

you didn’t want to overwhelm him, that much was sure. you didn’t want to chase him away if he gets uncomfortable. so for weeks you started leaving anonymous notes in his locker. not the sappy love letter types, just little words of encouragement that could make his day better. 

when their friend breaks out into the tiniest of smiles, yuta and jaehyun’s thankful eyes would scour around the halls. sneakily looking for you behind taeyong’s back. they understood where you’re coming from and hadn’t spoken a word of disagreement when you told them you didn’t plan to make yourself known as his soulmate yet. 

and as if the notes were not enough, you start giving him his favorite starbucks drink every now and then—on days the flowers didn’t bloom as much as it normally would. you turn up half an hour early before lectures so you can place it on the table where he usually sits with his two best friends. even if his class is on the other side of campus, you’d still go. 

but it only took three weeks of creeping around until you’re caught by your soulmate himself. 

“do you want something from me?”

you didn’t know what to say, cat got your tongue as you stood before him holding the drink. you couldn’t weasel your way out and say the drink’s yours, not when he caught you standing before his usual seat, not when you were already leaning forward to place it on his desk.

“uhm… i…” you stutter pathetically, not being able to meet the intensity of his eyes. 

“jaehyun and yuta aren’t exactly the most lowkey, especially with how much their eyes wander when i open my locker. so, do you want something from me? what are you playing at, stalker?”

the name he called you stung like a bitch but you can’t blame him for it. you knew him, he doesn’t know you. you’re giving him gifts anonymously. even if they were all from the goodness of your heart, from an outsider’s view, your actions still appeared sketchy.

“soulmate,” you correct him. 

you watch his features twist into confusion, only for it to morph into shock once he’s digested what you just said. eventually, he schools his expression back to indifference. his stoic face is so intimidating, you thought, biting your bottom lip and fidgeting on your toes. 

“what?”

“i’m your—i’m your soulmate.”

his eyes flicker downwards to peak a glance at the bouquet of flowers painted on your skin. colors as beautiful and vibrant as the day you got them, the stems of the bell-shaped flowers intricately woven into each other. for a split second, you even twist your arms a little, showing him the rock hard proof of your claim. 

ever since you found him, you’ve always contemplated for the better part of your limited free time about what his reaction will be when he finds out you two are soulmates. will he accept you? or worse case scenario, pretend you didn’t exist? the possibilities are unknown especially with someone who seems to be going through so much that the last thing they wanted is this person who thinks they’re entitled to be part of their lives because the universe made it be that way. 

not that you feel entitled… taeyong can reject you all he wants and you’ll give him the space he needs—

he’s crying. 

and not the simple, small tears slowly streaming down his face one by one type of crying, no, his tears were an onslaught. full-on sobbing as he threw himself onto you, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders as he buried his face into your neck, words heavily muffled by your coat. 

“is it—” he hiccups. “true?”

you blink, from all the reactions you’ve gone through in your head, crying was the very last thing you expected from him—crying and hugging you like you’re the last person on earth and he’s been touch-starved until he found you. 

maybe that was the case. 

you wonder what jaehyun and yuta felt whenever taeyong ditched them to spend time with you—and that was pretty much all the time since he’s found you. he’s like a puppy, following you around wherever you go (unless he has classes) and had been neglecting his friends. whether it was intentional or not, whether his two friends were cool with it or not, you don’t know. 

you try your best to smile every time he runs up to you on the other end of the hall, spotting you coming out of your own respective classroom after lectures are done. 

he’s beaming like a child, inviting you to this cafe he wants to take you to—and pathetic ‘lil ‘ol you just can’t seem to say no to those huge expecting eyes.

but you’re not blind to the slight scowl on yuta’s face nor the razor sharp smile on jaehyun’s features. they want to hang out together, just boys, but now there’s this soulmate who’s suddenly more important than them—what happened to bros before hoes?

but they knew taeyong needed you. heck, he never once smiled like the way he did before he met you. it was like he’s become this whole new person with a child-like innocence reflecting his eyes. 

“so?” your soulmate prompts just as his two friends came over, flanking him. 

taeyong deflates the moment he sees the hesitance in your eyes. “uhm… i actually have a shift in the clinic, and nurse jung said the clinic isn’t some hang out place, so you can’t, uhh…” you trail, not wanting to finish the sentence. 

a little white lie can’t hurt anyone, right? 

taeyong shouldn’t depend on you all the time, not when he also has friends who care about his well-being and mental health just as much as you do. being soulmates didn’t mean he has to spend every waking moment with you and the faster he realizes, the better. 

when you dashed away before he could even mutter out a reply, you miss the frown on his face, his eyes never once leaving your frame until you turned the corner. 

people often favor the underdog. they have this gnawing urge in their gut to sympathize and unknowingly root for their own plot twist or happy ending. 

people look at you and your soulmate and think you have poor, suicidal and depressed and sad taeyong eating at the palm of your hand, following you around like a lonely duckling—the undeniable underdog in a coming-of-age movie, the person shoved around until some bigger, more capable person comes to their rescue (in this case you, unfortunately).

but appearances have always been deceiving. 

your little 3-week head start with getting to know your soulmate had only been on surface-level. you just wanted to help him but taeyong’s obvious attraction—can you even call it that? you’d like to think it’s more of infatuation—is off-putting for you. from standing way too close to putting an arm around you, from walking you to your lectures to walking you home, from the light headpats to having the guts to kiss your cheeks. 

it’s too much and it wasn’t as if you basked in the public display of affection. whenever you tried telling him off in the most gentlest of ways, taeyong would frown and curl in on himself, eyes glossy, darting around, and looking like a kicked puppy. 

you couldn’t leave him like that just because of some harmless skinship, right? he’s just excited and happy he’s found you. weren’t you also the first one to initiate? with all those notes and gifts you’ve given him? and now you’re backing away just because of a few touches?

“you know,” your roommate plops herself on the couch next to you, netflix movie playing as background. “you’re not obligated to fix him. you’re his soulmate, not his psychiatrist.”

you sigh, head diving into the couch pillows. “i’m not trying to fix him, i’m just…”

she raises a prodding eyebrow. 

“…i’m just trying to be there for him.”

taeyong likes to think that he wasn’t doing it on purpose. but the sense of rush and sick pleasure running up and down his spine whenever you force a smile and give in to his wishes proves otherwise. 

all his life he’s been pushed around. tasked to buy his old man beer and cigarettes and an assortment of drugs. if he turns up empty handed, guess who becomes a punching bag? and he has always been alienated throughout his school life. immature elementary kids aren’t exactly the kindest and would’ve picked on every single thing to appear cool to their friend groups. and poor little scrawny taeyong who didn’t speak and didn’t defend himself was just too easy of a target. 

“uhm… you don’t—don’t need to walk me home all the time.” do you think so low of him that you believe he doesn’t sense your fake little giggle?

“but i like walking you home,” he pouts, jutting his lips just a wee bit more for extra measure. he makes sure his eyes are as round and glossy as can be, he noticed those puppy eyes are what gets to you the most. 

he can tell by your tense shoulders, the clear hesitance in your face, that smile that looked too sweet to be real, and your averting eyes. you needn’t say anything for taeyong to figure you out. he isn’t blind to the lack of comfort you’ve developed by being with him. 

he has to think of something or else you’ll be slipping through the gaps of his fingers.

he asked you out on valentine’s day. it wasn’t the simple, forgettable act of popping out the “hey, do you want to go out on a date with me?” question while holding a bouquet of flowers. taeyong made sure you’ll never forget this certain day that he had laid his claim on you—not that it needed to be vocalized, it was his wounds that made flowers bloom on your skin. the soulmate connection should be enough.

but taeyong wanted to go the extra mile.

with the help of his friends (yuta’s popular and jaehyun can be very persuasive), he’s got people handing you lilies of the valley every ten feet until you reach the auditorium in the main building. despite it blooming on your skin you’ve never really seen them in the flesh. they’re like dew drops, bell-like flowers growing in an elegant dip from it’s main stem and appearing no bigger than your thumb.

you were awed, but skeptical.

you meet taeyong by the end of your little journey, standing on a decorated stage with a bouquet of the flowers nestled delicately in his hands. the natural sunlight bleeding through the open windows giving him such a beautiful glow that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. he had smiled and timidly gave you the flowers while asking.

“will you be my girlfriend?” 

if only you’d look close enough, that sugar coated smile contrasted greatly to the sly flickers in his eyes. he knows how your actions are dictated by the reputation you’ve built. taeyong knows you'll say yes, because if you didn't, how could you have rejected your own soulmate who has made you the light of his life? he’s been nothing but kind to you and you’ve only pushed him away! you’re a monster! you should’ve saved him!

if him alone can’t make you say yes, maybe the pressure-induced stare of the whole student body can.

and as you shivered amidst taeyong’s suffocating hug, feeling the triumphant smirk against your head and his prodding nose as he sniffed your hair, you now understood why your body bloomed this specific woodland flower. 

lilies of the valley are beautiful.

but lilies of the valley are poisonous, too.

the flowers remind you of taeyong. 

making things official has only made things worse. taeyong has promised you that after being together he won’t try hurting himself anymore and that he’s a big boy and he can attend his therapy sessions alone. but the itching in your skin is as constant as ever and you just got off the phone with the receptionist of the clinic he goes to. 

“are things alright? i haven’t seen taeyong since three weeks ago.”

if there’s one thing you absolutely hate doing with your soulmate, it’s confrontations. for the three months you’ve been together, taeyong has always, always spiraled out whenever you confront him about something. be it the mildest or the most superficial thing, what started out small will turn into a complete whirlwind and he’d be in a fit of tears by the end of it.

every single time. 

you prefer happy taeyong than sad taeyong—if you can avoid it for as long as you can, you will. but you’re at your breaking point. him lying to you about his therapy sessions is the pin that popped the little balloon of security you’ve been protecting. 

when you arrive home, he’s already there, crouched and sifting through your bookshelf. it wasn’t a surprise or anything out of the ordinary, he possesses the key to invite himself into your apartment any time. “hey, you’re home!” he immediately stands, barreling towards you. 

he encircles his arms around you protectively as he pulls you flush against his body. you feel the tip of his nose prodding against your neck, hearing him inhaling your scent like cannabis. 

you learned to ignore it, this habit of his—but just because you do doesn’t make you any less uncomfortable than the first time he did it.

you don’t bother hugging him back. 

you were too pissed off to keep up with pretenses. 

“the clinic called, said you weren’t attending your sessions. why were you lying to me?” 

when pushed into a corner, you were never one to beat around the bush.

“i don’t like going alone, i told you that, remember?” he quickly replied, shoving you away. “i wouldn’t have to lie to you if you would just come with me for my sessions, don’t you think? you’re blowing this out of proportion when it’s all your fault.”

you wanted to pull at your hair. scratch that, you wanted to pull at his hair—no, not in that kind of way. 

“how the fuck—” you stop. taeyong hates it when you curse. cursing will do you more harm than good. you inhale through your nostrils, willing yourself to calm down. “how is this my fault? i told you i have to run errands for professor kim!”

“then quit working there! they’re not even paying you, it’s just for extra credit! which you wouldn’t even fucking need if you weren’t flunking astronomy so bad.” taeyong must’ve seen your features twisting into that of betrayal. he was there when you were crying your eyes out because you failed the exam. he knew the subject was taking such a big toll on you. 

how could he…

“don’t fucking look at me like that, kitten. you know it’s the truth.”

what is the point of this, some form of payback he’s subjecting you to? just because you didn’t come with him to his sessions? six months in this relationship and you already feel so drained, how would the universe expect you to keep up for a whole fucking lifetime together with him?

“why…” you choke, the tears building up in your eyes as your voice breaks. “so what do you want me to do, then?” you ask, because you genuinely don’t know. 

does he want you to choose? is that it? you didn’t want to lose the credits, but you didn’t want to lose this relationship either, no matter how much you’re drowning in the toxicity of it all. 

because this is your soulmate. 

certainly, the universe wouldn’t destine you to each other if it would only bring forth chaos, right? taeyong has mentioned time and time again that this is his first relationship. of course, he’s depending on you to show him the ropes. 

but it seems he isn’t really a big fan of how you do things. 

“quit.”

you shake your head defeatedly. “you know i can’t. i’d have to take the whole subject again next semester and—”

“i said quit, dollface.” the finality in his tone renders you speechless. “then fucking take the subject again next semester! i don’t care. that’s your consequence for neglecting your major. why the fuck do i have to suffer, too, if my soulmate is such a failure?”

his words cut deep, deeper than flesh, cutting through bone as your knees the urge to buckle and collapse before him. “taeyong, please—”

“honestly, i don’t even know what you’re doing with that professor. you always brush it off whenever i ask you!” the glare he sends could kill. “is this… is this why you’re so adamant about not quitting? then again… what kind of professor is willing to pass his students just by interning for him? i can’t believe i’m only realizing this now!”

this is bad. this is very, very bad. 

“whatever you’re thinking about is not true! trust me—”

but as if he can’t hear you, he dawdles on, trying to connect the dots when there is absolutely nothing to connect. 

“you suck dick for grades? how could you do this to me? how can you do that to yourself?” 

you don’t understand exactly why he’s crying again so you don’t say anything. not because his fierce accusations were right but because even if you try hard to convince him that nothing is going on with your astronomy professor, he’d still cry and whine and paint you to be the bad guy. 

“what… what use do i have in this world if my soulmate thinks i’m not enough? and i lost you to some guy who smelled like prunes of all people!” you would have laughed if the situation had been different, but taeyong was dead serious. “i’m useless. i’ve been useless with my family, my friends, and now you. i can never do anything right, can i? i can never make anyone stay. i can’t even make you stay!”

and like a switch that has been flicked off, your conflicted emotions vanish in thin air. gone are every trickle of anger, confusion, and irritation you felt as he makes a beeline to the coffee table, smashing the little ornamental fish bowl and pointing a shard against his dainty wrists. 

“no!” you tackle him to the ground, groaning when you feel the shard dig into your side yet you made no effort to get off of him. blindly, you reach, twisting his wrist to drop the piece of glass. “you promised!” you wail, clutching the collars of his shirt as you pull him close to you. “stop, stop hurting yourself.”

you feel him shaking his head, his own onslaught of tears staining your shirt as the negativity he’s been bottling pours over like a tsunami, dragging you under the currents with him. “no, no, no…” you splutter, snot running disgustingly down your nostrils. “it’s not true, none of that is true. you’re my love, my moonlight, i’d never betray you for anyone or anything!”

“but—but your professor, the internship—”

“i’ll quit. i’ll take the subject again next semester, it’s not a big deal, okay? don’t worry, i’m here. i’m so sorry!”

it was all too easy.

the thing with noble people like you is the foolish sense of responsibility lying underneath your skin, it’s gravitational pull so strong that you don’t bother to think before you speak, to think before you act, to think before you make promises, because what’s important isn’t yourself, it’s the person lying meek and helpless before you. 

quit, you say? taeyong wants something more.

the evil lying inside pandora’s box can never remain dormant, not when meddlesome people like you who think with a one-track mind pull the lid off its hinges, preaching how every evil can have their own redemption.

a hand finds purchase around your waist as an eerie blissful smile stretches on his lips, eyes clouded over. “really? i’m your moonlight?”

“yes—”

“would you prove it to me?”

he doesn’t make room for your hesitance to settle, he lunges, hands wrapping around your face to pull you into a kiss. it wasn’t like all the other kisses you’ve shared with him, no, this one had a dark, underlying purpose. his hands digging into your open wound to make it bleed, tongue sliding into your mouth the moment you gasped in pain.

your hands press on his chest, trying to push him away but taeyong’s thoughts are running wild. you blush in sheer humiliation when he lets out an almost pornographic moan. with a sinking realization, you’ve become hyper aware of something poking at your abdomen.

no, not yet. you weren’t ready yet!

“taeyong, wait—i’m not—”

“you said you love me, didn’t you?”

[suckmybigtoeoikawa]

I LOVE YOUR ENERGY WTF,, all of your writing is top tier omg,, i was wondering if i could request suna, semi, tendou, akaashi, and futakuchi w/ a short s/o who has like a tiny waist, small boobs, etc. except their butt is big?? like their petite and then bam big butt and wide hips?? does this even make sense?? thank you for reading this <33

Girll yessssss, I’m jealous I wish my body was like that, god daum 👴🏾

AND THANK YOU FOR GASSING ME UPP OMG 🤪👊🏾

Suna

🍃: he likes to lay on you

🍃: ENOUGH SAID

🍃: Suna is a ass man

🍃: your figure often has him confused in a good way, he likes how different you body is compared to the other girls

🍃: he’s the type to hug you while your staring and he’s sitting and he grabs you ass

🍃: he also may lay on your chest and on maybe on you butt

🍃: you guys also take a lot of selfies so yk those selfies where he holds onto your ass, yeah a lot of those

🍃: also the type to put his hands in your shirt

******

3:16 pm

You and Suna have been staying at each other’s houses back to back. This time you were at his house. I imagine that his bed is very comfy so you guys don’t wanna leave it and also it’s easy to fall asleep in it.

You usually wear hoodies whenever you come over his house but for some reason this time you were wearing a regular shirt.

“Do you think that that your a robot?” Suna asks

“Ayo what?”

“Like I saw this thing online and it just made me think like... what is I’m real and your not... you know”

“...🧍🏾‍♀️”

After a point less conversation about robots, you guys both started to drift off to sleep.

5:48 pm

You woke up in a sweat, and it was hella hot. You turn over to look at Suna and see him still rested peacefully. You look down and see that his hand was under your shirt and holding your boob.

👁👄👁

You didn’t know what to do but you decided to grab your phone and take a picture. Now whenever you show him he blushes and ask if the next time he can do it again, it’s up to you wether or not you wanna say yes or no 😌

Semi

◻️: I hate to say this so often but Semi is the type to get Jealous

◻️: and lemme just push some more publicity for my stories here 😌

◻️: so when he does get jealous best believe he’s gripping onto your hips 😌

◻️: probably gonna squeeze them to depending on how he be getting

◻️: you might have to shoo him off like

◻️: BACK 🤺 BACK 🤺 BACK I SAY🤺 BACK🤺

◻️: other than that I believe he’s pretty chill

◻️: his favorite part of you is your hips

◻️: he’s gonna use you as his personal heater, blanket, and stuffed animal

◻️: y’all will be watching movies or whatever and he’s gonna hold onto like his life depends on it 😩

*****

“You’re comfy” he says while nuzzling into your neck

“thank you” you say still engaged on the movie

Some more time goes by and at this point you the only one engaged in the movie, Semi is about to fall asleep.

“Sweetheart” he says in his raspy voice (AHHAHAHAHAHAHHHH I JUST GOT BUTTERFLIES)

“yes” you say still watching

“Can you turn over?” He asks

“what?” You say

“I said can you turn around real quick”

You turn to face him, but your body stays facing the the tv

“What do you need?” You ask

“Nooooo” he whines

“I need you to turn all the way around”

“Like do a 360?”

“No just stand up real quick”

You stand up and now your looking down at him

“Okay good now straddle me”

“But i wanna watch the movie” you say

He looks up at you with pleading eyes

“Pleaseeee, you can still watch the movie”

“.........fine” you give in and straddle him

“Is this what you wanted?” You say annoyed

“Yes” you can hear him smiling

He holds onto you with his dear life and starts to fall asleep, while you try to watch the movie almost snapping your neck 😐🔪

Tendou

💋: Simce your short yk, he believes that it’s his responsibility to take you everywhere

He may say stuff like

“Your so cute and Smol🥺😩”

“I wanna put you in my pocket 🥺”

💋: so then he thinks it’s okay to pick you up

💋: he picks you up while your straddling him so he has hands on your ass

💋: and he’s gonna take you everywhere

💋: He so happy that he’s with you

YOU BOOST HIS EGO SOOOO MUCH

💋: Since Tendou is insecure he so glad he has you to come to

💋: HIS BEAUTIFUL GIRLFRIEND 🤪🤪

💋: he’s the type to kiss down your waist to you hips

💋: and then tell you how much he loves your body

——-

Your probably just standing in front of your bathroom mirror changing out of your shirt.

Then as your not paying attention Tendou comes up from behind you and tickles your waist.

“AHH BITCH” you scream and punch him in the lip

“Owwwww” he whines

“Oh I’m sorry 😅”

You walk him over the the toilet and you sit him down as you look over his face, it wasn’t that bad

“I’m sorry againnn” you hug him

“It’s fine”

“Well this would be a great time to talk about your day right?” You say moving away from the hug

“My day was alright I’m glad I got to see you” (literally says it with hearts in his eyes) he coos

“Aww I’m happy to see you too” you smile

“What were you doing?” He asks

“I was just trying on shirts” you responded

He then lifts up your shirt and starts the hood onto your waist

“Don’t ever let someone hurt you..okay” he says while hugging you

“I won’t” you smile while rubbing his head

He kisses you your stomach (This lowkey sounds like a pregnancy story omg), then stands up. At this point he’s looking down at you. He leans in for a kiss and smack your ass.

“Anywho, Do you think Ushi Gushi watches porn?”

Akaashi

🍃: he’s being respectful

🍃: when he looks at you ass he is looking respectfully 😅

Just very, very, very respectfully 😳

🌊: he’s the type to hold onto your hips endearingly yk?

🌊: like he would come up behind you and hug you nothing sexual unless you want it that way 👀

🌊: he’s secretly eyeing people to back away from you

🌊: and if someone talks about you

😐+🔫+👹+🦉= 🚫🧍

🌊: he’s gonna grab his ski mask, his gun, and bokuto and their off

Let’s ride 🔫👹

🌊: he may also rub his hands down your sides and then hug you

🌊: he has 1,000,000,001 ways to hug you 🤪

🌊: and a million and one ways to murk a bitch

🌊: if you ever complain about your lower or upper half of your body he’s gonna come over and hug you and tell you why you should appreciate that part of your body

🌊; he shows a lot of affection through his words and what he says he means

*****

“Baby, I feel like my boobs are small” you whine

He comes over to you and hugs you from behind, now the both of you are looking at yourself in the mirror.

“Don’t say that, your boobs are just right, you also have a beautiful body 🥺”

*********

🌊:he calls your body beautiful, don’t at me 😩

Futakuchi

🧩: he is as smooth as a cucumber 😌

🧩: he probably walks up to you and goes “damn imma smooth dude *cue lightskin lip bite*”

🧩: please beat his ass up 🙂

🧩: he’s gonna enjoy it too

🧩: I feel like when he first saw you he was like all flirty and shit yk

“Hey lemme walk you around the school”

“Uhm okay, thank you”

As soon as you turned around he was like

“GOD DAUM 👴🏾”

🧩: take all his rights away because he will be barking like a dog

🧩: constantly touch you on you ass

🧩: he’s always slapping it to and then on top of it he grips it after

🧩: and that shit hurts but he doesn’t care

🧩: also the type to fake bang you

🧩: ... in public

🧩: .... hard

🧩: like uhm calm down stop right now

🧩: just a horny bastard-

🧩: LEMME STOP IM SO MEAN 🤪🤪

********

You won’t talk to Futakuchi because of what happened in the grocery store today. You and Futakuchi were at the grocery store getting some groceries (ofc).

You were simply just walking and all of a sudden *SLAP* *SLAP*

That slap was so loud, it woke up animals in the lion king ✋🏾 the fact that he slapped both of your cheeks 👴🏾🔫

Everyone was looking in your direction but Futakuchi didn’t care he was looking at some bread

“Wheat bread or White bread?” He asks

Then later when y’all were looking for pasta, you dropped the box and went to pick it up. You did this without thinking that your boyfriend was behind you. Then *SMACK*, it sent you into the shelf a little bit, this dude really had the audacity to grab where he slapped to 😐

Which is the reason why you both are driving home in silence. It’s up to you on whether or not you accept his apology or don’t talk to him for a few days or weeks, all in the end he loves your frame so much 😩.

*********

I’m sorry y’all this took me a while I was busy with school and then I just didn’t feel like writhing but I finished it and I hope you enjoyed it 😩

MASTERLIST

I hope you enjoyed it 🤍 Please Like, comment what you think and follow 🤍 have a great day 🤍

[fandom-collective-writers]

a two player game | obey me | leviathan

title | a two player game fandom | obey me! character | leviathan genre | smut, mild comedy? (situational)  warnings | includes sexual activities kinks | tentacles, bondage, suspension, sensory deprivation intended gender audience | female pov | second word count | 2869 words (haha, 69)  written by | @mythiica requested by | @jennacat84​ other comments | i return, and ofc it’s with smut. this turned out pretty well! there’s more banter than usual and i had a grand time writing it

“And what are you doing with this game~?” 

It’s an innocent enough question until Leviathan tips his head back to glance at the game in question. 

“How did you sneak hentai into the House of Lamentation? I would have expected Lucifer to have some anti-porn devil dog to confiscate these types of things.” Your fingers are perfectly curled over the main character’s lewd expression as she’s ravaged by… tentacles. 

“Uh–” 

You smile slyly and drape your arms over his shoulders as the blush settles across his cheeks. 

“I got it as part of a promotion. People pay me to review games, y’know.” It’s the best excuse he can give really, but he is at fault for not hiding it better. “Now give it here so I can put it inside of my desk. If Mammon finds this, I’ll hear about it for the next century.” Leviathan paws at the box, but you hold it just out of reach. 

“You haven’t opened it.” “It’s a two player game.” “You plus me equals two.”

Leviathan laughs a bit and scratches the back of his neck. “Very perceptive. You don’t even know what the game is about.” 

“Play as Haru or control the tentacle monster that has her locked up in its underwater dungeon. Win the game by resisting the orgasms or by bringing the second player to their knees,” you read from the back of the case. “Sounds easy enough. Wouldn’t it be funny if you were getting pegged by tentacles though, and I was the one to control them?” 

Levi finally manages to swipe the game from your hand and sets it down on a stack of papers. ��You’re into that? I think we skipped over that in last week’s kink-meeting.” The demon laughs at his own joke. (There had not, in fact, been a kink meet between the two of you, but it makes you giggle as well.)

“You never asked! I’d be down to try it with you.” 

His nose brushes against yours gently and his hand finds yours. As Levi’s fingers lace with yours, you reach for the box with your opposite hand, click it open, ignore the surprised hey! and hold on tight so that the game absorbs the two of you. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you teased Levi about getting pegged, because now you’re the one bound and half suspended in the air. When you try to move your wrist, the kelp-like ties around your wrist only grow tighter. “Kinky,” you mutter under your breath. 

There’s a loud crashing sound outside of your cell, but it is quickly followed by Levi’s familiar voice. He looks damn good as a merperson: dark purple hair floats just above his shoulders, an iridescent tail, and of course (likely the best scene of them all) his more-than-usual pronounced abdominal muscles flecked with purple scales. 

“Finally! I found you– I’ve been going through this maze for ages, just looking for you.” 

“Did you miss the sign that says ‘human sex prisoner here’? Maybe turn the neon lights on.” 

This earns a laugh from Leviathan before he leans against a pillar. “You look good,” he comments, checking you out in the same manner you had. When your face turns into a quizzical frown, Levi fetches one of the mirrors on the other side of the room. Upon holding it up, you realize he’s not entirely wrong. You are sporting a half ripped bikini top (calling it meager would be generous) and a sheer skirt that hangs from your hips. 

“Are we underwater?” 

“Technically, yes– at least according to the game we’re meant to be. Don’t question things too much, this game is still in its beta stages.” He pushes his bangs back and fusses with one of his gold rings. 

“Oh, I see.” You continue to hang in place. “...What now?” 

Leviathan lifts a hand. “Well… you read the instructions. Either you cum and I win, or you hold out and win.” 

It takes a moment before you hear similar crashing noises. Swallowing hard, you turn your head back and see shadows darting around in the shadows. Finally, they emerge into the light: tentacles. They’re not attached to anything in particular. In fact, you can’t tell where they have come from, but your attention is quickly pulled back towards Levi. 

He grasps your chin with one hand and smiles almost devilishly. “Y’know, I was going to be nice, but you were so cocky that I think I’ll just edge you and make you cum.” Levi has the ability to control these tentacles, and suddenly, you’re being held in place by said appendages rather than the kelp bindings. 

“So, what, you’re going to take meme with your fancy new toys?” 

One of the limbs climbs up your right leg, pulling your thighs apart. It doesn’t feel sticky in particular, but you can’t help but yelp at the sharp sensation of cold air hitting your now semi-exposed cunt. You yelp meekly and try to keep your legs closed, but there is no way you can overpower the tentacles. 

Levi makes his way over to you and brushes his fingers over your collarbone. “Hm.. I think I will. This will be entertaining, no?” He lowers his head slightly to press a kiss to your lips. “Tell me if it hurts, alright? There might be some glitches because of the game.” 

You’re not entirely sure how he’s controlling the tentacles, but before you can manage a response, one begins to prod at your entrance. It’s cold and sticky, but makes you moan nonetheless. “Levi!” 

“What, did you orgasm just from that? I’m only testing things out.” 

“Get on with it–” 

“Oh? Gladly..” Levi covers your eyes with his hand and keeps the other at your jaw. Driven by a seemingly animalistic urge, he presses his hips against yours while stealing wet kisses from your lips. The tentacle moves in sync with Levi’s motions: every body roll translates to a languid stroke from the extra appendage. When he captures your nipple with two fingers, a suction cup finds your clit and pulls at it teasingly. 

It’s a plethora of sensations, all at once, and is almost overwhelming. You’re being ravaged by Leviathan and his tentacles at the same time, but the worst part is that you can’t even see his beautiful expression as he wrecks you. How could anyone last in a game like this? 

Saliva dribbles from your swollen lips and you open your mouth to say something, call his name– anything to warn him that your underwater tryst might come to an end faster than you could have anticipated. 

A pathetic moan rolls off your tongue, but it’s cut short when something smacks your ass. Another tentacle?! How many are there?! 

Not that you could count them, even if you wanted to, because Levi keeps his hand firmly over your eyes. It’s torture at this point, feeling every little thing and listening to the intense lewd sounds, but not being able to see them. 

“Levi,” you whine with desperation. “I can’t see– I want to see you.” 

“Eh?” He moves his hand back, and you nearly squeal with delight at his expression. Leviathan is blushing more than usual, as if he’s feeling pleasure from what the tentacles are doing to you. “Better? Does it hurt?” 

You shake your head. “You’re so cute…” 

“Cute?” Levi huffs. “I’m fucking you with tentacles made of pixels and you call me cute?” Now he laughs a bit and a few suction cups stick to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. “I can’t do you anally though, that’s Level 2.” 

Now you’re the one laughing, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes, I actually am. No matter who wins, with each level increase, more toys and positions are unlocked. That’s kind of smart actually.” 

“But Levi, don’t you want to put your tentacle in my ass?” 

This makes him shiver, and you know what the answer is. Regardless, it seems like any attempts to make the tip of the tentacle get closer to your second hole, nothing happens. With a pensive sigh, your hips meet the side of his tail so that you’re grinding on both Levi and the tentacle simultaneously. “This will have to do.” 

Up until this moment, the tentacles hadn’t actually entered you, but instead danced around your hole and focused on your clit. However, your momentary leap of authority gives him a figuratively boner, since he doesn’t technically have a visible dick. It might be in his tail somewhere… but you aren’t about to ask where he’s hiding his cock. That would be weird. 

“Hey Levi?”

He grunts back in response, obviously focused on other things. 

“Do you think you can penetrate me? I’m sure you’ll win if you do–”

“It’s not as easy as you think– I have to give each thing something to do or my stats drop.” “You have stats?!” You lean back slightly and eye Leviathan. 

“Yeah, just flex your palm.” You give Levi a flat stare. “It’s kind of difficult to do that when my wrists are bound.” 

The tentacle holding your right hand releases slightly, giving you enough room to do as he’s suggested. A small screen appears in front of you. “Moaning level 2, cockwarming level 1– wait I can change the size of my breasts?!” 

Levi pauses for a moment long enough to look at the small screen. “Oh, yeah, I had dick options too, but I didn’t mess with them yet.” 

This makes you blink a few times in astonishment, thinking that this game is far more complicated than the first one you played. You want to look through the menu more and see what other things you can do– your mind drifts to the actual purpose of the game. Could there be a power up that would help you resist the tentacles? 

Before you can continue scrolling, the slick sound of something penetrating you fills your ears. He’s done what you’ve asked him to, and is absolutely merciless about it. Now that Levi’s found a way to fuck you hard, he’s not going to let up any time soon. In fact, chances are that he won’t stop until the Congratulations, you’ve made your bitch cum screen pops up over his head, if that’s even how the game works. 

A string of curses fly off your tongue, meant to be praises than anything else, but you don’t hear your own voice. “Why don’t it let me say ----?!” you screech, dragging your fingernails across Levi’s bare shoulders. “I just wanna moan for you, Levi–” 

“Curse words are censored, but that’s stupid, I don’t know why. Is it possible you changed the settings?” 

You’re frustrated now because, now you’ve finally accepted that you’re his and the stupid game won’t let you call out for him. It’s not a problem for very long though, because the next thing you know, he’s kissing you. A burning sensation ignites your entire body now, and your mind can’t anchor a single coherent thought for more than a few moments at a time. 

The strangest thing: it actually feels like he’s the one fucking you. Not the tentacles, but rather, it feels the same as if Leviathan were fucking you in his bed. This makes you happy, so happy that saliva begins to dribble down your chin as the inevitable pressure of an orgasm starts to fill your lower abdomen. You arch your back in such a way that the bikini straps give away, releasing your breasts from the fabric. 

Next thing you know, you’re subconsciously grinding against the biggest tentacle– the one fucking your mercilessly– in search for more delicious friction for your clit. At this point, it doesn’t matter who wins or loses, you just really want to cum and see if those tentacle things of his will splurt out some cum. 

“Levi–”

“Hm?” His lips dance over the crook of your neck, and the last thing you need now is for him to suddenly decide to be all daddy-merman. You bet anything that his tongue is wetter than your pussy is right now, and the way his teeth graze over your skin–

And then you’re cumming. 

Something breaks inside of you, and then it feels as though you’re drowning but breathing at the same time. Is it part of the game? Is this what a simulated orgasm feels like? Your body pulsates like never before and you understand the appeal of sex games. Another moment passes and your mind goes blank, but only for a second because you feel the budding warmth of seed running down your legs. 

So the tentacles can cum.

You manage to find the minimal strength it takes to just open your eyes, and you’re met with Leviathan’s beautiful expression as he crashes down from his high as well. He freezes for a split second, almost as if the game is glitching or overloading from the sheer impact of both orgasms taking place. You pray that he remains like this for just a bit longer, giving you the chance to lean your head against his chest. 

Levi’s skin is soft, but covered with a thin, inexplicable film of perspiration. If anything, it just makes you giddy again, but you’re not sure that either of you could last for Level 2 in this sorry condition. Running your tongue over his pronounced clavicle, you nip the skin there and suck on it just as he buffers for a moment and releases a painfully loud moan. 

His heart thunders loudly, echoing in your ears. It’s the only thing you can hear until his hand lands on your cheek. “Are you okay?” Leviathan’s voice grounds you, and then you realize that the tentacles are no longer in sight, but have retreated into the shadows the first emerged from. 

“Yeah… but I think you froze for a second there– we should do it again, y’know, to make sure we can review the game correctly.” 

This makes him laugh. The beautiful sound prompts a giggle from you as well, so you throw your arms around his neck for a tight hug. It doesn’t really matter that your skirt has magically disappeared, you’re pleased with the experience. 

A screen flashes in front of the two of you, but you’re actually surprised to see the congratulations message. 

“We both lost?!”

“How? I made you cum.” 

You read the small print: “Haru successfully made the sea monster cum first, but unfortunately succumbed to the tentacles.” With a huff, you scroll through and read the extended audit log of your ‘underwater’ sex adventure with Levi. “That’s bull----! Ugh! I still can’t ----ing curse!” 

Levi shushes you gently before brushing your hair back and offering you a consolation kiss. He taps the ‘return to main screen’ button, and the two of you are transported back to the real world. 

Nothing’s changed since you left: in fact, it’s only been a few minutes, according to the clock on Levi’s nightstand, that you even opened the game in the first place. Before you can say anything, Leviathan closes the box and throws it into the desk drawer. “No more hentai games for you. I need a cold shower and something to eat after that.” 

You stretch and massage your wrists. Although there is no physical evidence of the bindings, you can sure as hell feel where his tentacles kept you in place. Disappointed though, your eyes follow the outline of Levi’s body, happy to see that his normal legs have returned… with a third, very aroused, appendage sitting comfortably between the two of them. 

“Levi~” 

“Yeah?” 

“Two things. One, give it a good review, but say that I need to be able to curse when I cum.” 

He raises an eyebrow, but then nods. “And the second thing?” 

Now, you’re smiling and reaching for the bulge in his pants. “I think you need a second orgasm to take care of this, no? But no game– this one, I’ll give it to you and make sure it’s real.” 

Levi just swallows and shoos you away, calling you silly and that he doesn’t have any energy for that because he knows you’ll leave him an absolute mess. You can’t help but laugh at his reaction though, because now he’s both painfully hard and blushing brighter than a virgin on a windy day. 

“Hey Levi?” 

“What is it now?” 

You just smile and wave your hand. “No, it’s nothing like that– I was just thinking, maybe next time we’ll be in reversed positions. Wouldn’t that be fun?” 

He contemplates this for a second. “Why, you want to try and win?” 

“Well yeah!” “In your dreams, Haru.”

“I was really worried you’d moan the in game character’s name instead of mine. That would have been awkward as hell.” 

Levi extends his arm, offering you a place to sit on his lap. “I wouldn’t do that. But let’s keep this between the two of us for now. Okay?” 

You nod and nestle against his chest. Regardless of who the game declared, or didn’t, the winner, you like to think that both of you won. At least for a moment.

. 

[kaijurakunsobs]

Mr. Malum

master list for this series

this took me far too long to complete, I keep getting sidetracked with other stuff...I need to work on a schedule, that I will ignore, cuz I have the attention span of a boiled rock.

this chapter has a different name due to the song Mr. Malum from the Dear Hunter, being the only thing I would think of while typing this chapter

Summary: Heisenberg has a secret that he clearly intends on keeping for himself but honoring your own word of not working for him unless you know what's going on with his factory, you offer him a deal that could benefit you both. A trip to the village, distrust dripping for these people's faces, and the whispers filled with fear is enough for you to learn that...Mr. Heisenberg and the other Lords are more than what they seem.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart! we have a lot of work to do today" Heisenberg screams, throwing the door of your room open, making you sit and scream in surprise, the sound of his laughter is enough to cut your fear short and replace it with humiliation.

Before you can even respond the man is out and waiting in the kitchen, at least, he gave you time to compose yourself, running your fingers through your tangled hair and cursing yourself for going to sleep with damp hair, the tossing and turning did nothing to help, making the rat's nest that's your hair so much worst. Perhaps you should consider cutting it short, that would make it more manageable.

Joining him in the kitchen it's strange, half hoping to be met with his usual snark, instead, he's drinking coffee and looking over some papers, another mug has been placed on the table, the acrid smell of black coffee incites you to get close and take the warm mug in your hands, the taste is strong and it's enough to fully wake you up.

"We are going to be working on the west wing, some of the vents have been giving problems which is making the place overheat" a blueprint it's pushed towards you, the areas to be inspected are circled with red pen. "Since you are a lot slimmer, you will be getting into some hard to access places, keep the print, that way you will know what to fix"

Looking down at the print, you contemplate your situation.

It's, quite clear, that you can't escape, he said so yesterday, talking about the possibility of Miranda killing you or him catching you before she did. You can't refuse to work for him either, even after you told him you wouldn't do it until you knew what was going on in the factory, and it seems he decided to politely forget about that part of the conversation. There's no way out of this...but there's a way to try and twist his arm.

After all, you are not stuck here with him, he's stuck in here with you.

Putting down the mug, taking a moment to stretch your back and casually take a seat across from him "Yeah, this? sounds like a you problem" resting your head on your hands gives you the right amount of time to see him go from triumphant into anger "However! I'm willing to strike you a deal"

Father was a man who cared for his employees and sometimes caring for others means being, rather, unfair with those seeking to start a partnership, or so he said. "You have to assess how desperate you are when they come looking for you, but never push too hard on your luck, or you might lose the perfect cath, ask for realistic demands never for the Sun", those were his words, and you will be forever grateful for them.

" A deal?" leaning closer to you he looks at you from above his shades, a mocking smile on his face "What kind of deal are you offering? you have nothing to offer and I have everything you could want"

"Oh! but I do have a lot to offer, years of experience as a mechanic, the promise of optimizing your production rate, my family's factory for you to dismantle and get spare parts from...my silence?"

At that, he straightens up, face unreadable and impassive, hes thinking and considering. And you know it by watching him light up a cigar slowly, taking a couple of drags before expelling a large smoke cloud up to the ceiling. "I'm listening"

"Excellent, my demands are easy to meet, so don't worry" with careful movements you get up from the chair, unhurried steps carrying to stand behind him, snaking your hands up his arms and towards his shoulders, bending down to place your head close to his "All I ask from you is this, fitting clothes, a pair of gloves like yours and a leather apron, an actual bed, for you to repair the hot water, and have my own set of tools" you smile sweetly at him letting your right hand play with his hair "See? nothing too hard to get"

He's impressed with your boldness, not fearing getting your pretty hand burned with his cigar and pressing that delicious body of yours so close to him. And, indeed, your demands are nothing but reasonable compared to the blind devotion and absolute silence he's expecting from you, let alone, access to whatever is left from your factory.

The next time he expels smoke he does it in your direction, getting no reaction of you "And how do I know that you won't try and rat me out, doll? just trust your word and give you everything you want? I think I'll pass and just force you to do it"

"Well, I understand, it doesn't matter that I'm a woman of my word, words can be twisted and forgotten, sir. But...if you don't feel comfortable with a verbal agreement"

Your next move is not just bold, and you know it, you are weaponizing your own body, using it to make him lower his guard a little. Letting go of his shoulder to sit on his lap, back towards him, taking your sweet time to grab one of the paper sheets where he was jolting down notes and his pen. "We can do a contract if you prefer, that way I will be legally bound to do whatever it says and since you are a Lord, it will be just a formality"

There's a moment where you feel like gagging when his hands find your hips and push you to be closer to his body, it's his time to rest his head on your shoulder, looking at whatever you plan on writing down.

"Then do it, darlin'. Do your silly contract, which I expect you to abide by because I will do my part if that means I get to have you like this always"

"Of course, my Lord"

Immediately after you start writing down a rather simple contract, making sure to write everything you want and what you will be giving in return. The whole time he stays still, occasionally moving his head to blow the smoke away for you or the table in general, one hand squeezing your hip.

You are careful when offering the pen for him to sign the paper, tactfully placing your hand as to obscure a piece of the pact, he either doesn't care or thinks you are doing it to prevent the paper from slipping and messing his signature. Once he's done you sign quickly, smiling inwardly at your victory.

"Let me read this you" clearing your throat you begin to speak clearly and loud "I, Lord Karl Heisenberg, in full use of my mental capabilities, promise Miss Y/N L/N, to fulfill the following...One, provide her with proper clothing, which shall include a leather apron, heavy-duty gloves, and boots...Two, a bed and blankets for her to sleep in, making sure to place the bed in her bedroom...Three, acquire a new complete toolset for her...Four, repair the faulty got water pipe in the bathroom..."

The pause is done on purpose, looking at him over your shoulder to see his shit-eating grin morph into either confusion or anger "FIVE...make sure the kitchen is well stocked with all kinds of food, to ensure proper nourishment for my employee. The employee won't be expected to cook meals for me"

The hand on your hip shoots up to grab your neck, forcing you to be fully against him, his breath fans over the side of your face as he speaks "You little bitch, who do you think you are trying to swindle? you asked for four things, not five"

"Did I? I don't remember saying just four, sir...that's why contracts are so useful you see, after all, words can be twisted and forgotten" there's a small adrenaline rush when he growls so close to you, that you can feel the vibrations against your chest, almost crying out with joy when he let you go, clearly annoyed with your small victory.

"Fine, if that's the case!" his rudeness comes back with a vengeance when he pulls you off, doing quick work of walking to his room "Stay where you are" after that, only the distant lull of the machines can be heard, then there's the sound of his voice, almost whispering and growing slowly irritated by the second. It takes him a couple of minutes but he comes backs, dropping a bag full of money on the table.

"Since you are so hellbent on these demands of yours...and I have so much to do, for the foreseeable future, YOU are going down to the village, look for and get the seamstress to take your measurements, YOU are going to the Duke and buy whatever food we might need and tell him what tools you need, YOU are bringing said groceries from his Emporium all the way here, after all, your contract says I have to provide with clothing, food and put a bed in your toom, which means, it's YOUR responsibility to buy and transport the food while all I have to do is provide you with the money"

He got you...and he got you good, that's why making detailed contracts is always important, or you leave legal windows for the other party.

"Or...I can do all that for you, minus the clothes, if you sleep in my bed from now" his smile is wolfish and nasty, eyeing you the same way a starving dog would look at a defenseless chicken, it makes you question your flirting tactics from earlier, but you won't let him win.

"Well, you are right, I never said you needed to bring the groceries here" quickly you snatch the money from the table, getting up and walking to the door as if he didn't say anything about sharing his bed "I shall take my leave and come back before lunch, have a good day, sir!"

The door opens and with a side glance, you take his coat from the hook on the wall, scurrying off before he can say or do anything about it, almost bolting through the factory into the main entrance, afraid he will catch up with you and send you out into the freezing weather with nothing to shield you from it.

The trek down into the Village is something terrible, the terrain is irregular and some of the cobblestone steps are loose, trying to make a mental note of anything that might make you trip on your way back becomes a game, occasionally kicking some of the stones away and praying that you might now slip and fall.

You only stop to look at the 4 statues located past the bridge, taking a bit to admire the enormous things, their rotten features that have been consumed by the elements, and the weather, there's a pedestal of some sort in the middle but nothing else, following the path you find yourself looking at the Duke, slowly dozing off sitting inside his cart and his merchandise im plain view. The sound of your boots against the floor and snow, alert him of your presence.

"Ah! but it isn't our lovely Y/N, did Lord Heisenberg sent you for something, or are you here to acquire something for yourself?" hes already rubbing his hands together looking at you with interest

"You know me so well! I do come to run some...errands...Heisenberg set me to find the seamstress and to get groceries, his entire kitchen is empty, also, to place an order for me!"

The man laughs at your expression filled with pride, trying to uncover what or how you managed to get out of the factory on your second day there, smiling approvingly at whatever trick you used. "Of course, of course! tell me more about your shopping needs and I shall have them covered in no time"

"Oh, I wanted to know if I could write you a list and come back for the groceries on my way back?"

"Whatever you might need, miss Y/N" He's quick into offering you a pen and notepad, remarking the importance of treating all his customers with great care, and prideful of his service.

It takes you a bit to write down everything the kitchen lacks off and placing the order for your tools, gloves, and boots your size, acting a bit selfish by asking him to get you soap. The Duke reassures you that he will have your order as soon as possible and your groceries packed by the time you come back.

"Before I leave, by any chance do you know where I can find the seamstress? Heisenberg sent me out and told me to ask around...the prick"

"I do, it's an easy trip just go through that door and walk until you see the Maiden of War, a statue of a woman with a sword, easy to see! from it go west into the village and look for a house with teal walls, or simply ask for Sabina's house, but be careful Y/N, the people there might not take kindly to your presence"

The Duke was right, as soon as you enter the village, people start to stare and talk in low voices as you walk past them, you can hear them call you "Lord Heisenberg's bride" which makes you scrunch up your nose, others are more concerned of your status as an outsider and the small group of people praising Mother Miranda for giving you a home in this place. At the mention of her name, you have to force down the taste of vile down your throat and keep on walking to Sabina's place.

The house is easy to spot in the sea of gloomy colors, the teal exterior pops like a sore thumb, it's clear the house has seen better days, but you are no one to comment on the current state of the place, limiting yourself to knock on the door and wait for a response.

Sabina is, probably, no older than you, but the expression lines and tiredness of her face make her look a lot older, as soon as she sees you, she ushers you inside, eyes glued to the floor and speaking softly...she's scared of you.

"I was asked by Lord Heisenberg to come, he told me..."

"YES! I...I was made aware of your need for clothes and something like an apron, I received a call from the Chruch and expected you a bit earlier, now im afraid this order might be too hurried" fear masked as anger, you know about that, that's the only thing you have felt lately "please strip down so I can properly measure you"

The woman moves quickly, retrieving her tape and something to write on, while you are shedding the coat, pants, and boots off, leaving only the shirt on.

When she comes back you see her grimace and reach out for the shirt, out of instinct you slap her hand away, the terror in her eyes growing and becoming a burden that makes her freeze in her spot, making you feel a bit of guilt for causing her to do that face. "...Im sorry, I don't feel comfortable with people seeing me in my underwear"

Sabina only nods, trembling hands reaching out to start the process of taking every measurement required to make your new clothes, taking a second you jolt down each number and asking you what kind of fabric you would like for the pants and shirts, if the apron will need pockets and how many, any special requirements she should be aware of.

"Cotton undershirts" you blur out, avoiding to look at Sabina "I...need undershirts that are of a soft material" unconsciously reaching to touch your left side, the woman seems to understand, adding the undershirts to the list.

"I will have everything in the next four days if that's ok with the Lady, if not, I could have it done by tomorrow morning"

"No...four days is ok, how much do I owe you?" you ask absent-mindedly, dressing quickly to avoid losing any more body heat.

Sabina, who was halfway through putting her take away, stops to look at you, an uncomfortable expression on her face followed by a forced smile "I'm just pleased to serve the Heisenberg house, my lady"

You begin to protest but Sabina starts to push you out of the door, talking over you loudly, repeating like crazy how honored she feels, and for you to have a nice day, slamming her door shut and leaving you confused out in the snow.

This time, people avoid you, ducking their heads down, bowling lightly, and muttering praises to have someone from the Heisenberg house come to the village, but all of them speak with reverence, terrified of your existence. Miranda made you feel like a thing and these people make you feel like if you could kill them where they stand any minute now, like you are above them and more important. It's disgusting.

"Did you had a good time with the villagers, miss Y/N?"

"No!? Duke, it was horrible, the way people looked at me like if I was either a God or the Devil himself, it gave me your creeps" you are so lost looking at the crates, sacks, and bags that you have to carry back, that you don't notice him twistedly smile at you "What is wrong with these people?"

"We all need to believe in something, this village, just happens to believe in the protection and love of Mother Miranda and her lords and ladies, divine beings on Earth, but you might be right, perhaps it's not a godly figure what they're chasing after, but the devil" this time you do see him smile, the jolly man from last night is gone, replaced by a being of mischief and secrets that makes your skin crawl.

Hurriedly you pick up everything and balance it all in your arms, finding a way to trust the bag full of lei into his waiting hands and bolt it back into the fabric, distantly hearing him laugh over the sound of your pounding heart.

You only stop right in the middle of all the four statues you saw that morning, uneasiness nestling inside you...just what is going here? what are the lords of this place and why is everyone so panicked by them? why would anyone feel love for a monster like Miranda?

Wondering, if you did the right thing by making a deal with Heisenberg, knowing, he might be the devil incarnate.

[bxebxee]

What I have to say: This is really not what I typically write, but please allow me my self-indulgence. Also, I am rusty and unpracticed, but this made me happy to write. 

What this is: Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

What this wants to be: Romance

What this warrants: Rated R for Rotten Relationships (and other things) 

You hold your sister’s new baby reverently. The baby is so small, and you’re scared that your bad morals would somehow seep into the skin through contact diffusion. 

“I feel like I’m already the irresponsible aunt,” you whisper, shooting your sister a terrified look. The baby isn’t even sleeping, but what if your bellowing voice would upset him. “Are you sure-” 

“Yes,” she says firmly, “You’ll be a good godparent. There’s literally nothing to do except spoil your nephew every now and again.” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Unless we die. Then I guess you’d have to be more of a parental figure...” 

You and your brother-in-law interject at the same time in a cacophony of protest. 

“Okay, we are not dying,” he sighs as your octave increases by a half-step, “Please do not say that as I hold your offspring in my arms. I can’t feel them by the way. Seokjin, can you take him? I don’t want to drop him.” 

Seokjin takes the baby, and you feel bereft of warmth. It’s a weird feeling to note that considering your firm No Babies Policy. You miss the baby already. This is witchcraft. 

“It’s just a fucking hypothetical, relax,” your sister laughs, her eyes softening considerably as she sees Seokjin coo over his son. 

“If our baby’s first word is ‘fuck’ I am not taking responsibility,” Seokjin says mildly, eyes never leaving his baby. You don’t really blame him. 

“And you’re not blaming me either. I’ve been good,” you say. 

“Oh please, everyone curses younger these days anyway. I’d rather my son know than not know, you know?”  

“You’re pushing it,” Seokjin warns. 

“You’re such a dad,” she scoffs. 

“And you like it,” he counters. 

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I do.” 

You check your phone for the time, and it’s thirty minutes before the official start of the baby gathering. Time for you to leave. 

“Hey, it was good to see you guys. And the baby,” you tell them, hugging both lightly so as not to disturb the tenderness of the moment. Bear hugs were for a different day. “I have to head out, but I’ll come visit a lot, okay? I’ll even babysit. For free.” 

“Not staying for lunch?” your sister asks, looking very sad and disappointed, but you steel your heart. The two of you have inherited your mother’s knack of guilt-inducing looks, and you’re not about to fall for it. 

“Not today, no.” 

Seokjin nods, bidding you to take care. He knows why you want to leave before the crowd gets too heavy. 

Unfortunately for you, cosmic luck was not on your side because as soon as the front door shuts behind you, the elevator dings and Yoongi steps out, clad head to toe in celebrity black and holding five Burberry shopping bags. There’s no one around, so you don’t particularly feel the need to stand on the niceties of greetings and choose instead to brush past him in favor of the elevator. 

“And hello to you too.” he remarks sarcastically. 

“Go to hell,” you reply, wishing that you didn’t have to be in a close fucking hallway because you could smell his cologne. 

“Oh come on-” 

You press on the close door button rapidly, and the doors shut out Yoongi with a soft, muted click. 

Twelve hours later, you get a text from an unknown number. Coward is all it said. You stare at your phone screen in bed, seeing typing bubbles start and stop and start and stop. Mister Unknown Number finally settles on silence because nothing follows after the one-word epithet. 

It feels like a dare. 

--

Yoongi finally puts his phone down. You were too smart and too self-respecting to try this all over again with him, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that goading you would work when you were clearly over him-

His phone vibrates intensely and consistently. You’re calling him. 

“Hello,” Yoongi says, picking up the phone after just a single ring. Desperate, to be sure, but he wasn’t positive you’d wait for five rings anyway. 

“You changed your number again,” you say without preamble. 

“I’ve actually had this number for two years now,” Yoongi says. “Been getting hacked less and less. Guess you never saved the number.” 

“Why would I?” you ask, petulance peppering every syllable of your words. 

“Why didn’t you stay for the luncheon?” he asks instead of answering your question. 

“And sit in a room with you for a couple of hours pretending everything’s normal? No thanks,” you scoff. “And luncheon? Really?”

“You missed out on the shrimp toast.” 

“I think I’ll live.” 

“So why’d you call?” 

You could take the easy way out. Save your pride and your face, and pretend that you still don’t carry a torch for Yoongi. You could lie and say you just wanted to call and make sure it really was him. But you were always a glutton for pain, and he was all too happy to oblige to your needs. 

“You wanna come over?” you offer, not feeling an ounce of trepidation that he’d reject you. Yoongi always came when you asked. 

“Where do you live?” 

“It’s the same place as last time.” It’s a test. Let’s see if he even remembers my address-

“Be there in thirty.” 

--

He’s late by a few minutes, but Yoongi explains through interrupted kisses and hasty undressing that there was traffic, and he showered- 

“You could have showered here, you know,” you mutter, pawing at his dick and biting down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Yoongi always like a little pain.

“I’ll shower here after.” (After he fucked you at least twice, minimum. After he got to see you naked and temporarily his. After he was somewhat satisfied but much too sweaty for sleep.) 

And then it’s No Talking Time for a short while because he has your face occupied with inhaling scant oxygen against the mattress while his own head was buried between your asscheeks and legs, lapping and sucking at you like he had something to prove. Could this count as some form of asphyxiation? Probably. You don’t expect his mouth to make you feel close to losing control. The act had always unnerved you, but you found yourself uncaring of past discomforts and losing yourself into the feeling of soft, insistent lips. 

Yoongi eats you out with soft grunts, hands holding your thighs apart and firm. Don’t move, his hands say. His tongue up your cunt isn’t any sort of giving on Yoongi’s part; this was all selfish. He wants you to cum and feel starstruck and ruined, wants you to get it through your head that your flesh craved his flesh in the same animalistic way he needed you. 

You turn your head around just enough to be able to get out, “You can sto-” 

But he silences you with a warning slap on the ass. You are not to be deterred. 

“Stop with the tongue,” you order. 

“You’re insane,” he hisses, pulling away and shamelessly licking his lips. “You can’t ever just let me-” 

“Put it in now,” you demand. 

Yoongi lets out a terse sigh. “I should just leave right now,” he grumbles, getting up on his knees to rub his dick against you and nudges the head on your opening. “I shouldn’t be here.” He presses inside at “here” and wrenches a moan from your lips. 

“Then leave,” you sigh, pressing your ass back against him, relishing in the feeling of being filled again by Yoongi. “Just go home and jerk off instead. That’s what you’re good at, right? Leaving me?” 

“You’re a bitch for bringing that up during sex,” Yoongi says, fucking into you steadily and slowly, resisting the urge to pound into you like his baser instincts demanded. He was going to enjoy you for as long as he wanted. He knew you wanted it rough and bordering on violent, but he wasn’t going to add more ammo to your already large arsenal of Reasons To Hate Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi leans over completely, letting his torso lay flush against your back, unbothered by your sweat as it mixed with his own. You were going to feel every last inch of him inside and out. He pumps in and out slowly, sucking on your neck and breathing into your hair with audible moans of enjoyment. 

“I’m not leaving,” he groans, reaching over to rub your lower stomach gently, as if comforting you. The intimacy of this wasn’t lost on you, but you can’t find the words to tell him off. You missed his heat and the familiar weight. You are only human, after all. 

Yoongi threads his fingers through your unkempt hair, stroking gently before balling his fists into a pronounced grip. He turns your head to the side and kisses you, your neck straining from the awkward, uncomfortable position. But it reminds you of the beginning - of the before times when things were easier in the shadows of his success and unavailability. 

It’s impossible not to feel things when he fucks you this way, and kisses you, and moans soft nothings into your ear like you’re the only woman he’s ever done this with. You are atrocious at protecting your heart, and even after two years of icing him out, Yoongi barges into you like it’s nothing. 

“Don’t stop,” you moan, heart thumping against your chest. You really, really can’t stand to want him so much. 

“I won’t,” Yoongi reassures, kissing the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speed up, and instead chooses to test the limits of your patience with languorous but firm strokes. “Not until you tell me to.” 

There was nothing that compared to this - not heated fucks with attractive strangers, or money, or getting crossfaded by the Han River. When Yoongi did this to you, you almost felt like he loved you. 

--

Yoongi sleeps silently besides you in the sunlight, completely worn out after an emotionally exhausting round of sex that made him cry when he came inside you. He’s usually sensitive to the light, but he’s out cold and completely drained. You hadn’t expected that part - the crying. You thought it was just sweat until you heard rattling breaths and a hiccup. 

You watch him breathe silently from your place in his arms, unwilling to leave the small cocoon of warmth. You’re the opposite of him, and right now, you’re wired. You’ll probably end up crashing sometime later in the day, but for right now, you’re content to just watch him sleep in your bed, on your pillows, smelling like your body wash. 

You’re too old to be scared, and yet this moment fills you with dread; that once the spell of sex and yearning was broken, everything would tilt back to its regular axis, and you’d be all alone again. If you were younger, you might have up and left already. Leave him before he leaves you. And it’s not like you haven’t done that before. Your entire relationship with Yoongi is always filled with one person leaving behind the other one because nothing about the two of you ever lined up properly. 

But this time, you’re too tired to run away. So you close your eyes and pretend to sleep until it finally comes to claim you. 

[obeiii-mee]

Hey there! Love your writing. What about MC spending a whole day with just one of the brothers? Like you know, if the brothers were deciding what to do? Sorry if it’s too boring and romantic haha, I’m a lost case, I desperately need that night walks with Satan and working out with Beel in my life haha. Thanks xx

Same though. I love writing just typical HCs with the bros during date night or something. And I’m currently writing a few angst HCs so I really needed this too lmao. I hope you don’t mind these not being too long. I hope this satisfies you lol.

Enjoy!

——————————

The Brothers Spending a Whole Day with MC:

Lucifer:

-Mr. Prideful doesn’t take many days off

-But when he’s with you, he really feels like he can unwind properly

-Lucifer loves going on walks with you tbh

-He feels like it’s a nice break from all of his office work and meetings

-Sometimes the two of you end up in Majolish or a restaurant

-He definitely has a thing for spoiling you on days like these, because he feels he doesn’t appreciate you enough otherwise

-Like when he yells at both you and Mammon for doing stupid shit around Lord Diavolo

-The two of you could walk through the whole of DevilDom hand in hand if you had more hours in the day

-I see Lucifer as a bit traditional when it comes to dating so it’s obvious you’ll have movie dates and everything

-But a day off for him? With you? Away from his brothers, all of their chaos and the never ending attention his paperwork needs?

-It feels like he’s in the Celestial Realm all over again

-He does love you

-His past just doesn’t let him express his affection towards you very well

Mammon:

-If the two of you could spend the whole day together, there are only three places you could be at: Majolish, the casino or trying to make money for Mammon’s debts somewhere

-But it doesn’t really matter for him

-He could be stuck in a broom closet with you and still be happy (though he wouldn’t admit it)

-Spending a day with just him is bound to end in tears to be honest, on his part usually

-Because everything is going well and you’re having fun

-“Ah shit!”

-“Mammon you OK? What happened?”

-“I accidentally sold Lucifer’s gloves for 50000 Grimm!”

-How does one accidentally sell something?

-So he get a bit of an earful for that

-Other than that, being with the second eldest is crazy enough as it is

-You may have lost all that money at the casino but for the first time in a while, Mammon didn’t care that much

-Because you were there and laughing with him about how stupid both of you were

-You guys hit as many shops as possible and just generally have a messy, fun time together

-He often ends these days saying something like “You should be grateful that THE GREAT MAMMON agreed to let you tag along with him today.”

-But just kiss him on the cheek and he will shut up. For like hours. He’ll be too flushed to even look you in the eye

-He really wants to spend another day out with his human

Levi:

-Welp, life of a shut-in otaku

-It should be of no surprise that the two of you spend most of your time in his room

-It’s just the one place he’s most comfortable in and having you there makes it so much better

-Anime’s and video games are a must obviously

-But he loves doing movie marathons with you too (while loudly complaining the movie sucks and that you’re a normie for choosing it. Which means he likes it)

-Maybe a few good hours of him ranting about TSL because it’s Levi

-So the chances of you guys getting any sleep on said day are slim to none

-Also, if you agree to go to conventions with him, he will die of happiness

-On the rare occasion that he does go outside, he’s only out there because you went with him so that should tell you how much he loves you

-But most of the time you’re locked in his room to the point where Luci dearest has to come along and drag you the fuck to breakfast

-Ah, true love~~

Satan:

-I mean, this one should be pretty obvious too

-If he doesn’t enjoy dates in the library, then is he really Satan? (I never thought a sentence like that would ever be typed)

-Most of the time it ends with him reading to you because his voice is sO bEAutIful and you just melt when you hear it

-I will forever hc that he makes sound effects while reading too so imagine that

-You two don’t always get the chance to spend a whole day together

-But he tries to check in on you at least once a day

-*Cue romantic run through the house of Lamentation, trying to find you so he can gossip and bitch about Lucifer*

-Walks with him are very common too

-They usually take place at night, because he’s a sap and he read too many romance books and damn it kiss him already

-He would hold an umbreally over you if it started raining and everything

-Satan takes these moments to chat to you about anything, he just wants to appreciate you being there

-You guys made out several times while on these ‘walks’ ngl skskevshskbeuensb

-One time, you showed him a cat cáfe in the human realm and he went nuts

-Safe to say you’ve been there more times than I care to count, most of which were without permission

-A day with him can either go extremely calmly and end with you guys falling asleep on each other in his room or escalate to either pranking Lucifer or...steamier stuff

-Haha if anyone ever mentions he’s a cheesy bastard, they’re dead before they can say their prayers

-Except you, you get the pass on this one, tease him as much as you want

Asmo:

-Finally, he gets to have you all to himself without any of his brothers cockblocking him all the time~ (same tbh)

-The whole day would be planned from head to toe in activities and events

-It would start with some sort of makeover in the morning (getting your nails done, doing hairstyles, skin routine etc.)

-Then it would move on to some serious shopping sprees where he basically buys everything that he deems to be cute

-They’re for you 100% tho

-The day usually ends with you getting dragged to parties and clubs because Asmo can’t go a day without speaking to other people

-By the time you get home, you’re almost knocked out cold and carrying several bags full of clothes and shit

-But you can never say you didn’t enjoy yourself on these days

-Having Asmo around is exhilarating and somehow, even if crowds happen to not be your thing, it’s still really easy to have fun anyway

-There are times when the two of you stay at home and do each other’s nails and everything

-And you two are very fond of these sort of dates as well

-Of course, all of this assuming he won’t try to seduce you and get in your pants all day

-Turns our Mammon is somehow telepathically connected to you and rushes over any time this happens

-So much for not being cockblocked I guess

-He always switches things up as well which is usually very pleasant because you don’t visit the same shops or clubs every day

-Just be back by midnight or you’ll have your asses handed back to you otherwise

Beel:

-Beel loves you

-Beel loves food

-If those two happen to be in the same room, he might as well die peacefully

-It’s all he ever asked for (especially if Belphie is there too)

-Half of the day is spent at either Hell’s Kitchen or in your kitchen at home

-For him, the food always tastes better when you’re there so if you’re willing to go, then he’ll be like a cheerful puppy the whole time (how many times have I compared Beel to a puppy lmao)

-The other half of the day is spent training

-Work out sessions are important to him and he’s more than happy to let you join in

-If anything, you’ll be on his back as he does his push ups even though you’re not that heavy to him

-It sort of warms that demon heart of his because you’re always there handing him towels and water after he’s finished

-And you always have snacks prepared too which is wonderful really

-Kudos for being able to hide them from him the whole time

-It’s also not that surprising to know that you, Beel and Belphie hang out a lot

-So these days often mean that Belphegor tags along with you guys everywhere

-You won’t notice him tho, believe me, he’ll just stay attached to Beel’s back and sleep the whole time

-If he gets to spend a day with his loved ones, then Beel can honestly not ask for more

Belphie:

-“Belphie...?”

-“Yes MC?”

-“Is.....is that a pillow fort that’s almost as big as the attic?”

-“It is indeed.”

-“Why?”

-“Why not?”

-Tbh it would be a miracle if you two didn’t sleep the whole day

-But if he had to go somewhere with you

-It would be anywhere

-Much like Mammon, he couldn’t give less of a shit about the evironment as long as you’re there

-Chances are, however, that he will sneak you two to the human world a few times in secret

-He still insists he hates humans but truth is, he misses them and their realm

-Going back there, without permission the same way he did all those centuries ago, was like a breath of fresh air

-You guys would be chilling at a park in the human realm, probably make small picnic or something

-Belphie, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, loves these dates and would kill anything on his path if it meant he gets to be in your arms while taking a nap in the human world

-He invites Beel along too which makes everything so much better for him

-He will just fall asleep on you while you run your fingers through his hair

-Belphie is so warm too so it’s likely you won’t stay awake for long either

-Poor Beel has to carry both back to DevilDom but he does it anyway without complaining >:(

-He knows that he isn’t allowed to come up here and that he should stop these dates before Lucifer finds out

-But being out here with you brings him an irreplaceable meaning and you’re so soft and gentle, he can’t resist cuddling into you

-Also he doesn’t give a shit what Lucifer thinks

(Idk why my writing is so bad in this post, it kinda feels like I forced myself to write it and maybe that’s why..? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my mess of HCs)

Al~