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corviiids · 1 year ago

Note

For the director's cut fanfic thing: ⭐⭐⭐ (these are THREE stars valid for whatever. I'm giving you blank checks)

thank you again <3

blank check 2/3 goes back to as you like it again! but this time i want to talk about my shadow designs for the akechi bossfights we've encountered in the preceding chapters >:3 there are five - the Puppet, the Singer, the Bard, the Dancer, and the Magician.

but this got really ABSURDLY long this time so ill stick to mostly the Puppet, and just do a brief ("brief") overview of the others for now.......

(for context: this is my palace au and akechi's keywords are akechi goro, the world, theatre.)

the Puppet (photos of giant puppets below if that freaks you out!)

the first Wing the thieves encounter is the puppet show, and the boss shadow is a giant marionette:

For one thing, it’s huge—maybe three or four times the size of a human being. It’s also gleaming, carefully polished and buffed, reflecting light more viciously in the areas where it seems the wood might be chipped or worn. The polish throws the lines of joints and pieces into sharp relief, giving the puppet the general impression of something whole that had been cut up and pieced slowly together with hinges and nails. Behind it, mostly concealed by its limp bulk, is a door. As they might have gleaned from the chatter of the audience, the show does not yet seem to have begun. As such, the puppet on stage is limp on its strings. Most disturbingly, it’s draped backward, not forward, snapped unnaturally at the spine and giving it the extremely uncanny look of a corpse on uneven ceiling hooks. They can just make out the side of the thing’s eyes from where they’re standing. Gravity has not been kind to them: the puppet’s eyelids are dropped open, bulging eyes left wide and staring up as far back as the build will let them. They haven’t rolled all the way into the wooden skull, presumably because they can’t. Instead, the unseeing yellow eyes remain fixed on the back corner of the stage. The puppet is entirely still. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Makoto says faintly.

i think the Puppet is my favourite of the five because he's so disturbing. i imagine he looks a bit like the giant marionettes by the french street theatre show royal de luxe:

but i really love these guys, so i think it's uncharitable to say akechi's shadow looks exactly like them. i know giant puppets are always a little freaky but i genuinely love the royal de luxe puppets and i think the workmanship on these does genuinely do a ton of work to dispel that uncanny vibe.

puppet akechi on the other hand is absolutely drenched in uncanny valley, so i guess imagine these puppets but much scarier. the main thing is those places where different pieces of wood are joined, in the joints / on the limbs / etc, because that's very key to puppet akechi's look in my mind, hence "something whole that had been cut up and pieced slowly together with hinges and nails". the Puppet is a marionette, but the way he's been constructed and set up on stage almost calls to mind the imagery of a corpse that's been reconstructed to perform. the way he moves is really unnatural:

Ren is beginning to think they might be able to get past and slip through that door without a fight when the whole creature rears up, back strings going taut, and lashes wildly out at him with a horrible clack of its arms—he leaps back and crashes directly into Haru, who catches and dips him like a princess before twirling him frantically into Ryuji and the puppet gouges a deep gash in the stage floor. As they watch it screeches, howls an unnatural shriek, eyes suddenly wide and bulging larger. They ‘blink’ a few times, eyelids flipping, then the puppet Akechi goes limp on its strings again, though decidedly more upright than before, like whoever’s pulling the strings is now on guard. Its eyes stay open this time, bright gold and piercing.

very much not like something exercising its own agency, but like a body on strings being operated by someone who did not care to practice in the artistry of operating a puppet to make it look like a live thing - the puppet is literally just a tool to be flailed about.

this also shows in the way the puppet sits when it's at rest. guys do you know how god damn hard it is to find normal pictures of puppets? when you google marionette it just comes up with a bunch of fnaf shit. anyway check this guy out

at rest, they usually just kind of dangle innocently, or might slouch forward if given too much slack, right? it was important to me that puppet akechi look very wrong at rest, as if he's not "at rest" so much as he's just been left to hang. hence: "it’s draped backward, not forward, snapped unnaturally at the spine and giving it the extremely uncanny look of a corpse on uneven ceiling hooks." i'm basically imagining meat hooks, like, in a slaughterhouse or something you know? like he's just dangling from those.

that imagery was inspired by persona 5 dancing, actually - akechi's finishing pose in his dance is this:

this is just such an unnatural pose. when i saw it for the first time, i just couldn't get the image out of my head of a string puppet who'd been hung up and left to dangle without any regard for how it might look or feel (lol). not to mention that blank look in his eyes. i think a lot of the Puppet was born from this dance because the dance itself is so dynamic and silly but then the lead-up to the end suddenly gets very jerky and puppet-like. i really like his dance!

the Puppet's battle mechanic is that the applause will continue as long as the Puppet is either acting or getting hurt (kind of like the mettaton fight in undertale actually?). if the applause stops, then the Puppet will be inflicted with Despair - in p5 the Despair effect means you lose SP for each turn and then instantly die on the third turn. makoto ends up healing the Puppet and yusuke mercy-kills it before it can commit suicide:

Fox silently raises his gun. The Thieves collectively flinch as the Puppet dissipates. The applause starts back up. “If we’d left things silent,” Yusuke says, “it would have only happened again.”

because this is the first shadow bossfight the thieves encounter in the Theatre, i needed it to have some broader implications (vs some of the later shadows who have more specific interactions). so obviously the analogue for akechi is that the performance needs to continue and he needs to continue receiving acknowledgement from the public / from shido / etc because if he's not useful and entertaining and noticeable and such, then he's nothing - his life doesn't mean anything. obviously, if he doesnt perform for shido (perform in the sense of working, but also in the sense of showmanship) he'll probably be killed. but also, akechi really externalises his sense of self to an insane degree. the conceit of the palace is essentially that his entire internal world is the show, it's just this shallow performance, the backstage is empty. if he stops existing in the cognition of the masses, he essentially "stops existing".

i think a lot about third semester akechi in royal and how completely he's faded from public awareness. he doesn't care because he's a dead man walking and has locked into nihilism at that point. but if you look at what akechi says in the engine room:

his voice when he says this says a lot to me. akechi's envisioning the world as it will look when he has to return and face the consequences of the world discovering what's behind the curtain and realising his credibility was all a show. to be honest, i think this also plays a role in his decision to sacrifice himself in this scene. i don't think he wanted to die, but i think he did realise that the post-thieves, post-truth world wasn't a place that held anything for him anymore, and his desire to return to that reality was dramatically weakened, so it was an easier decision for him to choose to make that sacrifice than it otherwise might have been.

um, i had a point. okay, so, i was saying that once the applause stops, the Puppet begins to despair. the Puppet also is the most direct representation of akechi as someone who is being used. all the shadow bosses correlate to some aspect of akechi's need to perform and to the varying reasons why they all have that sense of desperation:

“Kinda feels like they’re just defendin’ themselves, you know,” [Ryuji] says. “Or somethin’. Look too much like him. It’s weird they can’t talk, cos it’s like fighting a dumb animal. Don’t they all seem real scared to you?” None of Akechi’s Shadows have delivered grand speeches about conquering the world. Even Futaba’s Shadow had given them a fairly strong indication of what was going on with her, that overwhelming guilt which had given birth to a resolve to lock herself up in her mind and die. Akechi’s Shadows have lashed out, tried to destroy them, sure. But it feels different in a way that’s growing more and more impossible to ignore. Desperate to fend them off, more than anything, like each one is the final bastion standing for a world that could crumble at any moment.

that's why once you figure out how to stop each shadow's "show" from going on, they instantly die:

ripping the Singer's mask off causes him to cease to exist (see below)

silencing the Bard, who relies on the power of his words to manipulate others, removes his power and reveals that he's pretty easy to take down

the Dancer's feet are always bleeding because he can't stop moving. he's hard to catch, but the moment he stops dancing, he's revealed to have extremely low defence and can be taken out very easily

but the Puppet is literally being manipulated by a puppetmaster. because he no longer has any use when the applause stops, he no longer has a reason to exist. i also just thought this would be a fun effect to start on because it's so drastic as an introduction to akc's psyche and really gives the thieves a sense of what they're working with by throwing them directly into the deep end.

ok let's leave the puppet behind for now. im gonna be more brief with the others i promise (maybe)

the Singer

LET'S TALK about. beneath the mask. a song about ren. but it's also a song about goro.

I'm a shape-shifter at Poe's masquerade Hiding both face and mind All free for you to draw

the fic goes over some of my meta about this:

[Yusuke] I have done some research. [Makoto] Oh? [Yusuke] I believe when the Opera Shadow sang of “Poe’s Masquerade”, he was referring to a short story by Edgar Allan Poe, entitled “The Masque of the Red Death”.

eternally grateful for the scene during the pyramid arc where yusuke loredumps about egyptian mythology so i have precedent to do this

yusuke summarises the story in this chapter (chapter 4), but basically: the story is about rich people abandoning the common folk to a plague, until a personification of the plague wearing a red mask enters the castle. when his mask is removed, it's revealed there is nothing underneath. everyone in the castle then succumbs to the plague.

the superficial connections to akechi are pretty obvious - red mask, plague doctor. etc. but this song is really, really telling for both ren and goro. i briefly went over this in my last dvd commentary post about the palace fic, but this relates to my meta around both of them as mask wearers. the line "all free for you to draw" is a big one - ren is "all free for you," the player, "to draw" - he becomes who you need him to be, and because you need to max out your confidants, he becomes (via you) who his friends need him to be.

goro is similar on a different scale because he moulds his personality to what the public expects him to be. he takes it one step further, because it's less utility for him and more foundational - as i said, to an extent the performance is the substance of his personality, which is the core of the distortion. so both ren and goro are wearing the mask, malleable in character, their actual personality being somewhat questionable, but that emptiness is only true for goro. ren's definitely got something underneath it, but goro feels like he doesn't.

brief cw for suicidal ideation, but i also generally take it as a given that goro doesn't really expect to live past 18 after defeating shido. not that he's actively suicidal, but i think literally or figuratively he knows after shido's downfall, his own life will pretty much be over, and that's part of what drives the emptiness. the show really only needs to go on until that point, and after that there's no need to build a real thing underneath to return to. he's very much living for that goal.

anyway: so the Singer starts out singing the Phantom of the Opera - the Shadow is very much modelled after the phantom - but swaps to beneath the mask and begins to connect with ren. the Singer wears a red mask. i really like this mask! i envision it as looking like someone pouring blood over his face and then the blood freezing in place, so it just looks very molten and liquid but fixed over half his face.

ren defeats the Singer by ripping his mask off:

[Ren] Please don’t take off my mask, revealing dark [Ann] OMG!! [Ann] THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED WHEN WE TOOK OFF HIS MASK!! [Ann] HE REVEALED DARK!!!! [Ann] HE DISAPPEARED!!!!!!!!!!

(i love the thieves because i dont have to be subtle about my symbolism i can just make them say it)

anyway, just like the figure in the Masque of the Red Death, ripping off the Singer's mask reveals "dark" underneath - he ceases to exist.

Just a cage of bones There's nothing inside

the Bard and the Dancer

when i was first plotting this fic, i was actually designing the palace not as a written environment but as though it would be a playable place. so a lot of it is informed by me picturing what this palace would be like to play through and explore, building it out as a video game environment in my mind's eye and then trying to describe it from that point. i took the same approach to the bossfights, so they're all designed around central gameplay mechanics which are largely based on status effects and how the player would strategise around them. (to that end, a lot of the design stuff in my doc never made it into the fic...)

the conceit of the bard was a shadow who can manifest abstract concepts into being by manipulating reality with his words. so the status effects he uses are brainwash and sleep, mostly. his monologues are modified versions of shakespeare's works.

part of the reason why i started writing this fic was specifically to challenge myself in aras of writing im not very confident in: so longform planning, progression of plot, environment description, and action scenes being major ones. writing all the boss fights was and continues to be a real challenge. the chapter that the bard shows up in (chapter 5) ended up taking ages and ages in part because i kept putting off writing this fight. now that it's done, though, the bard fight is actually maybe my favourite fight scene i've written lol. it always turns out that way!!! the reason i like it is because i realised the physical action wasn't the fun part of writing a fight like this. since it was focused on status effects, it meant i got to crawl into ren's headspace when he got brainwashed, which i really really enjoyed doing because i got to drag out some trauma that joker has lovingly repressed.

to set my fellows, phantoms in the wings in deadly hate the one against the other�� This isn’t the Casino. This is somewhere else entirely. The Casino, and everything that came with it, that was months ago. How did he forget? The cottonwool that had crept so slowly into his blood dissipates in a mad rush that leaves him dizzy with disbelief. His hands, now that he can feel them again, are trembling. The knife between his fingers, trembling. The cool floor beneath him, the air in his lungs. How close had he come to never feeling that again? Had he really just been feeling safe about that plan? Had he really felt everything was going to be okay? If anything had gone wrong—anything at all—he’d have been gone. He’d have been dead. How had they made it so he felt okay with that? A trick? A ruse? How blasé they’d all been, when it was his life they were gambling with like a worthless set of poker chips! And they’re here—all around him. Safe? He’s never been in more danger. “Joker!” Surrounded. He’s surrounded by the ones who left him for dead.

the Dancer doesn't get as much attention in text because i didn't want to slow down the pacing of the story every few minutes to do another huge scene tgat doesn't really serve a purpose, just like the exploration of the Globe Wing didn't. all that mattered was that he was shown to be adaptable, agile, and resilient - the Dancer needs to be in top condition at all times and ready to dodge any threat. the imagery that came through to me the strongest was the idea that his feet are always bleeding, so he leaves bloodstains all over the floor.

the Magician

this was another scene i adored writing. i think environment-wise, the House of Cards is my favourite Wing in the palace because it's the most unique structure. it's not a styled theatre like the others, it's more on-theme to the Magician, like he's set up his own performance environment. so it's just a huge house of cards made of crumbling playing cards which is really difficult to navigate and which joker kind of blends into.

the premise for the Magician was someone who needs to perform miracles and present impossible illusions as reality with a flair for drama. the Magician fools the Thieves over and over and over again, because they are good-hearted people who want to save him.

did you ever see that unused mementos request in royal where akechi tells the thieves about a target to save someone, and doesn't tell them that the someone in question is dodgy themself, and watches to see how quickly the Thieves immediately trust them?

i don't think i based this fight off this request because im pretty sure i had it planned out before i ever saw this, but i was really pleased to see it because it's very much the same idea. even in the engine room, akechi calls the thieves idiots for inviting him back into the team. of course, this isn't a good or healthy worldview lol and it's something he has to unlearn because he literally trusts no one and that's not an extreme anyone should be endorsing, but he also has a point in that the thieves are willing to throw their faith into things way too easily and don't look critically at people or situations. so the magician fools them, victimises them, tricks them into considering him a victim, fools them again, traumatises them, but they all continue to feel empathy for him and try to save him when he's in trouble. akc's cynicism vs the thieves' faith is a big theme of this one i think and the question is like, when to doubt vs when to trust even when you have evidence to the opposition. i think the right position is somewhere between thesis and antithesis (which iirc is not actually the wording hegel used when describing dialectics? lol... i might be wrong. i never studied hegel so my knowledge is pretty superficial. but i think this was a translation thing anyway because allegedly goro doesnt refer directly to hegel in jp? someone can confirm or deny idk)

anyway those are the bossfights we've had so far!!! just the VIP Box to go now......................... :3

#this writeup took like 3 days of returning periodically to yammer #it's a real relief to actually have these written somewhere #again me writing these is really more for me than anything else i just like being able to keep track of and publish them Somewhere i can #refer to them instead of just like... trapped in my skull... or a google doc that lags to hell every time i try to open it #rookfic #rookthots #p5 #asks #i had so much fun designing the wings and shadows #impossible dreams of akc's palace being theoretically playable made me really zero in on like #how to make all of these story features work mechanically #what each fight would look like #i even started composing a palace theme (+ a variant for different areas) which i think ive posted portions of on twitter #the main theme isnt finished. the variant is. i have no formal musical training #just one stupid little bird doing his best. wading thru the fixation puddle #i dont think those snippets are on tumblr right now though. remind me #anyway #AYLI

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lordsardine · 28 days ago

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#girl i am having so much fun on twitter right now #'truly heart warming. the worst people you know are fighting'#also. just finished all edits post critique group >:^))#so ready to dive into writing a new chapter starting this weekend #miscellaneous

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junkbotbionicle · 1 year ago

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Now, if I felt like making a funny comic about a good guy trying to convert an unspeakable evil, failing, and resigning himself to just murder him? I might actually make the bad guy Adolf Hitler - a near-universal shorthand for evil - and just for fun, make the good guy Steven Universe

#sorry #I saw a callout post ages ago that was like #"stop making I Think We Have To Kill This Guy Steven memes #“because the original featured Literally Hitler”#and that bothered me at the time but I'm trying not to start fights with people so I never said anything #but Haus of Decline is getting dragged on twitter now for making fun of anti-woke marketing by twitter users #and it's twisting my testes a little. also reminded me of this

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yunzyoi · 2 months ago

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𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 (s.jy)

[NSFW] Can't Help Myself - jake x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ [ 제이크] You and your boyfriend are very close and both have a very healthy relationship. He's very attentive despite having a busy schedule as an Idol. You always tell each other everything like open books in front of each other. But you keep one secret from him.

٠࣪⭑ cw/tags: smut, dom!jake who likes to tease and sub, needy, desperate f!reader. established relationship. stright up porn, face riding, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, soft overstimulation, p in v, multiple orgasms, a little humilation? pussy eating, teasing, squirting, fluff, aftercare, mdni, don't read if uncomfortable.

٠࣪⭑cw: 5.5k

where your boyfriend finds out you've been reading unholy things about him! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

୨ৎ

If there was something you loved to do was to scroll on Twitter to see what your boyfriend was doing. It wasn't in a controling way, more in a teasing way. You loved saving certain tweets just to tease him or make fun of him later. Today wasn't the exception. Jake was out with the members, bowling or something, he mentioned in the morning.

You opened the Twitter app as you laid in your bed, having your own fan account and all, with lots of followers and mutuals that would never imagine who's sleeping by your side every single night. You scrolled, interacting with some posts from now and then but nothing really getting your attention. Your stomach flips when you see it: a little ad. an app. an app you knew very well. Tumblr. It brought the memories back immediately and made you bite your lips, nervously, indecisive.

The Twitter app almost closed by itself because of how fast your fingers moved across your screen to find it. There it was, the app that held all your fantasies for years. You closed your eyes. Not only because the thought of it was incredibly embarrassing but because you've had it for a while now, behind Jake's back.

You installed again about a month ago, with a solid, healthy purpose. But oh, when you logged back into your old account and all those fantasies recieved you, you couldn't help it. You read through it, Jake was out that day. Your cheeks burned when you saw all the new filthy things your boyfriend's fans were writting, some accurate, some total delusion, and some a little tempting. But the thing is, you kept doing it, coming back to that app whenever you found yourself alone, sometimes out of boredoom, sometimes just to chill but always ending in the same situation: getting yourself off to fantasies of your own boyfriend.

You scrolled.

Carefully, calculating, keeping it together, for now.

A title catched your attention That Damn Nose. Your stomach did the thing, that delicious little feeling, making you squeeze your thighs togethet. God, you were so embarrassed. But you couldn't help it, you clicked on it, hands a little shaky, and you start reading. You knew you shouldn't be doing it. It was stupid, and you knew you didn't need all this fantasy when the man was literally yours. But your fingers almost moved by themselves.

It happened the same way a month ago, like your hands were possessed. And it kept happened, multiple times after that, just like today. Something would remind you the app was there, that your little fantasies were in that cute little box. All with your boyfriend's name on them. You bite your lip, you miss him.

You keep going, you can feel your own body heating up at the thought of your own boyfriend doing what he was doing in that fanfiction. You whined, softly, almost inaudible, like a prayer, followed by a gasp. You laid back, arching your back a little, your eyes glued to your screen. Shivering, shaking, whining softly. The mere thought of Jake touching you right now burned you from inside out. You squeezed your thighs, fighting it, thinking you could just wait til he was back to seduce him and make him fuck you good without telling him the reason you were so desperate.

But you were way more desperate than you thought. Jake knew this about you, you were so damn sensitive and needy for him. God, you wanted him to be here right now, why was he out with the members anyway. You read a little more, oh the writting was so good and so fucking accurate. That little fan was describing Jake so well, rough but soft, hungry, wild. He was just like that, with you, because he was yours. And it makes you blush even more, the fact that you've been doing this behind his back, for no reason, when he's out, when you miss him, when you need him. Knowing you could just call him, knowing his voice would get you off in seconds.

"God." You whine softly and your hand slides down to your tits, nipples perking, small and soft. "God, Jake—"

You try, you really do try to ground yourself. You could wait, you could just sit there and wait for your man to be back. He'd give it to you with no hesitation. But you're a needy little thing. You can't wait, you can't help yourself. Your hand slides down, before you know it, sliding under the waistband of your shorts and you hiss at the wetness. You're soaked and so are your panties.

So easy, so sensitive, so needy and desperate. No, you can't wait for him, you never can. You need it now. You're halfway the fanfiction, in the middle of the scene where Jake is eating the reader out like a fucking animal, just like you know he would in real life. You arch your back at the tought of it and finally pull your panties to the side, caressing your clit. You moan, loud, no one will hear you.

"Oh, God." You moan again caressing the little bud. You were so wet, so sticky, so perfectly ready for him. You wanted to call him and rush him home, a part of you wanted to wait for him but the needy whore in you just wanted to cum. Your fingers slide down your folds, easily, with a little obscene sound that only turns you on more. Your lashes flicked, wanting to read a bit more. The mere mention of his nose made your stomach flip deliciously again and you shove your fingers in, moaning loud.

Warm, so warm and wet, and thight for him.

"Oh Jake! Yes, yes, yes." You whisper, so fucking lost in the feeling.

You push another finger in, deeper, curling both of them, hitting that sweet spot Jake likes to hit when he's the one using his fingers on you. And again, the memory makes you arch your back, gasping, chocking on a moan. You can't read anymore, your hand is moving desperately, dumbly chasing for that high. Your fingers move fast, deep, desperate, moaning, gasping, dropping your phone and fisting the bedsheets. His name escapes your lips again, and again, and again.

So good, so damn good, not him, but still so good.

"Jake, baby— I miss you." You say desperately, like he could hear you. "Oh, please." You beg, like you always do for him. Imagining his reaction, knowing he goes feral when you beg him to make you cum, when you beg him to move, to go faster, to go deeper. It hits you like a fucking tidal wave. The orgasm. Making your legs shake, cursing through it.

"Oh, fuck!" You say, shaking. You remove your hand from your shorts, fingers wet in your cum and your forearm cramping. "Lord..." You whisper to yourself, staring at the cieling, blushing. "Dumb." You murmur in a whisper, spent, squeezing your legs like your pussy haven’t had enough of it.

Your body tenses when you hear the door open. You have no time to react before Jake is walking in. You quickly hide your phone under your pillow but he sees you, he's fast, he doesn't let anything slide, not with you.

"Hey baby," he says, casual, sweet, lovely, but he can sense something is wrong. He raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just reading." You try to sound calm, but you know he can hear the little roughness in your throat from moaning his name just monutes ago.

"Yeah?" He hums walking towards the bed. "What were you reading, mmh?" He sits at the edge of the bed looking down at you. You stare back, taking in his pretty features, those brown eyes that are slowly darkening, and those round pink lips, and that damn nose. "I'm talking to you, baby"

You snap out, a knot in your throat. He places his hand on your thigh. Oh, fuck. You shiver, not usual, not if you're in your normal state. He smirks. Oh, he knows, he might not know what you were reading but he for sure knows what you were doing. He knows you too well for your own good.

"Missed me, baby?" He asks, cocky, smirking like he owns you. And he does.

You nod, why would you lie. You know lying to him about this is useless when he can see the way you squeeze your thighs together, how your hips rolled up slightly when his hand moved higher, and that damn blush in your cheeks.

"Oh, my love, doing it all by yourself?" He says, fake pitty. His hand moves a little higher, you gasp and he smirks wider, the corner of his lips curling up in that attractive way that drives you insane.

"Did you cum?" He asks bluntly and you nod. He tsked, disapproval. You know he doesn't like it when you touch yourself all alone. "Without me, baby?"

"I'm sorry" You say softly, feeling small. You knew him, he wasn't gonna let this slide. "I couldn't help it"

"Oh yeah?" His thumb draws circles on your thigh. "You must've been so desperate, baby, so wet, mmh? Like always, so wet for me." And you nod, shamelessly. He had this weird control over you. You couldn't lie to him at all. "What got you so wet, baby?" He asked biting his lip. "What could possible turn my girl in such a little mess when I'm not even home?"

He reaches for your phone under the pillow, almost not giving you time to react but you grab his hand. "Jake" You warn. "Hands off." He warns harder, making you weak, but you keep holding his hand back. "Jake I—"

"I said hands off, didn't I? Mmh?" God he was so strong without getting physically involved.

"Baby, don't, please." You beg, but his eyes are hard on you.

"I'm not gonna ask twice." His voice isn't hard though, it's soft, way too soft and still having a heavy pull on you. You hands weaken a little and his finally reaches your phone, briging it up to his face. Your face burned, God, he was reading it, all the filthy things you had in there. He sticked out his tongue, biting it against his lower lip whike the corners of his lips curled up. Fuck, the view only made your body heat up again.

He hummed, the sound going straight to your pussy, pulsating, making you squeeze your thighs. "Oh baby, you know you could call me when you miss me and I can make you feel good." He chuckles. "Why this instead?"

"I—I couldn't help it." You say softly.

"Just like always." He finishes. "You couldn't help it, you had to get off while reading horny fanfictions about me, huh" He teased, God, you wanted to smack him. "How wet?"

"Huh?"

"How wet are you. I know you're probably soaked, you always are for me." And he was so right. "Let me see" He doesn't let you do anything, his hand is already sliding in your shorts, making you gasp instantly. Silence, like he's in shock, but he isn't really, he's just extremely turned on now. "Jesus. You're fucking dripping." You hiss, because he presses his finger on your entrace through the fabric of your panties.

"Lord, baby, do you want me to eat you out that bad?"

You whine at his words, unable to hold back anymore when his hand is shoved in your shorts and that cocky smirk is on his face. "I asked you a question" His finger presses harder and you arch your back but he uses his free hand to hold your hips down.

"Baby I was just— I'm sorry, I missed you, yes, I—"

"Couldn't help it." He finishes your sentence. "Like the little filthy thing you are for me. Always so wet, not able to walk around me without getting every pair of panties that you own soaked."

You moan. You moan because he was right. You were a mess around him, couldn't control it, he had that effect on you. One look, one slight touch, and your pussy was already soaking your underwear. He knew you, he knew how sensitive and desperate you were and how easy it was to turn you on.

"You still want more." He whispers. "It isn't enough, huh" He leans. Fuck his scent, that damn expensive perfume he recently bought. He notices how he affects you and chuckles mockingly. "You're so pretty when you're this sensitive." He licks his lips, biting them. "I bet you want me to move my fingers" He says it with a mocking tone, teasing you but he doesn't move them. "Oh I bet you want me to shove them inside your precious pussy, mmh? I bet you want them deep, soaked in your own juices"

Your stomach flips at his dirty talk, you loved when he talked dirty. You arch your back again trying to move your hips against his fingers but he doesn't let you. "But do you even deserve that? Do you think you deserve that treatment from your boyfriend when you were jerking off to fanfictions of him?" He drags the words, really driving you insane, you little composure runing out. "I guess you could just read those and get off..."

You hold onto his shoulders gasping softling, almost sobbing. "Jake, baby, don't do this" You beg him like it's the end of the world the fact that he's deciding whether touching you or not. "I just missed you, baby, please, please...I won't do it ever again"

Jake stays silence, fuck he loved to see how down bad youwere for him. There's fire in his eyes. "How desperate" He says, chuckling and leaning lower, his nose nuzzling your cheek. "So cute when you beg"

"Jake—"

"Shhh" He nuzzles your jaw, his hand still in your shorts, not moving, torturing you. "Tell me, out of all those fantasies you got in that app, which one you want me to do the most right now"

Jesus, his question got you literally shaking. He noticed and pressed a kiss to your jaw. "Easy, I'm not doing anything yet"

"Baby— Go down, please" You say, tripping at your words, agitated, needy, digging your nails in his shoulders.

"I do that almost all the time, princess" He says smirking, chuckling.

"Please, Jake, I need it" You beg softly, still feeling his hand in your shorts but not moving it.

"God, you have a thing for it, don't you?" He buries his face in your neck, pressing kisses on your neck, not soft, wet. His tongue draging around that portion of your skin, making you whine. "You love having my face in between your legs, mmh? You love it when my nose and tongue do all the job"

"Jake, please." You beg again. "Please." So soft, so sweet, melting him.

"Fuck, asking so nicely, my love." He says and kisses your chest. "So good for me, mmh?"

You arch your back again. If his dirty talk wasn't enough to turn you on, there was his gentle dirty talk. When he said filthy things in your ear in the most lovely tone, gentle and sweet like he was talking about love. That drove you insane every single time.

Jake moves quick after that, pulling out his hand, his fingers tugging on your shorts and panties, taking them both off in one go. He looked down at how you squeezed your legs.

"Oh look at you" He says, laughing softly. "So fucking desperate"

"Jake—" You're about to beg when he forces your legs open with his hands. Pussy exposed, glistening with your recent orgasm, almost dripping into the bedsheets.

"Jesus" He whispers. His mouth waters, his eyes sparkling. His favorite treat on earth, all messy for him. Right in front of him. "Fuck, baby— Oh God"

If there was something that made Jake weak was your pussy. Jake ate you out like a god. He ate your pussy like it was oxygen for him, like he needed to survive, like an animal, starving, wild, desperate. Just like you had a thing for his nose, he had a thing for your pussy. Perfect match, some would say.

He leans, immediately smelling your arousal, it killed him in the best way. His tongue darts out, hanging, making your legs shake in anticipation. He presses a kiss on your clit, his hair teasing and tickling your thighs. He hums, sending vibrations through your body. You whine softly, his tongue sliding up and down your wet folds. His lips wrap around your clit, already swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm and you let out a sharp moan. Your hand reaching out, your fingers wrapping in his hair.

Jake moans against your pussy, satisfied, like he was the one receiving. He loved eating your pussy. There was not a single time he would refuse. Ever. You arch your back whispering his name breathless when you feel his tongue in your entrace. His tongue goes in. Warm, deep, while his sharp nose presses on your clit. It drives you insane, making you pull on his hair. He groans at the pain that only adds to the preassure building up in his pants.

"I could do this forever" He murmurs, you can barely hear it but you know that's what he said. "Fuck, come here"

Jake pulls back, you can see his hardness in his pants, his cock straining, begging to be freed. But his attention is all on your pussy right now. He pulls you up by your wrist and lays down. You immediately get the hint and crawl on him. He looked so good beneath you. Your heart pounding has you carefully lower yourself. He's too impatient. His tongue darts out, waiting, while his hands go to your hips and his fingers dig in your flesh with such a force that both of you are sure it will leave bruises.

He can't wait, like a starved dog. He pulls you down on him, making you fully sit, putting all your weight on his face. You moan, feeling his nose rub on your swollen clit.

"Oh, Jake—" You moan sharply unable to control the movement of your hips. You start rolling them on his face, grinding, feeling his wet tongue fucking your hole and his nose sliding in between your folds.

You loved riding his face. Something so attractive and sinful in the way he looked up at you while he was laying down. He had a fire in his dark eyes like he wanted to devour you whole. Your hips shift, like a jolt of electricity was cursing through your body. Oh you're so close to mess up that pretty face of his and he knows it because he doubles up his efforts.

His hands hold you down, pressing you against his face and helping you rub. Your moans become sharper, talking a little nonsense, you're at the verge of your orgasm and you forget that what your riding is his face. Your hips move at a desperate rate on his face, not gentle, rough on him, chasing it, until you do and it's the best feeling you both have felt. Your body almost collapses but he rolls you over, staying between your legs and laps up all your cum, licking you clean.

"Fuck, baby, you taste like fucking heaven." He murmurs breathy and presses his face on your pussy. Not moving or doing anything, just resting his face against it like your pussy is his comfort place. You caress his hair a little. He loved that. "You did so good" He says softly and your body shivers at the praise.

He looks up and quickly crawls up your body, hands on each side of your face. He smirks, his chin covered in cum and he kisses you. Deep kiss, charged with feral, primal need. His teeth tease your lips, his tongue darts out licking yours, making you taste yourself and then his lips move to your neck.

"What else?" He asks, his voice rough. "What else have you been reading. Tell me"

You struggle to speak, still shaking from your orgasm. You're embarrassed and he notices. He pulls back, grabbing your chin. "Tell me"

Oh that tone again, so gentke but clearly, so demanding. His hand slides down. "You're such a messy thing" He says grabbing your pussy, cuping it, full hand. And you moan, still sensitive. "God, you really were masturbating to all that? Since when, mmh? For how long?"

"Jake—"

"I'm not mad, baby. I just wanna know for how long has my girlfriend been jerking off to me" He says mockingly.

"A month"

His body tenses, he is mad. The problem wasn't really you reading. More like the fact that you never even once told him you wanted him to do something. What made him mad is how you waited 'till he was gone and ended up like that.

"Why?" Before you could talk he continues. "Couldn't help it? You have no self-control when it comes to me? Not even a little comon sense? You're just a whore for me? Just like that?" His fingers slide between your folders, it's a little torturing, you're beyond sensitive. "I love and hate that thought"

His fingers slide in, easy, you were so wet from your orgasm mixed with new arousal. The way he called you a whore only made you wanna get destroyed by him right there.

"God, the thought of you needing me so bad that you just had to touch yourself..." He says it like it's a fantasy of his. "But why the hell are you doing that, mmh? Never though of telling me?" His fingers move harder. He was mad yet turned on by the thought. You don't even try to understand, that's just how he is. Besides, you're just shaking and whining beneath him.

"You're a fucking mess, you could've told me" He says as he buries his face in your neck while his fingers move roughly. "You know I'd come home and fuck you all night if you asked me to" His fingers just move faster when he hears you moaning loudly. "Fuck" He whispers kissing your neck feeling his hand getting wetter.

You're so stimulated that you can barely think properly. "What a mess" He whispers. "Fuck I swear to God..." His voice sounds rougher, with anger. "I'm gonna fuck you till you forget your own fucking name, you hear me? He asks with a smirk. "I'm gonna fucking ruin you tonight"

That's all you needed for you to explode. You hold onto him, scratching his back through his clothes. Your pussy explodes, squirting all over him, yourself, and the bed. You cry out a moan, teary eyes, unable to stop and he covers your mouth, not to shut you up but to demonstrate how much power he had over you. Then he presses a kiss on your forhead.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good, baby" He whispers pulling back, Hands to his pants. You pant, he's not letting you catch your breath. His pants are off in seconds followed by his shirt. The view of his bare body in front of you made your pussy throb again, hips rolling up unconsciously. "Fuck, you're such a whore" He whispers and you love it.

"Oh, Jake" You moan and he chuckles.

"You love that, don't you? When I call you a whore" He leans down, his naked body pressing against yours. "Isn't that what you are, darling? A little whore who can't help it but get wet at the mere existence of her boyfriend"

You moan at his words and he bites his lips, hand back in your pussy. You shake, you don't think you can handle it again if he doesn't even let you recover first. "Say it" He whispers, thight circles on your sensitive clit. "Say you're just a fucking whore"

You cry out, moaning, mumbling, his fingers press harder. And you nod dumbly. "Yes, yes, baby, I am" You moan. "I'm a whore for you, baby, yes, yes"

Jake nearly cums at your words and leans to kiss your cheek, it's a tender kiss compared to the way he's treating you right now. "Want me to fuck you, darling? You sound so desperate, of course you do. You can't wait"

You moan when he opens your legs settling between them and his hard cock slides up your folds. You moan again, this time scrating his back. Jake hisses in pain and it just adds to the pleasure. He buries his face in your chest, grabbing one of your breats in his big hand and taking the other one in his mouth. You arch off the bed as he starts rocking his hips, getting his length soaked in your slick.

"Fuck, you're so wet" He murmurs nibbling on your nipple and leaving dark marks around it.

"Jake, Oh my God" You moan, feeling desperate to have him inside. "Jake, baby"

"What?" He says roughly but instinctively kisses your neck softly again, like he can't allow himself to be that harsh with you. "Can't wait? Want me to shove it in already?

"Please"

That shaky, teary plea is all it takes for him to take his cock in his hand and shove it inside you in one go, almost leaving you with no air in your lungs. He gasps too, your warmness wrapping around him in such a prefect way. He buries his face in your neck as he starts thrusting, deep and slow at first. His movements making you scream immediately scratching his arms.

"Oh, fuck" You whine, unable to form coherent words at the moment and he smirks against your skin.

"You like that?" He aks and purposely starts thrusting harder, his hips smacking against yours now and all you can hear in the room is the sound of skin crashing against skin and littke cries mixed with gasps.

He doesn't really let you talk, he's going hard, still a little mad. Jake doesn't usually goes so hard on you, but God he can feel his blood boiling whenever he remembers you just choose not to tell him whenever you were needy. He'll show you how good he can make you feel. "After tonight, you better fucking delete that app"

You feel like he's breaking your body from the way he's fucking you. His hips slam against yours, relentless, and you just hold onto him, letting him absolutely deatroy you. Because it doesn't really matter how hard he was going, you liked it, you know you'd let this man destroy you all night if he decides so. You hold onto his arms feeling your orgasm fluttering closer, making you moan louder, his name joining the mix of noises that fill the room and with one last thrust your body shakes beneath his, orgasm hitting like a tidal wave.

"Ahgh fuck" You manage to say before Jake pulls back. He doesn't pull out, he kisses you deeply. Feral, wild, his teeth taking your lower lip in between them, making you whine. Then he pulls back completely, sitting down and grabbing your hips, lifting them off the bed. "Jake!" You scream when he starts thrusting again. The angle only making it easier for his cock to go deeper. "Jake—"

"You can do it" He groans, his hair stuck on his sweaty forehead. "You're gonna take it" His fingers dig in your hips painfully while he thrust into you.

Your body rocks back and forth at the rythm he ser while your tits jiggle. Jake's eyes focus on them, his heart rate increasing at the view and his hands aching to grip them. And he does, his hands gripping your tits hard while he keeps fucking into you like an animal. You scream scratching his arms. "Jake, baby I ca—"

"You can" He whispers, breathless. "You're gonna take it like the fucking whore you are for me"

And there you go, cumming again at his simple words. Squirting on his cock, making a mess of his lower body. His hands lands on your neck, you moan. He never does that, he doesn't like it, but he knows you do. Your eyes roll back into your head as you try to get yourself together. His hips twitch, he isn't done. You moan, knowing he can least long as hell. It excites you and scares you at the same time. He leans down for another wild kiss before pulling out and turning you around effortlessly. Face down, ass up.

He looks down. Your pussy looks like a mess and it makes him wanna bury his face in it but he holds back on that and shoves his cock back in. His hands on your hips while his start moving again. You moan against the bed, so fucking wrecked that you feel like you'll lose your mind at any second.

"Fuck, you're a mess, God, I kove it" he says lost in the feeling of the orgasm that's about to hit him. He holds back, just wanting to wreck you a little more. His hips move relentlessly, and he leans forward, hand in your lower back, pressing you down on the bed. He groans at the noise your pussy makes with every thrust he gives.

"Fuck, Jake I can't—" Your legs shake again, you're over the edge, way too ovestimulated. "Baby, please! Please" You beg, only pushing him closer to his orgasm. He leans forward, his chest pressed against your back.

"Fuck, baby, I love when you beg, you sound so fucking wrecked" He murmurs, his voice weak, he's about to cum. "Cum again, darling, I know you can do it" He says against your ear. "One more for me, princess"

Oh the way he suddenly started talking gentler, he's definetly back to himself. He can't keep up that dominant attitude forever, not when he's a softie for you. You cum, at the way he keeps whispering you to do it in that needy tone. He's waiting for you do it so he can let go. You moan softly against the bed, he grips your hips thighter when you cum, feeling how you shake. Tears roll down into the bedding from the intensity. And finally, he gives in, cumming inside you. You feel his cock twitching inside, thick cum filling you up for way too long.

Jake falls down next to you, eyes still trying to focus because he can't see anything at all. You sob against the bed, no energy to even turn around. You're wrecked, shaky, overstimulated and your body can't really take anything more. Jake's heart drops when he hears you sob, and he immediately pulls you closer. You sob against his chest, not that you didn't enjoy, but you enjoyed way too much. He kisses the top of your head.

"Shhh, you did so good, baby" He whispers reassuringly. "It's okay, I'm here, I've got you" He hugs you thighter and smiles when you start calming down. "That's it, that's my girl"

You whine softly against his chest and try to move closer searching for that comfort that he always provides you. Jake caresses your back, drawing soft circles in it and pulls back a little.

"You okay?" He asks and smiles at your little nod. "That's my girl" He whispers.

"I'm sorry for not...telling you" You whisper softly and he just shakes his head.

"Shh, just get rid of it" He whispers comforting you. "I'm not mad at you, baby, I just love you so much and I hate that you didn't even tell me whenever you needed me"

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I didn't aither"

୨ৎ

Jake is humming a song while caressing your stomach. You're lying on your back, with your phone in your hand right after unstalling the app. He kisses your shoulder softly, looking at your screen while you do other stuff on your phone. He nuzzles your shoulder and you smile knowing he's for sure back to being sweet and lovely and unable to hold back his love for you and his need to be touching you even in a non-sexual way.

"Baby" He says softly but serious. You hum indicating him to continue. "I'm serious, tell me when you feel needy, I'm here for you, I will never deny you anything. Even if I'm out, I'll fucking run back home if you need me to"

You chuckle. "I guess I didn't wanna disturb you when you were out with the boys"

Jake groans. "Baby I'll go to the end of the world and back for you, stop messing with me."

You feel like your heart is going to explode at his words and you just turn around and kiss him softly. His lips quickly following your rythm. A slow loving rythm as his body settles back on top of you and you let him. Because even if you're tired, you'd do anything for him, you'd let him ruin you over and over again. He places gentle kisses on your neck and whispers, leaving a fuzzy sensation within you. "One more?" And you nod against his neck making him giggle. "You got it, love"

#jake smut #sim jake smut #sim jake x reader #jake x reader #jake hard hours #jake hard thoughts #enhypen jake #jake sim #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours

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demilypyro · 2 years ago

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So I've seen a few too many people on twitter talking about The Kiss Scene from the new Scott Pilgrim anime. People saying it's fetishistic and indulgent, people calling it male gazey, etc. And while the kiss itself is certainly a bit exaggerated, I felt like writing a bit about why I disagree, and why context is important, like it always is. But it basically turned into an extended analysis on the metatextual treatment of Roxie Richter. So bear with me. It's a long post.

What really matters about this scene is not the kiss itself, but what precedes it. Not even just the fight scene just before it, but what precedes the whole anime series, really. And that's the Scott Pilgrim comic book, and the live action movie. Because in both, Roxie is a punchline.

She's a joke. Her character starts and ends with "one of the exes is actually a girl, I bet you didn't expect that." Jokes are made about Ramona's latent bisexuality, the movie especially treating it as funny and absurd, and her validity as a romantic interest is entirely written off by Ramona as being "just a phase." There's a fight scene, she's defeated by a man giving her an orgasm which implicitly calls her sexuality into question (come on), and the movie just moves on. It sucks. It really, really sucks.

The comic fares a little better. It never veers into outright homophobia like the movie does, and while the line about Ramona having gone through a phase remains, Roxie actually gets one over on Scott when Ramona briefly gets back with Roxie. But Roxie is still only barely a character. Like all the other evil exes, she's just a stepping stone towards the male protagonist's development. She barely even gets any screentime before she's defeated by Scott's "power of love." But Roxie stands out, since she's the only villain who is queer, or at least had been confirmed queer at that point (hi Todd). In a series that champions multiple gay men in the supporting cast, the single undeniable lesbian in the story is a villain. She's labeled as evil, made fun of, pushed aside in favor of the men, and then discarded. Her screentime was never about her, or her feelings for Ramona. It was about the straight, male protagonist needing to overcome her. And that was Roxie Richter. An unfortunate victim of the 2010s.

Fast forward to current year, and the new anime series is announced. Everybody sits down to watch the new series expecting another retelling of the same story, and.... hang on, that straight male protagonist I mentioned just died in the first episode. And now it's humanizing the villains from the original story. And there's Roxie, introduced alongside the other evil exes in the second episode, and she's being played entirely straight, without a punchline in sight. No jokes are made about her gender, no questions are made of her validity as one of Ramona's romantic interests. The narrative considers her important. In one episode, she already gets more respect than she did in either of the previous iterations of Scott Pilgrim. And this isn't even her focus episode yet... which happens to be the very next one.

The anime series goes to great lengths to flesh out the original story's villains and to have Ramona reconcile with them. And I don't think it's a coincidence that Roxie gets to go first. While Matthew Patel gets his development in episode 2, Roxie is the first to directly confront Ramona, now our main protagonist. This is notable too because it's the only time the exes are encountered out of order. Roxie is supposed to be number 4, but she's first in line, and later on you realize that she's the only one who's out of sequence. She's the one who sets the precedent for the villains being redeemed. She's the most important character for Ramona to reconcile with.

What follows is probably the most extensive, elaborate 1 on 1 fight scene in the whole show. Roxie fights like a wounded animal, her motions are desperate and pained. Ramona can only barely fight back against her onslaught. Different set-pieces fly by at breakneck speed as Roxie relentlessly lays her feelings at Ramona's feet through her attacks and her distraught shouts. And unlike the comic or the movie, Ramona acknowledges them, and sincerely apologizes. And the two end up just laying there, exhausted, reminiscing about when they were together.

Only after this, after all of this, does the kiss scene happen. Roxie has been vindicated, she has reconciled with the person who hurt her, the narrative has deemed that her anger is justified and has redeemed her character. And she gets her victory lap by making the nearest other hot girl question her heterosexuality, sharing a sloppy kiss with her as the music triumphantly crescendos.

It's... a little self-congratulatory, honestly. But it's good. It's redemption for a character who had been mistreated for over a decade. And she punctuates the moment by being very, very gay where everyone can see it, no men anywhere in sight. Because this is her moment. And then she leaves the plot, on her own accord this time, while humming the hampster dance. What a legend. How could anything be wrong with this.

#scott pilgrim #spto #scott pilgrim takes off #roxie richter #roxanne richter #scott pilgrim spoilers #spto spoilers

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ham1lton · 3 months ago

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I’LL BE THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS (MAYBE??)

pairings: oscar piastri x stan account!reader

warnings: none?

faceclaim: pam hughes / pamalaaam on ig.

summary: it is a truth universally acknowledged that a fast driver must be in want of a girlfriend—oscar piastri just didn’t expect his to be a twitter menace.

author’s note: jam is just a nickname that yn goes by online, which is good for security on the internet. stay safe kids !

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend and 20,838 others.

yourusername: girl date w/ bffname. jam, books and the winter air. what could be better?

view all comments

user1: WAHT?!

— user2: omg she wasn’t joking she’s actually that gorgeous.

user3: sorry you’re so pretty i’m taken aback. i assume that all ppl who argue online r hideous trolls but you’re clearly not. sorry. i apologise.

user4: did u buy your namesake?

— yourusername: ofc!! spent my paycheck on new ones. i’m the proud mama of two strawberry jams 😽

user5: LANDO LIKED YOUR POST

user6: literally drop the skincare routine rn or i’m calling the authorities.

– yoursername: genetics + water + spite <3

user7: girl what books did u get i need the haul

– yoursername: east of eden, the glass castle and some other classics!! i’ll post a proper vid later if you’d like <3

user8: lando liked… HE’S WATCHING.

– user9: he’s been watching. oscar is shaking.

user10: okay but imagine arguing with someone online and then finding out they look like this. i’d delete my account.

– user11: user3 already went through all five stages of grief in these comments.

user12: winter air is nice and all but i feel like oscar should be here warming you up just saying!!

friend: girl date and no invite?! feeling betrayed rn …. 😓

— yourusername: ur in australia but i apologise. we should have walked through land and sea. next time i see u i owe u a matcha for the trauma babe 😞

— friend: a decent apology. i accept it 😽

user13: she fights, she reads, she stuns… what CAN’T she do?

– yoursername: parallel park.

user14: not me zooming in to confirm this isn’t an ai-generated model.

– yoursername: sorry to disappoint, i’m very real and very chronically online.

user15: OSCAR GIRLIES R HOT WBK <3

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

from: mclaren racing [email protected]

to: jam [email protected]

subject: you’re invited – race weekend with mclaren

hi jam,

we hope you’re well. we’ve been following your incredible f1 content and couldn’t help but notice your… passionate defence of a certain quiet australian. it’s safe to say the team (and the driver in question) are fans.

we’d love to invite you to join us for the upcoming grand prix weekend as our guest. paddock access, behind-the-scenes moments, and yes – proper tea and snacks included.

let us know if you’re available and we’ll sort everything on our end, including travel and accommodation. we think you’ll have a lot of fun.

looking forward to hearing from you.

cheers,

the mclaren team.

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 45,838 others.

yourusername: hotties make some noise! (all u haters that say matcha tastes like grass r BABIES!!!)

view all comments

user1: i would recognise my goat’s hand anywhere… by touch alone, by smell; i would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. i would know him in death, at the end of the world.

— user1: my boo bear. my king. my reason. my oscar.

— user2: lando get off ur burner.

— user3: ICB LMFOAJDHEISJDN ?!38393&:

user4: jam ily. u taste good in matcha too. multi-use queen <3

*liked by yourusername.*

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous girl 🤍 lovely meeting u!!!

— yourusername: says the most gorgeous girl in recorded human history. omg blushing rn 😝

user5: u could say cement tastes good and i’d try it.

user6: jam you’re so fine it’s honestly starting to feel like a personal attack

user7: OSCAR DATING AN F1 OBSESSED GIRL YASSSSS

— user8: me and jam as the mclaren wags. i can see it now.

user9: the middle pic is giving “soft launch” and i’m spiraling

— yourusername: it’s giving “he paid for the matcha so i had to post him”

user10: is ur name really jam?

— yourusername: not legally or professionally or personally but yea :)

user11: the way jam is so unhinged on twt but is the sweetest ever on ig needs to be studied….

— user12: like on twt when she threatened to pull up on that guy who was saying awful things about oscar and he deactivated all his socials??? vs on ig where she goes to farmers’ markets like a granny 😭

user20: if oscar doesn’t soft launch you back i’m rioting

— yourusername: pls i’d settle for him texting back within 3-5 business days

— user21: NOT OSCAR FUMBLING BAD BITCHES NOOOO

— user22: @/oscar GET UPPPPPP!!!!!

— user23: WTFFFFFFFFF STOP THIS MADNESS @/oscar

— user24: if i had a baddie like this i would do anything she asks… jam says jump? i say how high… oscar u need that energy NOW!!!!

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starkwlkr · 6 months ago

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the girls are fighting!! | toto wolff

an: because i’m seeing oasis this year, i thought it would be nice to make this pls don’t hate me, i love the spice girls!! (i only know one of their songs) fun fact: the original idea for this was that the reader was a grunge singer from the 90s but ever since the oasis reunion was announced that’s literally all i can think about

oasis member!reader

INSTAGRAM

liked by yourusername, britpopcults and others

f1updatingdaily f1 twitter recently brought up the feud that y/n l/n (oasis bassist and toto wolff’s wife) and geri halliwell (spice girls member and christian horner’s wife) had in the late 90s until 2019. y/n recently told rolling stone magazine that her and geri have love for each other now and attend races together when they can. while at least one horner and wolff settled their differences, christian horner and toto wolff continue the horner/wolff rivalry that was started by their wives.

hereswonderwall I’m not a big fan of the spice girls but when geri gave y/n the future trophy wife mug . . . it was iconic

y/nupdates y/n and geri: 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 toto and christian: 😡🤮

hamilton444 got a picture with y/n and geri in monaco last year! they were so nice and even facetimed my mum! she’s a big oasis and spice girls fan

feelgoodbitch toto and christian will never work it out on the remix

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liked by lewishamilton, gerihalliwellhorner and others

yourusername i guess gerihalliwellhorner was right 🙃

gerihalliwellhorner 😅😅

liamgallagher you traded the bass for fancy shite??

yourusername i would trade you for a strawberry

liamgallagher rude

yourusername see you in may for rehearsal! don’t be late you old man xx

mercedesamgf1 that’s my wife! - toto

ferraridepressionclub manifesting a divorce so i can keep y/n to myself

mercedesamgf1 blocked and reported

ferraridepressionclub WAIT NOOOO

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#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 #toto wolff x wife!reader #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfic

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todayisafridaynight · 2 years ago

Note

Your brain is massive and your opinions are correct. I fucking LOVE SA2 and Shadow bro 😭 Last time I revisited my Sonic era I was trying to unlock training mode in Shadow by A-ranking all the missions and bosses. SA2/Shadow/Sonic Heroes/Sonic Riders were the ones I replayed (and still do every couple of years) the most :)

my god PLEAAASSE THE TRAINING/EXPERT MODE IN SHADOW i love how the hints just fuck off and are replaced by the cast chattin with shadow.... like black doom the fuck are you doin talkin to me you are dead.... leave me alone.....

as a part of my All-326-Routes playthrough of shadow im SO stoked to unlock that mode again for the first time in like. A Decade... i've just been clearing out all the routes from the very top all the way down but i might just A-rank all the levels and routes first just to get the mode..

the adventure games + shadow are my faves to play honestly like as much as i still do like sonic games nowadays i just really enjoyed that 3d free-roaming aspect of the gamecube era games (and even 06: just wish it wasnt such a glitchy mess and i was more of a fan of the models/art style)

PLUS WITH THE ADVENTURE GAMES YOU HAVE THE CHAOS LIKE WHY DID THEY GET RID OF THEM BRING THEM BACK !!!!! THEY WERE SO CUTE

#snap chats #you cant escape Sonic Kid era like every couple years ill be like #'oh my god i have a gamecube that still works' and ill just replay all them games #Hot Take i did enjoy big's campaign.... idk..... maybe its cause his vibes are immaculate .. im glad he's in frontiers <3<3<3 #im actually really stoked for the coming months because my fam and i've had sonic heroes for years right #but we only have it for the original xbox and we lost THAT a long while ago so i can't play it and it's just been taunting me all this time #BUT THEN I REMEMBER i am an adult with adult money. Sometimes. i can just buy my own gamecube copy #i have to start shilling my commissions more on twitter since i wanna get it before i go back to school #yk. so i can be a responsible student and play it when i have down time LMAO BUT EEEE IM SO EXCITED #yk whats a game i miss sooooo much tho.... i lost my copy of sonic chronicles....#I DONT EVEN KNOW HOW LIKE I STILL HAVE THE CASE i might just buy a new game card then....#that does mean ill have to start all over but.. thats ok.. sonic chronicles was SOO fun to me growing up.. i miss shade so much..#gen one of my fave sonic characters she was so cool and i loved her design and helmet so much #SPEAAAAKING OF ONE OFF CHARACTERS I MISS YK WHO I MISS THE MOST THO gamma.....#gamma was what introduced me to sad character stories i SWEAR LIKE THAT SHIT MADE ME SO SAD #i miss him eveyr day like i know he can never come back and that's a good thing cause Birdie's Parents Are OK BUT STILLLLL #my baby..... at least omega's here.... and he can threaten eggman every five minutes......#but when youre playing SA2 and you have to fight the robots modeled after gamma THATS SO EVIL STOP #UGH i love gamma sorry... but im not.. gamma was like. sega dippin their te into existentialism in sonic...#and then shadow was born LMAO tho i guess you can count metal sonic too if we wanna look at the sonic movie from the like. 90's #GOD I HOPE I STILL HAVE THAT DVD SOMEWHERE I LOVED THAT MOVIE SO MUCH GROWING UP it has the CUTEST artstyle #and knuckles' lil hat... ALSO METAL SONIC DYING AT THE END STOP when he bats sonic's hand away... metal bb come back...#and i mean at least he does but yk..... be nice to him..... he's going through a lot... he won't express it but i know he is...#OK SONIC RAMBLE DONE I SWEAR THANK YOU FOR WRITING IN ANON AND LETTING ME BE A DWEEB I JUST LOVE SONIC RAAAH #i have to end my ramble fr im running out of tags... now we'll never know of my chao gardens.......#OK BYE BYEEEE

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antimony-medusa · 2 months ago

Text

Okay so, Phil has blocked Dadza in his chat. He is responding to people calling him dad by saying that he's not people's dad. That's where we're at. And I have seen people on Twitter and in chat starting to panic about this. "Is papa okay," "Can we still call you Crowfather," "is fic okay", "can we still call mumza mumza", "what about peepaw," "Is art okay", "but you're my online father". It's kind of a mess there. So. Just to ponder this publicly, I want to go over a few things I see people starting to spiral about—

"Is Papa okay": I am inferring a little bit based on my age (I'm Phil's age) and my experience of having people just start mom-assigning me because of my age, and things like how Phil has reacted to people calling him dad, but I would say probably that things like papa and grandza and dad and pai and father might be something to be avoided in his chat/tts. He's blocked the term dadza, because you can block that specific term and not catch people talking about their family, but in terms of calling him other words for father, like, I will be honest here: people you don't know calling you their parent is not a socially neutral act. It's kind of a lot. He was going along with it during the pandemic, because people were desperate and hurting, but we are not in a place of social crisis any more. He doesn't want to be a father figure, he's just a guy. Just call him Phil, or Mr Minecraft, or Mr Za, Mr Kristin'sHusband if you have to have a title. Calling people some form of parent if you don't know them is very familiar and intimate, and if you don't know that person, it can come off as a lot. If it's happening over and over again, it's easy to get sick of it. Now you know.

"Can we still call mumza mumza" Okay so with this, she has a perfectly good name right there, but also she still has Mumza in her bio. People are not donoing her three times a week to ask her to be proud of them or to trauma dump. She's said it's okay. Consider just using her name if you're talking in chat, but you are not going to get timed out for mumza right now.

"We need to tell everyone in the tag," Okay so like sure, tell your friends what words not to use in chat, but Kristin was also in chat yesterday telling people that it's going to take a while for people to get used to this, so don't bully people. Streamers have said multiple times that they don't want their fans to get in fights or discourse or drama or bullying in their name. Just like— okay, now you know, now you can tell your friend what words to not use to avoid being timed out, now you know what not to do at a meet and greet— and then you can live your life. You do not need to police other people— the streamer has mods and blocked terms and can enforce this in his chat.

"Is fic still okay" Like okay. This is one that I am begging people not to ask the streamer personally. Do not make streamer weigh in on family dynamic fics— he doesn't read them, he's not interested, he's never read them. They have never been for the streamer (or for Kristin), they are for other fans who want to read about how cute it would be if SBI was babies and Phil was a good dad. Or how fucked up it would be if Tommy was kidnapped and menaced by Phil. Or how sad it would be if Technoblade was abused by Phil hashtag bad ending. Or how comforting it would be if Reader is abused and gets adopted by Phil and finally has a home and gets a hug. None of that has EVER been for the streamer to look at— he's not gonna like it! He's probably gonna find it weird, because it's people using his persona to do all kinds of things, half of which are literal crimes, often to his adult friends, but this character's got his name on him. There are all kind of fics that are just written because someone's got a fun/cute/sad idea, and nothing bad is intended about the actual streamer, cause the writer was thinking about the fic character that has his name, not the streamer in the north of england, but it's still going to be kind of weird for the streamer to hear about it.

That's why we don't bring up fic or certain types of art in chat ANYWAYS. Phil is not going to want to hear about the character with his name being mind broken so much worse by the ender king isn't it angsty. And that's not because there's anything off-colour about mind breaking his character via the ender king (I rub my hands together anticipatorily), that's because that's for other fans to go spam weeping emojis in the comments about, that's not for the streamer. Streamer is busy playing block game and watching space youtube and reading manga and being married to his lovely wife. He's not reading fic. Don't show him fic. Keep that over here with the people who actually want to read it. Fic is fine, you're just bashing dolls together, but don't show it to the streamer.

So, is fic still okay? It's okay, it's always been okay, just don't show it to streamer. You now know that he doesn't want to see dad stuff. That does not mean that you are doing something wrong if you write dad stuff off in your corner of tumblr, where he is not. Tag your stuff, don't put it in his chat or discord, and show it to people who are going to find it fun, not streamer. Make it so that he never has to think about that. Let him live his life. Don't put dad stuff in his chat or discord or mentions, let him be just a guy playing block game, and you're good.

#philza #i don't know if this post is anything I just saw so much spiralling yesterday and on twitter

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jungkoode · 2 months ago

Text

死 KKANGPAE | #16 死

† shooting range and dinner †

"When his insomnia slips out, you decide being a useful fuck buddy is part of the arrengement. Even if sleeping is not exactly what you want to do tonight."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,3k.

content: jeon taking a nap in j-hope’s office and hobi having none of it, verbal fights between friends, bestie plans being cancelled, shooting range practices that feel like lame excuses to touch, insomnia confessions, sleeping arrangements where both of them fail to simply sleep.

☠ author's note ☠

Y'ALL I'M SCREAMING. Look at my boy Jeon being all emotionally constipated and sleepless and GRUMPY! I cannot with him sometimes (⁠╯⁠°⁠□⁠°⁠)⁠╯⁠︵⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I'm really exposing my kinks here, but the whole "let's sleep together but actually sleep" trope is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Insomnia-ridden boy who can only sleep well with you nearby? GIVE IT TO ME INTRAVENOUSLY, THANK YOU.

And J-Hope being all "I'm your friend whether you like it or not, you stubborn asshole" is everything I needed today. Their friendship is so beautifully dysfunctional I want to frame it and hang it on my wall.

Meanwhile, you guys in the comments are like "show us Jeon's POV!" and I'm over here like "fine, take his whole entire trauma-riddled brain, are you happy now?!" The answer is yes, you're all trauma vultures just like me. No shame in our game.

I had so much fun writing the shooting range scene though! That whole "let me adjust your stance" trope where they're basically just looking for an excuse to touch you? ICONIC. I will never get tired of it. Sue me.

And don't even get me started on that dinner scene. Jeon actually eating with another human being and not hating it? CHARACTER GROWTH, PEOPLE!

Sorry for leaving you hanging with the spicy bits but... actually no, I'm not sorry at all. The slow boil to explosion is the best part and I'm savoring every moment of your collective suffering (◕‿◕✿)

See you next chapter, you magnificent disaster enablers!

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

��⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Again, Jeon?"

J-Hope's voice hits him as soon as he walks in, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care. His body feels heavy, mind foggy with exhaustion.

The medical ward has become too familiar lately—the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of medical equipment, the way the afternoon light filters through the blinds.

He grunts in response, already making his way to his usual spot. The stretcher's not comfortable, not really, but it's better than lying awake in his own bed.

"You can't come here every afternoon, you know. I have shit to do and your snoring is not precisely helpful."

Jungkook almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't snore—never has—but arguing takes energy he doesn't have.

"Then put some background music."

"You—"

He doesn't wait for J-Hope to finish, just rolls onto the stretcher, facing the wall. The vinyl covering is cool against his arm, and somehow it's grounding... perhaps in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Are you for real right now? This is the third day in a row you're taking a nap in my office."

"You said yourself I should nap from time to time." His voice comes out muffled, face half-pressed into the thin pillow.

"Yes, but not in my goddamn office!"

The silence that follows is heavy.

He can picture J-Hope without looking—probably pinching the bridge of his nose, that look of exasperated concern he gets whenever Jeon's being particularly difficult. He hears the medic's chair creak as he leans back.

"Look, Jungkook." The use of his real name makes something in his chest tighten. J-Hope only uses it when he's about to say something Jungkook won't like. "I don't wanna be the one saying this to you, but you need to get your shit together."

"Well I am trying to fall asleep right now." The deflection is weak and they both know it.

"That is not what I mean you dimwit." There's that familiar mix of frustration and worry in J-Hope's voice. "Believe me, I'm glad you're finally trying to get some proper rest. But this—in my office? Just why."

Jungkook quiet, hoping J-Hope will drop it. He doesn't want to think about why he keeps coming here, why his own room feels too empty, too quiet. Why he can't sleep unless he can hear someone else breathing nearby.

(He definitely doesn't want to think about how he slept better in that tent, with y—)

"Jungkook."

Not his real name again.

Something in him snaps.

"Fine. I don't fucking know, okay?" The words come out sharp, defensive. He glares at the wall like it's personally offended him. "I just seem to sleep better in company."

"In company?" He can hear J-Hope's brain working, trying to piece together this new information. "Okay, what—? Elaborate right now."

"No."

The word is final, heavy with all the things he refuses to say.

Like the nightmares that wake him up gasping. Or how silence fucking makes his skin crawl. Or how being alone with his thoughts is becoming unbearable.

About how he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since—

"Whose company, Jungkook? This isn't about little bed-hopping habits, is it?"

It's offensive, the question, really.

But all he does is stare at the wall, trying to ignore how his mind immediately conjures up images of you. Of how he actually slept through the night in that tent.

No nightmares, no cold sweats. Just... sleep.

Four fucking years of insomnia, and the solution was this s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ simple?

"No, it's not." His fingers curl into a fist against the stretcher, leather creaking under fingers—and the sound grates on his nerves, already frayed from lack of sleep. "I ain't talking about it. Drop it, Hoseok."

Using J-Hope's real name now is a low blow, but Jungkook is too tired to care. He just wants to test his theory—see if sleeping near someone, anyone, will keep the nightmares at bay. He doesn't need J-Hope playing therapist, doesn't need him picking apart why this might be working.

Because that would mean thinking about you, about that night, about how for the first time in years he actually felt—

No.

"I'm your friend, Jungkook. And as a member of the Council of Nine, I have to know if anything... or anyone is becoming a weakness."

Jeon almost laughs.

A weakness? No. This isn't about feelings. This is about finally getting some fucking sleep without having to relive—

He cuts that thought off too. Focuses on the antiseptic smell of the medical ward, the equipment, anything but the memories threatening to surface.

J-Hope's concern is misplaced. This isn't about compromising the gang or breaking rules. It's about finding a solution to a problem that's been haunting him for four years.

So if sleeping near someone help? Fucking fine. He'll take what he can get.

Even if it pisses him off that it took this long to figure it out.

"There is no fucking weakness, you got that?" His eyes feel like lead weights in his skull. "I just need some goddamn sleep. I've gotta be sharp for the mission. That's all you need to know."

He can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, searching for cracks where light would shine through.

There's none.

It's been a long time since there's none.

But the medic knows too much, has seen too much. Was there that night when everything went to shit, when V—

"And after the mission? What then? You keep coming back here for your afternoon siestas or are you gonna be sleeping with that company?"

The implication slices through without sugarcoating. There's another word hovering in the air between them, pressing down on the air like a goddamn vacuum.

Traitor.

It sits there like poison, like the taste of copper in his mouth from that night.

Jeon pushes himself up, muscles tense, anger corroding his veins. His head is pounding from lack of sleep, making everything sharper, harder to control.

"I'll deal with it when it comes. Besides, who the fuck will notice? You gonna bitch about it to the rest of the crew?"

"Watch it, Kook." The use of his nickname is a warning, one that would mean more if he wasn't so fucking tired. "I'm trying to help you, not rat you out. But if you become a liability..."

"I ain't no fucking liability."

He's on his feet now, wrath burning through the exhaustion. His fists clench until he can feel his nails biting into his palms.

The suggestion that he'd risk the gang again, that he'd let himself be compromised like that... He does not appreciate it.

It makes something dark and ugly twist in his chest.

"You think I don't know the stakes? You think I'd let myself become another Sylvia episode?"

"Surely you're more intelligent than that."

The words hit exactly where J-Hope means them to. Because yeah, everyone thought he was intelligent back then too. Look how that turned out.

Jungkook holds J-Hope's gaze, something ugly settling in his chest.

For a moment, he considers telling him about you, about this arrangement that's purely physical—no strings, no complications, just a solution to his sleepless nights.

But the words catch in his throat. Because J-Hope isn't just asking for himself, is he? He's asking for AD too. AD, who still carries Sylvia's ghost like an open wound, who took her death even harder than he did.

Who trusted her, protected her, only to watch her choose Jungkook—and then watch her die for that choice.

The guilt sits like lead in his stomach. He can't do that to AD again. Can't make him watch from the sidelines as another woman gets tangled up with Jungkook, always wondering if history's about to repeat itself.

The weight of Sylvia's death is still a chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he closes his eyes.

So he swallows the truth, lets it burn on its way down. This thing with you—he'll handle it himself. Keep it contained. Control it before it becomes something he can't take back.

His face settles into careful blankness as he meets J-Hope's searching look.

"I fucking am. I don't need your nagging."

It's not even a lie. This isn't like Sylvia. He won't let it be. You're different—safer. You know exactly what this is.

"You sure you don't?" J-Hope's voice rises. "Because from what I recall, you've been a messy piece of shit ever since she's gone."

Something dark and ugly coils in Jeon's chest. "Watch how you sling that shit at me, J-Hope."

"Keeping an eye on it, always. Seems we all gotta tiptoe with our words 'round you, huh? Drop one mention of her, and you're all about throwing punches, no thoughts, just rage. Done you a lick of good, has it?"

"Shut your mouth!"

The words rip out of him before he can stop them, raw and ragged.

Because J-Hope's right, and that's what makes it hurt so much.

Four years, and he still can't hear her name without feeling like he's drowning in it all over again.

"Pull yourself together, Jeon!" J-Hope's voice cracks with frustration. "You've been haunted by those fucking nightmares since she died, and now what? Using someone else's body to quiet them down? Jumping from one disaster straight into another and expecting me to just watch?"

Jungkook's eyes feel like they're burning. "No one's asking for your fucking two cents. Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

He wants J-Hope to hit him, to hate him, to stop looking at him with that mix of concern and disappointment.

So his next words are not something he's proud of. But something he feels he needs to do.

"Why don't you go find a bottle to crawl into?"

It's a low blow, and he knows it. Watches J-Hope's hand shake, sees the muscle jump in his jaw.

"Don't you fucking go there, Jeon." The warning in his voice is clear. "I see what you're doing—spiraling because you're losing control. But I'm not playing that game. I'm not V."

"Right, you're not." Jeon's laugh is hollow, bitter. "At least that bastard's honest about not giving a fuck about anyone but himself."

"Jesus fuck, Jeon. You're not the only one carrying shit, you know that?" J-Hope's laugh is all broken glass. "Is that what you want? Me to knock your teeth in? You think that'll fix whatever's going on in that fucked-up head of yours?"

"Whatever. I don't give a shit."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it. Pushing everyone away—that's about the only thing you're good at anymore."

"Don't need anyone. Do just fine on my own."

"Really?" J-Hope's voice is sarcasm. "That why you're trying to sleep in my fucking office?"

"Fucking hell, man. Just drop it and let me rest. I'm not digging into your shit, am I? Let me handle mine." His voice comes out raw, desperate, and he hates it.

"You might not see it, but some of us actually give a shit about you, you stubborn asshole." J-Hope's voice softens, and that's worse somehow. "I might share that council seat with you, but I'm also your friend—whether you like it or not. I'm worried, okay? This isn't how you deal with your demons."

Jeon closes his eyes, exhaustion settling into his bones. "Maybe it's exactly how I deal with them."

Maybe he deserves them.

He doesn't say that.

"It's a shit way of dealing with anything, Jungkook." The softness bleeds out of J-Hope's voice, and something in Jeon's chest loosens.

Anger he can handle.

Concern?

That's harder to dodge.

"Fuck, I'm not watching you spiral down that rabbit hole again. You can hate me all you want, but I won't stand here and watch you self-destruct. Not a second time."

"I get it. Like I said—not your cross to bear."

Jungkook can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, cutting through his bullshit like always.

"Fine, Kook. Hoard your secrets. But the moment it fucks with the mission, you're answering to me—and the Council."

Jeon knows that tone. It's not just a threat—it's a lifeline J-Hope's throwing him, begging him to get his shit together before everything falls apart.

The anger sits like acid in his chest, but he swallows it down.

This isn't about him and J-Hope anymore. This is about the mission. About the gang. About not letting his f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ weakness compromise everything like last time.

"Got it," he mutters, dropping back onto the stretcher and turning to face the wall. The stone is cold against his face, grounding in its indifference.

Behind him, J-Hope's chair scrapes against the floor as he turns back to his work. The sound is harsh, angry.

But it's okay if he's angry. Better that than worried. Better that than watching Jeon like he's a bomb about to go off.

"Fucking Sylvia," J-Hope mutters.

Then, silence drops.

For all his crankiness, J-Hope won't kick him out. Can't, maybe, because under all that anger is the same guy who dragged Jeon's drunk ass home after Sylvia, who patched him up when he picked fights he knew he'd lose.

J-Hope's right to be worried—secrets in Kkangpae have a way of turning lethal. One wrong move, one slip, and everything goes up in flames.

Again.

(But this thing with you isn't like Sylvia. It isn't. He just needs to figure out how to sleep through the night without—)

Jeon closes his eyes, lets the antiseptic smell of the medical ward fill his lungs.

Maybe if he lies here long enough, sleep will finally come.

Maybe this time, he won't dream.

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝟻. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛.

The message glares at you from your phone screen, all business and no explanation. Typical Jeon.

𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗?

．．．

𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯

Great. He's seen it and can't be bothered to reply. Fantastic.

You stare at your phone, trying to will a response into existence. Nothing. Just that stupid "seen" mocking you. It's like talking to a brick wall, except the wall probably has better communication skills.

Jeon and his one-word texts. The man's got a gift for saying absolutely nothing while still managing to ruin your plans. You had a whole evening of doing absolutely nothing planned, and now? Now you're apparently going to the shooting range. Yay!

You toss your phone onto the bed; angry, petty. It bounces once, screen still lit up with Jeon's oh-so-eloquent message. His profile pic is just a blank space. Of course it is. God forbid he show an actual human emotion. Or, you know, a face.

With a sigh that could probably be heard three floors down, you drag yourself to the bathroom. For once, it's empty. Small mercies, right?

You tie your hair back into a ponytail, all business. Can't have stray hairs getting in the way when you're handling firearms. That's a safety hazard or whatever. Plus, you know Jeon would probably lecture you about it.

Mr. Safety-First-Unless-It's-About-Emotions.

The mirror shows you a face that's equal parts annoyed and resigned.

This is your life now—dropping everything because Jeon decided to grace you with a whole six words. Six! He's feeling chatty today.

You stare at your reflection, wondering for the millionth time how you ended up here. Not just in a gang, but at Jeon's beck and call. The man's like a black hole—impossible to ignore, drawing you in whether you like it or not.

(You like it. You hate that you like it.)

Time to go play with guns, apparently. Because nothing says "fun night out" like potential bullet wounds and Jeon's silent judgment.

This better be good, you think. But with Jeon? It's always a toss-up between mind-blowing and mind-numbing.

Guess you'll find out which one it is tonight.

You finish tying your hair back and grab your phone, typing out a quick message to Yunjin. Your fingers hover over the keys for a second because ugh. You were actually looking forward to dinner with her.

𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔?

The card reader beeps when you swipe your ID, sound echoing through the empty hallway like some ominous warning bell.

The elevator ride feels like you're being delivered to your doom, each floor passing with total indifference to your impending crisis.

Ding.

Third floor. You step out into a corridor that feels way too quiet. Your sneakers barely make any noise against the floor, which just makes your heartbeat sound louder in your ears.

You reach the shooting range and—because you're not a complete idiot—you don't just barge in. Instead, you peek through the reinforced glass window like some s̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶r̶ cautious person.

And fuck.

There he is, in his own little world of violence.

He's wearing his usual dark t-shirt, fabric's stretched across his shoulders in a way that's honestly unfair for every other man. His combat pants are doing that thing where they show off every muscle without being obvious about it, and his boots are planted like he owns the ground he's standing on.

He hasn't spotted you yet. He's too focused on the gun in his hands, handling it with the kind of familiarity that reminds you he does this for a living. The protective gear—ear muffs and glasses—should make him look dorky, but nope. In your brain that simply catalogs as hot.

Each shot he fires is like... well, it's like watching someone who knows what they're doing. Which, you suppose, makes sense.

The recoil doesn't even phase him—his body just absorbs it like it's nothing. Spent casings hit the floor with little metallic pings, and you find yourself weirdly fascinated by the way his fingers adjust on the grip between shots.

(You're definitely not thinking about what else those fingers can do. Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional.)

You watch him reload—movements quick and methodical—like he could do this in his sleep. Probably has, honestly. This is Jeon's comfort zone, after all.

You step inside, and it hits you again how different the air feels in here. Smelling like gunpowder and that underlying tension that always shows up when you're around him.

Jeon doesn't turn around, too focused on whatever target he's destroying. You can't help the little smirk that tugs at your lips because finally—a chance to catch Mr. Perfect off guard. He's so zeroed in on his shooting that he might actually not notice you for once.

(You should know better by now, but hope springs eternal or whatever.)

Your sneakers don't make a sound on the rubber floor as you creep closer. You're already planning it—maybe a sudden clap, or yelling his name. Something to make him jump, even just a little. The thought sends this weird thrill through you, like you're about to get away with something.

You take a deep breath, ready to execute your master plan, when—

"Don't even think about it."

Motherfucker.

He doesn't even turn around. Doesn't move a muscle. Just keeps standing there like some statue of Perfect Shooting Form, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

It's not fair how he does that—makes you feel like you're being predictable without even looking at you.

"You got radar in your head, or what?" you ask, trying to play it off like you weren't just caught being an absolute child.

Your voice comes out light, playful, which feels kind of wrong in a room designed for practicing how to kill people efficiently. But that's kind of your whole thing with Jeon, isn't it? Finding these little moments of tomfoolery in between all the violence and duty.

Sometimes you wonder if he lets you get away with it because he needs those moments too.

Jeon turns around, and as usual, there's this look in his eyes. Could be the fluorescent lights, could be him being a smug bastard.

He sets down his gun with this final-sounding click that somehow makes the room feel too quiet.

"Let's just say I've got a good sense of when someone's lurking in my blind spot."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you're starting to think he practices that almost-smirk in the mirror.

You watch as he moves to the gun rack, all fluid movements. He picks out this pristine semi-automatic that gleams under the shitty range lights like it's showing off.

"Come on." His voice drops the playful edge. "If we're going to have your back in the field, you need to be able to hold your own. No hesitation this time."

This time.

The words bring back memories of your first shooting lesson with him—how your hands shook, how the gun felt too heavy with the weight of what it could do. You weren't ready then.

But now, with this mission hanging over your heads like a guillotine, you don't have the luxury of not being ready.

You step forward, closing the gap between you. When he hands you the gun, his fingers brush against yours, and even that tiny contact sends electricity up your arm. The metal's cold against your palm, but you grip it like you mean it. Like you're not thinking about how those same hands felt on your skin just days ago.

"Good." He nods, and something warm unfurls in your chest at his approval. "First, your stance—it's all about balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other."

You follow his instructions, hyper-aware of his eyes on you. It feels like being under a microscope, but like, a really hot microscope that you maybe want to kiss again.

You plant your feet, trying to look like you know what you're doing.

"Now, grip. Not too tight—imagine holding someone's hand. Firm, but you're not trying to crush it."

He moves closer, and suddenly the air feels thicker. His comparison makes your brain short-circuit because now all you can think about is holding hands, which leads to thinking about holding other things, which—yeah, nope.

Can't think about that. Not while you're holding a deadly weapon.

His hands come up to adjust your grip, and it should be clinical. Professional.

But there's this undercurrent of something between you, like static electricity looking for a place to ground itself. Like every little touch is loaded with meaning.

You find your rhythm with the breathing, in and out, as Jeon steps back to give you space. He's watching you with that unreadable expression of his, but his eyes are intense, like he's trying to will you into not fucking this up.

"Align the sights." His voice drops low, and fuck, it shouldn't affect you when he's teaching you how to shoot people. "Focus on the front sight—everything else is just background noise. Breathe in, breathe out, and on the exhale—that's when you squeeze the trigger."

You narrow your eyes, zeroing in on the target downrange.

It's not just a paper outline anymore—it's a test.

Another thing you need to prove you can handle in this life you've chosen.

You let out a slow breath, and with it goes some of that nervous energy that's been making your hands shake.

Right now it's just you, the gun, and this need to show Jeon—and yourself—that you're not out of your depth here. That you belong in this world of his, even if it's just at the edges.

The shot cracks through the air like a whip, and the recoil hits your palms. It's jarring but real, solid proof that you're actually doing this. That you're becoming whatever it is you need to be to survive in Kkangpae.

Jeon gives you this little nod, like yeah, okay, maybe you're not completely hopeless. But then—oh. Then his mouth does this thing, curling up at the corners into what might be the most dangerous smile you've ever seen.

"Good job."

Two. Words.

Just two fucking words, but the way he says them—all low and pleased—makes heat pool in your stomach.

It's not fair how he can do that, turn a simple phrase into something that feels like innuendo, voice wrapping around you like smoke, seeping into places it has no business being.

You're starting to think weapons training with Jeon might be hazardous to your mental health. And not for the obvious reasons.

Because the fucker is not just hot—though fuck, he absolutely is—he's something else entirely.

The way he handles a weapon, the easy confidence, how he makes everything look so effortless? It's doing things to you. Things that have nothing to do with training and everything to do with how his hands looked wrapped around that gun.

"Let's try again. This time, focus on consistency. You want to be able to replicate that shot every time."

He moves behind you, and suddenly breathing becomes severely underrated.

You try to focus on the target, but your brain's too busy cataloging every tiny detail—how his breath stirs the baby hairs at your nape, the way his chest is just shy of brushing against your back.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, but that's a mistake because now all you can smell is him.

Pine and wood and leather.

Jeon.

The gun feels heavy in your hands as you line up another shot, and your attention is split between the target downrange and the way Jeon's presence seems to fill up all the space around you.

The shot immediately cracks through the air, perfect center mass.

You should feel proud—and you do—but mostly you're trying not to think about how close he is, how easy it would be to lean back just a little...

Because you know he's all business, laser-focused on getting you ready for the mission. Completely professional. But there are these tiny tells—the way his fingers linger when he adjusts your stance, how his eyes sometimes drift from the target to your face, staying just a second too long.

It's driving you insane.

Like there's this invisible line neither of you is willing to cross first, even though you both know exactly where this tension is heading.

You've been there before, after all. That night in his tent wasn't that long ago.

You lower the gun, trying to ignore how your hands are shaking—partly from adrenaline, mostly from something else.

The way Jeon's looking at you right now.

"Just like that. Keep it up."

You manage a nod because words? Not happening. Your throat's too dry, and honestly, you're afraid of what might come out if you open your mouth.

Another shot rings out, and you can't help wondering if Jeon feels it too. This crackling tension that makes your skin feel too tight. Or maybe you're just losing it, getting all hot and bothered over a man who's literally just teaching you how to shoot people.

"Reload. Keep your focus sharp."

He hands you a fresh magazine, and your fingers brush against his again—and honestly?

This isn't fair.

You're supposed to be learning important gang shit here, not mentally cataloging how good his hands feel.

Your brain keeps replaying every tiny touch, every moment his body was pressed against yours while "correcting your stance."

Which, by the way? Totally unnecessary.

You're pretty sure proper shooting form doesn't require his chest being that close to your back.

Focus, you tell yourself. You're here to learn how to handle a weapon, not daydream about handling... other things.

You need to prove you belong here, that you're more than just another recruit who can't keep it in their pants around the hot Chief.

(Even if said Chief is making it really hard to think straight right now.)

You grip the gun tighter, channeling all that frustrated energy into your next shot. The bang echoes through the range, and you pretend it drowns out the voice in your head that keeps suggesting alternative uses for this private training session.

The magazine clicks into place with maybe more force than necessary, but whatever. You're determined to get through this without embarrassing yourself. More shots follow, each one a desperate attempt to focus on anything except how good Jeon looks when he's in instructor mode.

(It's not working, but at least you're hitting the target.)

You're about to take another shot when something catches your eye.

Jeon looks... off.

There are shadows under his eyes that makeup can't hide, and his movements are slower than usual.

Most people wouldn't notice, but you've been trained to spot weaknesses.

"You look like shit."

The words slip out before your brain can filter them. Because you're such a professional, apparently. But now that you've started digging this hole, might as well keep going.

"When's the last time you actually slept?"

Dark eyes snap to yours, and you swear something raw flutters behind his eyelashes. Doesn't last long-as never anything really does with him. The walls come slamming back up.

"I'm fine."

His tone screams drop it; the voice in your head screams 'don't.'

Good thing you've always been good at hearing yourself first.

Besides, this isn't exclusively about him anymore.

You set the gun down, turning to face him fully. "Look, I get it—we all have our shit. But if you're walking around half-dead, that's not just your problem. That's how people end up getting killed."

He gives you a death stare, and you're pretty sure he's about to pull rank and shut this conversation down. But then he exhales, and something in his posture just... gives.

"Insomnia's an old friend." An admission that comes out rough, like he had to force the words past his defenses. "Been dealing with it for years. It doesn't affect my work."

"Bullshit." You shouldn't push, but your mouth's apparently on autopilot today. "You slept fine in the tent—"

His eyes narrow, and okay, maybe that was too far. But you're not wrong. You remember how peaceful he looked that morning, no trace of the tension that's radiating off him now.

"That was different."

His voice drops low, warning you away from this topic.

But there's something else there too—like maybe he's trying to convince himself more than you.

He doesn't deny it though.

So you nod, letting the subject drop. But you tuck that little piece of information away like a secret—Jeon sleeps better when he's not alone. When he's with you, specifically. You're not sure what to do with that knowledge yet, but it feels important somehow.

Silence falls. You turn back to the range because it's easier than trying to decode whatever's happening here.

The gun in your hands is simple, straightforward. Point, shoot, repeat. No complicated feelings or midnight revelations to deal with.

You cycle through the weapons Jeon's laid out, each one different but serving the same purpose. Pistols feel natural now, like they belong in your grip. Shotguns still kick like a mule, but you're getting better at handling them. Each shot echoes through the room, filling the space where words should be.

It becomes almost meditative after a while. Load, aim, breathe, squeeze. The routine helps quiet your mind, pushes away thoughts of Jeon and sleep and whatever's going on in that cold brain of his.

You're here to learn how to stay alive, not psychoanalyze your Chief's sleeping habits.

When you switch to the rifle, you can't help sneaking a look at him. He's lurking in the shadows like some kind of sexy gargoyle, watching your every move. Even exhausted, he's still intimidating as hell.

But there's something different about him now—like seeing him tired makes him more... real. Less Chief of Tactical Assassinations, more just Jeon.

The rifle's recoil brings you back to reality. You line up another shot, remembering everything he's taught you.

Breathe in, hold, squeeze, exhale. The bullets hit close together, forming a tight group that would definitely ruin someone's day. Jeon gives you this tiny nod that shouldn't make your stomach flip, but it does anyway.

The sun's starting to set, painting the room in long shadows. Empty casings litter the floor around your feet like tiny brass confessions. Neither of you has said much, but somehow it's not uncomfortable.

You've learned two things today: how to shoot better, and that Jeon trusts you enough to show you some of his cracks, even if he doesn't mean to.

You're not sure which lesson is more dangerous.

(Probably the second one.)

You start packing up, going through the familiar motions of cleaning and storing the weapons.

"It's getting late," you say, mostly to break the silence.

When you turn around, Jeon's standing there with his arms crossed, staring at nothing. Or maybe at something only he can see. He doesn't react to your voice, like he's been aware of every move you've made since you started cleaning up.

The lighting in here is shit, but it's not bad enough to hide how exhausted he looks. The shadows under his eyes are getting deeper, more obvious. You think about what J-Hope would say if he saw Jeon like this—probably something cranky and concerned wrapped in medical jargon.

"If it helps," you start carefully, like you're approaching a wild animal, "we can sleep together again. No bullshit—just sleep. Seems like you could use it."

For a second, his face goes completely blank. It's that perfect mask he wears when he's processing something he doesn't want to deal with.

Then—there.

His shoulders drop just a fraction, like someone's loosened a wire.

"I don't need charity."

The words come out defensive, but they're missing that sharp edge he usually uses to keep people at a distance. You recognize deflection when you hear it—you work in the Seduction Division, after all.

"It's not charity." You click the last weapon case shut, buying time to choose your next words carefully. "Consider it... part of our arrangement. We're no good to each other tense or half-awake."

The silence stretches out so long you start to wonder if you've fucked up. Maybe you pushed too far, got too personal. But then he nods, just barely, like he's trying to convince himself he's not giving in to anything.

"I'll think about it."

His voice is gruff, but there's something else there—a hint of relief, maybe. Like you've given him permission to want something he thinks he shouldn't. You pretend not to notice how his eyes linger on you as you finish packing up, like he's already made up his mind but isn't ready to admit it yet.

You glance at the clock, and shit—it's really fucking late. The castle gets quiet around this time, most people already finished with dinner or working night shifts.

Speaking of dinner... you were supposed to meet Yunjin, but someone had to drag you to impromptu target practice.

A thought hits you, and you can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips. It's probably stupid, definitely pushing your luck, but...

"By the way," you say, closing the weapons case with a satisfying click. "Since it's already so late... How about grabbing some dinner together at the cafeteria?"

Jeon looks at you like you've just suggested robbing a bank in your underwear.

There's this tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes that would be funny if it wasn't kind of sad. Like the concept of eating with someone is completely foreign to him.

"Dinner? I eat alone."

His voice is flat, but it's as though he's actually considering it, even if he'd rather die than admit it.

"I know, but it's late." You shrug, going for casual even though your heart's doing this weird skippy thing. "Few people will be there, and I had plans that got... rearranged."

You give him a pointed look because hey, this is technically his fault.

"Don't feel like eating by myself."

He stares at you for what feels like forever, face doing that blank thing he does when he's processing something unexpected. Then his mouth quirks up at the corner.

"I don't usually do dinner dates."

You actually laugh at that. "You wish.Think of it as a tactical debriefing over food. Can't strategize on an empty stomach, can we?"

His smirk gets a fraction wider—the Jeon equivalent of a full grin. It's rare to see him look actually amused, and something warm unfurls in your chest at being the cause.

"Tactical debriefing, huh? That's a new one."

"Come on, Jeon. It's just dinner." You try to sound nonchalant, like you're not weirdly invested in his answer. "Besides, you're probably starving after all that shooting."

He does that thing where he goes all still, like he's running risk assessments in his head.

Finally, he nods. "Alright, but this isn't a habit we're starting."

"Of course not, you have a reputation to maintain, thundercloud."

You can't help the smirk as you head for the door. The nickname slips out before you can catch it, but whatever. You're already in deep.

"Not like anybody would believe you anyway, sunshine." He rolls his eyes, but follows you out.

The way he says sunshine—like it's both an insult and something else—makes your stomach do a little flip. But you're not going to think about that.

This is just dinner. Just two gang members having a totally normal, professional meal together.

The walk to the cafeteria is weirdly peaceful.

Neither of you says anything, but it's not that awkward silence that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

It's just... quiet. Your brain's still processing everything—the training, the arrangement, the fact that you're actually going to dinner with Jeon of all people.

The cafeteria's practically empty when you walk in. Just a few night owls scattered around, most of them looking like they're running on coffee and spite.

It's nice, though. No curious eyes, no whispers. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes.

The buffet spread looks like heaven. Your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten since lunch, growling at the sight of steaming bulgogi and kimchi jjigae. The castle chefs don't mess around—everything looks magazine-worthy, even at this hour.

You load up your tray like you're preparing for hibernation: bulgogi because duh, japchae because the noodles here are actually insane, kimchi fried rice because comfort food is a thing, and those spicy braised potatoes that make your mouth water just looking at them.

Jeon, for his part, goes straight for the protein—galbi ribs, bibimbap loaded with meat, and bossam like he's got something to prove.

You're about to head for a table when you catch him adding even more bulgogi to his already meat-heavy tray.

"Got enough protein there?" You can't help the teasing tone. "Or are you planning to feed a small army?"

Jeon's mouth does that thing where he's trying not to smile but failing.

"I need to keep up my strength." His eyes flick to yours, dark. "Never know when I might need to pin a smartass against a wall."

The laugh that escapes you is only partly nervous. You lead the way to a corner table, far from the few other diners. It feels weirdly intimate, having dinner with someone who usually eats alone.

The food works its magic. You feel the day's tension melting away with each bite, and even Jeon looks more relaxed. That permanent frown he carries around is smoothing out as he tackles his galbi like it's his division's target.

"Holy shit, this is good," you mumble around a mouthful of noodles.

The chefs here could probably work in any five-star restaurant, but instead they're cooking for a bunch of criminals. Life's weird like that.

Jeon makes this little grunt of agreement, cheeks full like a hamster's. He swallows before speaking because apparently assassins have table manners.

"Only decent perk of this place."

You fall into comfortable silence after that, both focused on demolishing your food.

It's strange how normal this feels—just two people sharing dinner, like you don't kill people for a living, like you haven't had your hands all over each other hours ago.

"That rifle technique you used today was solid. Got good instincts."

Coming from Jeon, that's practically a love letter. You hide your smile behind another bite of food, but can't resist poking the bear.

"Well, I have a good teacher. Even if his people skills need work."

He snorts, stabbing another piece of meat with maybe more force than necessary.

"I don't coddle. You get better by doing, not talking."

"True, but positive reinforcement helps too." You gesture with your chopsticks. "I'm only human, thundercloud."

The look he gives you could melt steel. One eyebrow goes up, and there's something dangerous playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmmm. Almost sounds like you want to be coddled, sunshine."

The way he says it makes heat pool in your stomach. Because that wasn't about teaching at all, was it?

You laugh to cover the way your breath catches. "In your dreams, Jeon."

You ball up your napkin and throw it at him, which he catches without even looking because of coursehe does.

Show-off.

"Still," he says, ruining the moment like he's allergic to peace, "your reaction time needs work."

"I'll keep practicing." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Can't have you worrying about me in the field."

"Who said anything about worrying?" But his eyes give him away—that split-second flicker before his face goes blank again.

"Oh please." You wave your chopsticks at him. "You were watching me like a hawk in there. Probably counting my breaths or something equally anal-retentive."

He just shakes his head, suddenly very interested in his food. But you're on a roll now, feeling brave or stupid or both.

"Admit it, you care about my progress." You lean forward, grinning. "It's almost sweet."

Jeon looks up then, and oh. His gaze is intense.

"I care about not getting shot because you can't handle your weapon, sunshine."

You can't help yourself. Really, you can't. "Mhm? Thought I was getting better at handling weapons, thundercloud."

His lips twitch, just barely, but you catch it. It's fascinating, really, how you've somehow stumbled into this easy back-and-forth with him. How beneath all his sharp edges and your sass, there's this... thing.

This rhythm that shouldn't work but does.

Dinner's winding down, and you notice something different about Jeon. The tension he usually carries—the one that makes him look like he's ready to snap someone's neck at any moment—has eased up. Even his face looks softer, less murder-y than usual.

"This was... not terrible," he says, like admitting it physically pains him. His eyes meet yours across the table. "The food, the company... both exceeded my low expectations."

"Oh my god." You press a hand to your chest, going for maximum drama. "Was that a compliment? Should I call J-Hope? Are you feeling okay?"

He snorts, and there's this little uptick at the corner of his mouth that you're starting to recognize as his version of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

"Too late." You stand up, gathering your plates. "I expect this level of praise at every meal now. Maybe we can work up to actual sentences by next week."

"Don't push your luck, sunshine." But he's still got that almost-smile as he gets up too.

"I mean, you already admitted you don't hate my company. That's practically a love confession by your standards."

Jeon shakes his head, but there's something soft in his eyes.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

You drop off your dishes, and both head for the elevator, falling into comfortable silence.

You reach for the elevator buttons, aiming for the fourth floor where your room is. But Jeon's arm suddenly appears in your peripheral vision, his chest almost brushing your back as he leans forward. There's this tiny pause—blink and you'd miss it—before he hits the button for the fifth floor instead.

You turn your head just enough to catch his eye, raising an eyebrow. No words needed.

You both know what this is: him taking you up on that offer to help him sleep. Simple as that. Like picking up takeout or scheduling target practice.

The elevator starts moving, and holy shit why is it so slow? The silence should be awkward, but it's not.

Maybe because you both know exactly what this is. No bullshit, no complications. Just sleep. Like you said in the training room—you're no good to each other half-dead from exhaustion.

It's probably stupid, spending the night with your Chief. But you've already crossed that line in his tent, and honestly? If sleeping next to you helps with his insomnia, then whatever.

You're already fuck buddies—might as well be helpful ones.

The doors finally open to the fifth floor, and Jeon steps back. He's giving you space, making it clear this is your call. Which is... weirdly considerate, actually. You step out because why not? This isn't some dramatic decision. It's practical. Logical, even.

The walk to his room feels longer than it should. Your feet are dragging because yeah, you're fucking tired. Today's been a whole thing—training, dinner, and now this weird arrangement that somehow makes perfect sense.

Jeon stops at his door, giving you one last look. Checking if you're sure, probably. You nod because duh. This isn't complicated. You're both adults who sometimes fuck and apparently now sometimes sleep (just sleep) together.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you get your first look at Jeon's private space.

So this is where the Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeps. You can't help but snoop—it's basically in your job description as a member of Seduction Division.

The room is... exactly what you'd expect from Jeon, honestly. It's like someone took his personality and turned it into interior design.

Everything's black, white, or gray, like he's allergic to color. It matches his whole aesthetic—the guy who sees the world in shades of gray, making calls about who lives and who dies. Maybe the monochrome thing is some kind of metaphor. Or maybe he just really likes black.

There's this massive king-sized bed against one wall, all black sheets and dark gray duvet. The bed's made diligently, but you can see the slight wrinkles that mean he's actually slept in it. Unlike some people who just have fancy beds for show.

Next to it is this super minimal nightstand with just a lamp and—oh. An ashtray. Right. His stress-smoking habit.

The furniture could be from one of those fancy minimalist catalogs. Everything's black wood, clean lines, no fuss. There's a dresser that probably holds his endless supply of black t-shirts, a desk that looks barely used, and a chair that seems more decorative than functional.

What really gets you is how empty it is. No photos, no personal stuff, nothing that says "someone actually lives here."

It's like a really expensive prison cell or one of those model rooms in furniture stores.

You spot a door that has to lead to a private bathroom, and fuck, that's not fair. You're sharing a bathroom with like five other girls while Mr. Chief here gets his own shower? The perks of rank, you guess.

The floor's spotless—like, you could probably eat off it. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The whole place is as buttoned-up as Jeon himself, like maybe if he keeps everything perfectly ordered, the rest of his life will fall into line too.

"Well, it's very... you," you say, because what else can you say about a room that looks like it was decorated by a very organized ghost?

"I don't need anything else." He shrugs.

You hover by the bathroom door, suddenly feeling weirdly out of place. Being in Jeon's private space is... different. Not bad different, just different. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store, except your teacher is a hot assassin you occasionally fuck.

"Hey," you start, trying to sound casual, "mind if I grab a quick shower first? I always wash up before bed, especially after training." You scrunch your nose. "Pretty sure I don't smell like a spring meadow right now."

Jeon's eyebrow does that thing—that infuriating arch that makes you want to either kiss him or kick him.

"What, you saying I stink, sunshine?"

"We both worked up a sweat today, cloud." You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile. "No judgment, just stating facts."

He jerks his head toward the bathroom door. "Go ahead. Towels and shit are in there."

You can't help yourself—really, you can't. As you pass him, you throw out: "Maybe take a page from my book and grab one yourself after. You know, freshen up a bit."

The snort he lets out is almost a laugh. "Watch yourself. I don't take orders in my own quarters."

But his eyes are doing that thing where they get all dark and playful, and you know that look.

Intimately.

"Just a suggestion between... friends."

You draw out the last word, letting it hang there like bait. Because that's what you are now, right? Friends who sometimes sleep together. And sometimes fuck. But tonight's just for sleeping.

(Sure it is.)

"So pushy." His smirk should be illegal. "What, you wanna shower together now? Could've just asked, sunshine."

You roll your eyes because it's easier than admitting how tempting that sounds. "You wish, thundercloud. I can handle washing myself just fine."

You head for the bathroom, but pause at the door because apparently, you hate yourself.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you add: "But you know... my back is kind of hard to reach..."

"Nice try." His voice has dropped lower, rougher. "But we said only sleeping tonight. Go get cleaned up. I'll be here when you're done."

The way he says it—like a promise and a threat wrapped in one—makes you seriously reconsider this whole "just sleeping" thing.

The bathroom is exactly what you expected—black and white everything, minimalist as fuck. It's like the room outside but with more tiles and chrome.

You turn the shower on hot enough to steam up the mirrors and step under the spray, letting it pound against your shoulders.

The water pressure is amazing. Of course it is—Chief privileges and all that. Your shared bathroom on the fourth floor can barely manage a decent drizzle, but this? This is heaven.

You take your sweet time, enjoying the luxury of a private shower where no one's going to bang on the door telling you to hurry up.

When you finally emerge, wrapped in one of Jeon's obscenely fluffy black towels (seriously, where does he get these?), steam billows out behind you like you're making some dramatic entrance. Your hair's twisted up in another towel, water still dripping down your neck.

You feel Jeon's eyes on you before you see him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle.

His face is doing that careful blank thing, but his eyes? They're giving him away.

"Shower's free," you say, aiming for casual even though the tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. "You know, if you want it."

He just makes this low humming sound that absolutely does not make heat pool in your stomach.

Instead of moving, he just... looks at you.

His eyes track down your body, slow and deliberate, like he's memorizing every inch.

Like he's thinking about what's under that towel.

You refuse to squirm under his gaze. Two can play this game.

"Like what you see?" You cock an eyebrow, channeling your inner seductress (which is technically your job, so).

His mouth curves into that dangerous almost-smirk. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you'll drop that towel."

"You wish."

You turn your back on him (which is definitely not just an excuse to give him a better view) and head for his dresser.

The drawers are organized because of course they are. You find his t-shirts, all neatly folded like some department store display.

"I'm borrowing this," you announce, grabbing a shirt that looks big enough to work as a dress. You glance over your shoulder, catching his eyes again. "Unless you'd prefer me naked?"

His smirk grows, and fuck, that should be illegal.

"Be my guest."

The invitation in his voice makes your skin feel too tight, but you're not giving in that easy. This is a game of chicken now, and you're not about to lose.

Even if losing sounds really, really tempting right now.

You unwind the towel from your hair and toss it at Jeon, aiming for his face but hitting his chest instead.

"Just sleeping, remember? Go shower."

The towel slides down his front, and you catch this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he wants to smile but his reputation won't let him.

He stands up in that way he does, all fluid grace and barely contained power. Without a word, he heads for the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and soon you hear water running.

You grab his brush (because of course he has one, Mr. Perfect Hair) and start working through your damp hair.

It's weirdly domestic, sitting here in Jeon's room, wearing his shirt, using his stuff. The brush is probably expensive—it glides through your hair like it's made of silk or something.

Speaking of his shirt... You pull it on, and fuck. It smells like him—pine, wood, and smoke.

The fabric drowns you, hanging off one shoulder, falling to mid-thigh. There's something stupidly thrilling about wearing his clothes, like you're getting away with something.

Once your hair's somewhat tamed, you twist it up into a bun. The mirror catches your eye—one of those full-length ones that probably cost more than your monthly salary. You can't help checking yourself out, tugging the shirt down a bit because apparently, you still have modesty or whatever.

That's when you see him in the reflection.

Oh.

Jeon's fresh out of the shower, water still beading on his chest, towel riding low on his hips like it's trying to start something. He's got another towel in his hands, drying his hair as he sits on the bed, but his eyes?

His eyes are locked on your ass like it's his favorite meal.

The mirror gives you a perfect view of his face, and holy shit. The way he's looking at you—it's not subtle. At all. His gaze is heavy, hungry, like he's thinking about all the ways this "just sleeping" arrangement could go very, very wrong.

(Or very, very right, depending on your perspective.)

The temperature in the room spikes, and it's definitely not from the shower steam. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the mirror.

So much for keeping things platonic tonight. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Because if Jeon wants to play this game?

Well, two can definitely play.

You reach up to your bun, pretending to mess with the hair tie.

Oops—it "accidentally" slips through your fingers, falling to the floor with a silent grace that would make your Seduction Division trainers proud.

"Oh no," you say, channeling your best innocent voice. The one that fools absolutely no one but works anyway. "How clumsy of me."

You turn your back to Jeon, and fuck, you can practically feel his eyes burning into you.

Bending down—slowly, because you're nothing if not thorough—you give him a view that you know from experience he can't resist. The borrowed shirt rides up just enough to be interesting.

You take your sweet time "looking" for the hair tie, even though you can see it right there. Your fingers trail across the floor like you're putting on a show, which... yeah, you absolutely are.

When you finally grab it, you throw a look over your shoulder.

Jackpot.

Dark, obscure eyes pin you in place. Absolutely hungry. You'd bet good money that towel isn't hiding much anymore.

"See something you like?" Your voice comes out honey-sweet, but there's nothing innocent about the way you're looking at him.

Before he can compose himself enough to answer, you straighten up and sashay over to the bed. The sway in your hips isn't natural, but who cares about natural when it makes Jeon's breath catch like that?

You slip under the sheets, turning away from him because you're evil like that. The mattress dips as he lies down next to you, and you have to bite back a smile.

"We should get some rest." You keep your voice light, casual, like dismissing every inch of space between you. "Long day tomorrow."

He makes this grunt that could mean anything, but you know him well enough by now to recognize the sound of him wrestling with his self-control.

You can picture his face—brow furrowed, jaw clenched, probably glaring at the ceiling like he wants to shadowbox with it.

You wait, barely breathing.

Maybe you read this wrong.

Maybe he's actually planning to be good tonight.

Maybe he really does just want to sleep.

That's fine. Totally fine. This was his idea anyway, right? Just sleeping.

You're about to give up, admit defeat, when the mattress shifts.

Jeon rolls toward you, and suddenly his chest is pressed against your back, all heat and hard muscle. You fight back a shiver as his hand finds your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles that make your skin buzz. His breath fans hot against your neck, and fuck, this is so much better than sleeping.

"I need to ease some tension, sunshine."

His voice is pure sin, rough and low right by your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach as you roll onto your back, meeting his gaze. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel how much he wants this.

"Oh?" You hold his stare, watching his control slip. "I thought you'd never ask."

You're definitely not getting much sleep tonight.

But hey, that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

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