#code name: wee wee one

[waywardprintmaker]

@trappezoider They were trenchmates

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part six)

warnings ; he’s on his knees for her <3, oral (f recieving)

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; two things. 1) this is the LONGEST part of tpod i think (might also be longest piece ive written in a fic so far.) and 2) if you don’t listen to guilty as sin on repeat while reading you are depriving yourself of an amazing reader experience. i don’t even know how we got here. one second she was yelling at him in a hallway, and the next she’s sleeping on his chest. godspeed to these idiots. they’re not surviving this. (also!!! there are a ton of nods to korean culture in this part, and i consulted some of my korean friends for this but please excuse any inaccuracies, i am just a wee little hispanic girl)

playlist here

series masterlist here

You feel sick.

Not like, “Oh no, I need electrolytes and sleep” sick. This is existential sick. Your organs are staging a coup and your soul is clenching in protest. Sure, your body aches, your temples are pounding, your limbs feel like wet cement, and your eyes burn from lack of sleep but that’s the surface-level stuff. That’s the kind of sickness you can fix with ibuprofen and a nap.

This ailment seeps into your bones. It hits you every time you close your eyes and see him again: his mouth, his hands, the way you let it happen not once but twice, like you had no self-respect or higher brain function whatsoever.

It’s that part that makes you want to unzip your skin and crawl out of it.

The first time was a fluke. A stress-induced catastrophe you swore you’d bury six feet under.

But then you did it again with full awareness and zero hesitation, like a woman possessed.

Now it’s as if your inner compass has spun a few degrees off course. You’ve crossed some invisible, irreversible line, and no amount of denial can rewind the tape.

You haven’t slept or eaten. Every time you try to focus on an email, a pitch deck, even something as simple as drinking coffee, your brain decides, “Hey, remember that time you moaned his name in a trailer?”

You actually haven’t seen him since that day. You’ve been dodging him like a coward, like some freshly heartbroken intern who can’t handle a one-night stand.

If you were smart like your two higher education degrees said you were, you would strut into that next meeting like nothing happened, as if he were just another brand ambassador. Like your panties didn’t hit the floor faster than your standards.

But every time you try to channel that version of yourself, the one who takes no shit and always wins, something inside you flinches.

You try and go back to your default setting. You sit through meetings with a frozen smile and fraying nerves, pretending like you’re not unraveling at the seams. You even let your team drag you out for drinks, which frankly, should’ve won you an Oscar for pretending to be fun.

Recently, being around people makes your skin itch. The laughter is too loud, lights too bright. All you can think about is how to not think about him.

Late at night, the guilt creeps in. Mostly because deep down, you know this isn’t just about you. For all the ways Jungkook is reckless and infuriating, you know he doesn’t deserve to be treated like some regrettable error code in your system.

Yet, that’s what you did when you left that trailer with no explanation. You ghosted him like he was the mistake, as if it wasn’t you who wanted him just as badly.

Somehow, that realization stings more than the memory itself.

It’s fine. You’ll figure it out. You have to. Otherwise, if it goes on a second longer, you’re not sure there’ll be anything left of you to come back to.

All this to say — you should’ve known this day was coming. Should’ve seen it cresting on the horizon like a storm you pretended wouldn’t reach you.

The second you step into the sleek, glass-walled conference room, Calvin Klein execs already seated, you go still.

Jungkook is seated in one of the chairs in a black T-shirt, silver rings, the glint of his bracelets catching in the fluorescent light.

You swear when your heels click across the floor, his fingers pause on the rim of his water bottle.

You don’t dare look at him. For one long, silent, bone-melting second, no one says a word. Then, as if summoned by the gods, Daniel drops into the seat beside you. His expression: the human equivalent of a side-eye emoji.

You ignore him, letting out an exhale and flipping open your laptop like this is just another Tuesday (It actually is.)

The meeting starts, the campaign rundown begins… and your body is here physically. But your mind is trying not to flinch every time Jungkook shifts in his chair and failing not to notice how quiet he’s being.

“Jungkook,” one of the execs says, flipping through mock-ups, “we wanted to confirm, you’re still comfortable with the shirtless set for this shoot?”

It’s a standard question. Practically in the brand guidelines at this point.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he turns his head and looks at you.

You don’t meet his gaze, you really don’t have to. It feels like heat crawling up your neck, threading beneath your skin, sparking every nerve that has spent the last few days pretending he doesn’t exist.

“Yeah,” he finally says,“I don’t mind.”

You hate yourself for the way your heart reacts like it’s just been told a secret. Daniel shifts beside you as if he just got confirmation of a theory he’s been waiting to prove. Like he’s watching a house of cards start to tremble.

You grit your teeth, returning your attention to the presentation. Focus on the words, the charts, the goddamn revenue projections.

“I do have one concern,” Jungkook says.

Of course he does.

“I’m not sure the creative direction for the final set is the right call. It feels kinda stiff.”

One of the execs frowns. “Stiff?”

Jungkook’s tongue presses to the inside of his cheek, and you genuinely consider stabbing your pen through your own laptop just to escape.

“I think we could push it further,” he claims. “Make it feel more natural. Less staged.” He glances toward the campaign boards, then right back to you. “More real.”

You know exactly what he’s doing. Seeing if you’ll crack.

You press your fingers against the cool surface of the table, and speak without even blinking. “If it were any more real, Jungkook, we’d be selling porn, not denim.”

A snort comes from where Daniel sits.

Jungkook blinks and there’s a gleam in his eyes like you just gave him exactly what he wanted.

The conversation shifts, and the meeting rolls forward and suddenly, every damn thing out of his mouth sounds like it belongs in an 18+ warning.

“We just need the right amount of tension in the shot,” he muses, “So it doesn’t feel forced.”

“It should build naturally,” he adds. “Slow. Like… foreplay.”

Okay, he didn’t technically say that last part, but your body hears it anyway.

“We want the final shots to feel… intimate,” the creative director chimes in, flipping through references. “Jungkook, how comfortable are you with that?”

You hold your breath and beg every god to spare you. Jungkook hums thoughtfully, as if he’s considering it.

“Oh, I don’t mind getting up close,” he says. “In fact, I think it works better when there’s a little resistance first.“

You keep your face blank, posture perfect. You will not give him the satisfaction. Then, deadpan as ever, you say, “Yes, Jungkook, we all know how much you like resistance.”

The creative director chokes on his water so violently you’re certain he is thisclose to calling HR. Daniel claps a hand over his mouth and one of the managers goes wide-eyed.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Jungkook retorts,”I’m just a professional. I take direction very well.”

Your grip tightens around your pen, not enough to snap it in half but the threat is present.

This exact scenario is what you didn’t want. The not-so-subtle slide from professional sparring to something laced with all the things you refuse to untangle mentally. Once upon a time, you could bicker with Jungkook without consequence. Once upon a time, it was just sharp words with no bite.

“Oh?” you inhale slowly. “Is that so? Because I was under the impression you didn’t take direction at all.”

One of the executives mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Jesus Christ.

He shakes his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes, and when he looks at you again, it’s with a quiet intensity that makes your skin feel too tight. “I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

You hate him with the force of a thousand campaign deadlines and every broken rule you swore you wouldn’t cross. You hate that it’s starting to feel easy for you, too. He’s not just a threat. In a way, you almost like the way he matches you and pushes back.

You force yourself and your colleagues to turn back to the agenda, but Jungkook’s still watching you out of the corner of his eyes, a small smirk on his plump lips.

After all, he’s the one who set the trap.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You tell yourself you’re counting down the days. The days until the final shoot wraps, the campaign boards come down, and Jungkook is no longer orbiting your every waking hour like some satellite with boundary issues.

You should be relieved, thrilled even. Practically dancing in designer heels down the halls of your career triumph.

There’s something off about it though. Kind of like you’re hurtling toward the finish line of a race you no longer remember signing up for, only to realize you might not like what’s waiting on the other side.

This campaign is a career-defining achievement, an international spectacle you crafted. It is a global masterpiece. You are exhausted over it, and not just jet-lagged. You are cosmically, soul-deep spent. Every fiber of you is stretched too thin like a rubber band pulled tight and desperate not to snap.

You know exactly what the problem is, if you put your finger on it. It’s Jungkook, with his stupid eyes and stupid mouth. He is a glitch in your meticulously controlled system, a variable you didn’t plan for. And no matter how many spreadsheets you bury yourself in, how many mockups you sign off on, how many creative calls you reroute just to avoid being alone in a room with him, he refuses to stay in the box you need him to fit inside.

So yes. You need this to be over. You need to get him out of your sight, out of your schedule, out of your brain where he’s taken up residence like an overconfident squatter who refuses to pay rent.

The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour. A soft hum of jazz leaks from the overhead speakers, and there’s a faint murmur of laughter spilling from the hotel bar, but it all blurs into the background.

Meanwhile you’re drowning in deliverables and deck revisions and approval threads that have turned your inbox into a graveyard. Your laptop screen glows against the dim, gold-toned lighting. Your fingers fly over the keyboard, mechanical and joyless. You haven’t looked up in at least an hour, probably longer. Your hair is a mess, twisted into a knot that started off intentional and devolved into chaos.

This is the version of you that never stops; the one who doesn’t get the luxury of rest and who runs on cortisol and cold coffee.

Your team had gone out earlier, and they begged you to come for one drink. One hour.

“You need to breathe,” they had said, like it was that simple. You told them you didn’t have time (you really didn’t.) Not when your brain is a warzone and the enemy wears silver rings and makes your knees feel like glass.

So there you are, hunched in a stool at the bartop, your spine begging for mercy, your wine glass sweating beside you, half-finished and entirely forgotten.

Your phone buzzes beside your laptop, the screen lighting up with a name you haven’t said out loud in weeks. Eomma. You glance at it once, jaw tightening, and then flip it over without answering. It’s muscle memory at this point, hitting decline or letting it go to voicemail. The call fades to silence, but the tension lingers, settling beneath your skin with something you don’t have the time or emotional bandwidth to unpack.

Your fingers return to the keyboard, determined. You don’t look up when voices murmur near the bar. Don’t flinch when the elevator dings in the distance. You don’t even care when some kid starts running around the hotel lobby being chased by overwhelmed parents.

Clearly, you have a knack for calling your own fate.

A shadow slices across your screen and your fingers stop mid-sentence, stomach dropping like it’s suddenly remembered how to feel.

When you look up, despite already knowing exactly who it could be, you see Jungkook, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, eyes half-lidded, dark hair disheveled.

You’re a little shell-shocked, because he’s supposed to be somewhere else. Specifically, at the bar, with the team you said ‘no’ to.

Your eyes flick to the wine glass, then back to him. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs like he didn’t just appear in the one place you swore he wouldn’t. “What are you doing here?” he counters.

You gesture vaguely toward your laptop, fingers sweeping across the chaos of open tabs, spreadsheets, and campaign briefs like it’s all self-explanatory. Because it is (or it should be.) “Working,” you say flatly.

Jungkook tilts his head slightly, gaze flicking from your screen to the half-drained glass of wine beside it, then back to your face. “So this is what you do for fun?” he questions, “Sit alone in hotel lounges at midnight, buried in spreadsheets, slowly becoming one of your Google Docs?”

You exhale sharply, shoulders aching from hours hunched over this chair. “I don’t really have time for fun.”

He watches you, expression unreadable, trying to parse the subtext between your sentences. He then shifts his weight lazily from one foot to the other, eyes still locked on you.

“Why aren’t you with everyone else?” you ask, frowning like he’s broken some unspoken rule by appearing in your safe zone.

He shrugs again, “Didn’t feel like going.”

Your frown deepens. “You? Skipping drinks?”

“I know. Shocking,” he says, lips curling slightly. There’s humor there, but it’s quiet.

You glance back at your screen and try to refocus. Try to pretend his presence doesn’t shift the entire room two degrees warmer.

He pulls out the chair beside you and sits down. “Have you eaten?”

Goddamnit.

Your fingers stop mid-sentence. You blink once, eyes still on your screen. “What?”

“Food,” he repeats. “When was the last time you ate?”

You shift in your seat and glance at the time on your laptop: 11:43 p.m. That tells you nothing, because time stopped meaning anything after 8pm. Maybe 7pm.

You think back and try to remember, but then your stomach growls, as if it remembers. You refuse to give him the satisfaction, so you shrug, fingers already hovering back over your keyboard. “I’ve been busy.”

Jungkook lets out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “That’s not an answer.”

Your fingers move again, faster now, as if typing at warp speed might drown out the sound of his voice.

He lifts his hand. Flags the bartender down with two fingers and an easy nod.

Your head jerks up. “What are you doing?”

He turns to the bartender, all calm and goes, “Can we get a plate of whatever’s still warm back there? And another glass of wine.”

“Jungkook,” you snap like a warning, like if the idea of ordering food is so preposterous he needs to be scolded like a child.

He ignores it. “Thanks,” he smiles, nodding toward the bartender before turning back to you with that maddening, infuriatingly smug expression.

You glare at him. ��I don’t need you to order for me.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, arms crossing lazily over his chest. He looks like he’s settling in for the night. “Clearly, you do. Since you seem completely incapable of basic survival.”

You resist the very real, very violent urge to slam your laptop shut just to make a point. “This isn’t necessary,” you mutter, reaching for your wine. You don’t know what unnerves you more: the fact that he ordered you food without asking or the fact that he’s probably right.

“Neither is skipping meals,” Jungkook retorts, shrugging like he’s merely stating a fact and not casually inserting himself into your personal life. “But here we are.”

You sit there, blinking at him. What the actual fuck is this? Jungkook has spent time out of his days making your life hell. Willingly and gleefully. It’s practically his part-time job.

And yet now he’s sitting next to you, body plopped in a stool like it’s something he does often. Not because he cares, obviously not. Right?

You stare blankly at your screen, face bathed in the cold blue glow of your laptop, brows pulled in like they’re shielding you from the audacity radiating off the man to your left.

Jungkook drums his fingers against the table, light and absentminded, but you can feel the rhythm of it anyway. You haven’t really looked at him since he sat down. Not even when he forced you to acknowledge that the last thing you put in your body was probably a coffee you forgot to finish six hours ago and some white wine.

Normally, your stubbornness would amuse him. Your compulsive need to be in control. Your single-minded obsession with perfection. The way you pretend you’re made of steel, even when your body’s clearly crying out for rest.

Still, he tries. “What are you even working on this late?”

You exhale through your nose like he’s an annoying notification popping up mid-presentation. “Contracts. Final reports. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

He hums. “You ever stop working?”

“No.” Your shoulders slump even more.

He lets out a snort, “That’s depressing.”

You keep typing like the fate of the free world hinges on your ability to update a pivot table. Jungkook eyes you for a beat, then shifts forward, forearms resting against the marble bartop.

“What’s left on the campaign?” he asks, “Last shoot is this week, right?”

You make a noise, something between a hum and a sigh, and click through to another document. “Yeah.”

“And after that?” he presses.

You pretend to be oddly interested in adjusting a cell in a spreadsheet. “You know the deal. Press tours, magazine exclusives, and then launch.”

“And after launch?”

That makes you pause. He should know how this works like the back of his hand. You glance up, brow raised, annoyed. “What is this, an interrogation?”

He grins, unbothered. “Just trying to figure out when you’ll finally relax.”

You scoff. “I don’t relax.”

“Yeah,” he says, lips twitching, “no shit.”

You roll your eyes and go back to work, but he’s still watching you, fingers tapping idly against the wine glass the bartender brought out for him, gaze thoughtful.

For the first time since this campaign began, for the first time since your constant sparring became something else, seeing you like this doesn’t give him that same satisfaction. You look like you’re one poorly worded email away from full collapse, and that… doesn’t feel like a win.

The bartender returns quietly, placing a plate in front of you. A burger, fries, and a glass of water with more wine. The scent alone breaks your focus; crispy potatoes, buttery toasted bun, something grilled and undeniably American.

Your fingers hover mid-keystroke. You blink at the plate and let out a laugh. “Really? A burger? In Korea?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Hey, I asked for anything warm. Plus, you needed something quick and easy. Not too complicated.”

He pauses for a second, “Kind of like you.”

You shoot him a look, utterly unimpressed. “Ha. Ha.”

Jungkook grabs a fry off your plate like it’s his, gesturing for you to follow. “Eat.”

You cross your arms, “I don’t have time.”

“Yeah, you do,” he says, motioning at your food. “Besides, I’m not leaving until you do.”

You make a face, a full-body grimace of indignation and something dangerously close to a pout. You roll your eyes so hard it nearly counts as exercise and mutter something under your breath, but just as you’re about to double down on your disdain, your stomach growls. Your own body has betrayed you completely.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow with quiet delight, and barks out a laugh, entirely too pleased with himself.

You glare at him like you’re deciding whether prison time is worth it. Painfully and dramatically, you grab a fry. It’s an exaggerated, defiant motion. You nibble at the end of it like it’s a hostage negotiation.

Jungkook hums, “There we go. Not so hard, was it?”

You don’t dignify that with a response. You just take another bite with the same energy as someone doing squats at gunpoint, while your other hand keeps typing, eyes locked on the glowing blur of your spreadsheet. If you don’t look at him, it doesn’t count.

And then because he’s a menace and a flirt and apparently clinically incapable of shutting up, he leans forward. “You know, pouty looks good on you.”

Very slowly, very deliberately, you lift your gaze. To him, it finally feels like you’re not truly ignoring him.

From there, the conversation doesn’t happen all at once. It unfolds gradually, kind of like rain soaking slowly into the sidewalk. You’re still typing, still pretending to work, your attention split between whatever meaningless data is on your screen and the man next to you who won’t stop peeling back your armor with casual little flicks of conversation.

Somehow, between reluctant bites of fries and the low hum of hotel jazz, you start talking. Just… regular conversation that isn’t heavy.

“So,” he begins, fingers tapping the side of his glass. “Calvin Klein. How’d you end up here?”

You click through some Excel sheets. “Hard work, a few miracles, a lot of people underestimating me.”

He tips his head. “Didn’t you say you started in New York?”

“I did. But I had internships in Seoul during university. They were smaller houses. Luxury branding though. I moved to the U.S. after I got the global marketing position.” It’s all now rolling off your tongue so easily.

“And now you run the whole thing.”

You acknowledge him, arching a brow. “Surprised?”

Jungkook smirks, snatching another fry. “Not really. But you’re younger than most people in your position, right?”

You sigh through your nose. “Yes, and most of them don’t let me forget it.”

Jungkook nods slowly. He gets it; the pressure, the eyes, the constant need to prove you belong in a room they never built for you in the first place.

“People underestimate you a lot, huh?” he asks.

“Always.”

“And you love proving them wrong.”

That makes you take a pause. You don’t rush to fill the silence, mostly because you don’t have to. It hangs there, soft and strange and long enough to feel like the truth.

“What about you?” you ask, shifting the conversation, not because you’re particularly curious, but because he’s looking at you too closely and you need a second to breathe.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, “What about me?”

“You became an idol when you were, what…12? 13? That couldn’t have been easy.”

His expression flickers briefly. A shift too subtle for most to notice, but you do.

“No,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t.”

You study him now, less like a challenge or a puzzle. But more so… as a person.

“Do you ever regret it?” You take a sip from your wine.

Jungkook tilts his head, gaze drifting somewhere else. “No. But…” He pauses. “I wonder, sometimes what it would’ve been like to be normal.”

You weren’t expecting the honesty. The way he says it with curiosity, like he’s asked himself the same question in the quiet of his own head a thousand times and never said it out loud until now.

“To be normal?” you echo, placing your glass down.

He nods. “To be anonymous. To go to school like everyone else. To have weekends. To do dumb shit without it ending up on some gossip site three hours later.”

You sit with that. You need a moment to let it rearrange the version of him you’ve built in your head. This is someone lonelier, someone who has been living in a fishbowl since he was a kid and still managed to become this.

“I get that,” you say, and it surprises you how much you mean it.

Jungkook turns back to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “You do?”

“I’ve spent my whole life working. I was always the youngest in every room, and every board I’ve ever had to sit on. I had to prove I belonged there. And sometimes I wonder… what if I didn’t? What if I’d taken my time and let myself be young?”

He leans forward again, resting his arms on the table, “Would you change anything?”

Your mind flickers to the sleepless nights, the overexerted ambition, the girls you once knew in Busan who married young and stayed put, your childhood apartment with the leaky sink and cheap wallpaper. To the version of you that never left.

You shake your head, “No. But I think about it sometimes.”

Jungkook nods like he understands. The conversation doesn’t end. It just… shifts. The sharpness between you remains, but it’s dulled, like a knife put back in its sheath. You talk about Busan, about the beaches, the old seafood stalls, the sleepy summers that felt longer when you were kids.

Jungkook grins when you mention the accent, eyes lighting up like he’s been waiting for this part. “Ah, so that’s why I heard you mutter ssibal under your breath the other day,” he teases. “Sounded like it came straight out of 2012.”

You roll your eyes, feigning offense. “It only comes out when I’m stressed.”

“So… constantly?”

You throw a fry at him. He dodges it, laughing.

For a moment, it feels simple. Like you’re not two people who should absolutely not be sitting here at midnight, eating fries and sharing childhood wounds.

“Be honest,” he muses, “When’s the last time you actually went back to Busan?”

And just like that, the easy feeling catches in your throat. The question lands soft but inside, it cracks something. Busan isn’t just a city to you. It’s a memory you’ve kept sealed shut, a version of yourself you’ve outgrown but never quite buried. For all the years you’ve spent running away from it, there’s always been that quiet fear gnawing at your ribs: that if you go back, even for a second, you might not know who you are anymore. Or worse, you’ll remember. You’ll remember the girl who left because staying felt like failure. Some days, when you’re too tired to lie to yourself, you wonder if that’s why you haven’t been back. Not because you can’t, but because you’re terrified you don’t belong there anymore.

You hesitate. For some reason, your fingers are still hovering over your keyboard, mid-sentence, mid-excuse, the cursor blinking like it’s waiting for you to remember who you are.

And then, without thinking, without looking at him, you reach up and close your laptop.

You have unconsciously waved a white flag of surrender.

“I try to go back at least once a year,” you sigh, “For Chuseok, if I can swing it.”

Jungkook hums warmly. “Big family?”

You nod. “Very.”

He smiles, already picturing it. “So you were one of those kids with fifty cousins sprinting around the yard, screaming over food and stealing snacks from the kitchen?”

You can’t help it; the memory makes your mouth twitch a little. “Yeah. My mom used to cook like she was feeding the entire peninsula. And every surface in the house would be covered in something, rice cookers, trays of fried food. It was chaos.”

Jungkook grins, “Let me guess. Seafood pancake the size of a steering wheel, enough kimchi jjigae to fill a kiddie pool, and at least one auntie bringing her secret homemade makgeolli in an old Sprite bottle?”

You laugh, tipping your head back slightly. “God. You really are from Busan.”

He shrugs proudly. “Born and raised.”

“The second I walked through the door,” you say, a little more softly now, “they’d shove rice balls and hot soup at me like I’d just returned from war.”

“That’s how you know you’re truly home,” Jungkook reminisces. “You’re not allowed to be hungry.”

Your stomach flips at that word. Home. It lodges itself beneath your ribs before you can stop it.

You clear your throat and shift in your seat. “What about you?” you question, redirecting the spotlight. “Big family?”

Jungkook plays with the stem of his wine glass. “Not as big as yours, probably. But it was enough. Me, my parents, my brother. We always spent the holidays together with food, board games, my mom yelling at us for eating before the table was set.”

“Did you ever get to do the normal Busan teenager thing?” You giggle lightly at the thought of it.

He raises a brow. “What, like sneaking out to Haeundae with your friends to watch the sunrise?”

Your eyes narrow into slits. “So you did?”

“Once or twice.” He shrugs again,. “You?”

You scoff, waving a hand in the air. “Please. I had it down to a science. Out the back door at 11:30. Home by 5:00, bed made, face washed, phone off. My mother never knew.”

Jungkook chuckles amusedly. “You were the responsible one, huh? The one dragging everyone else out of trouble?”

“Somebody had to be,” you say, lifting your glass for a slow sip.

“So serious,” he teases. “Even back then.”

You set the glass down, mouth curling. “You don’t get to where I am without a little discipline.”

His gaze drifts over your face, thoughtful. “I bet you still were rebellious though”

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”

He nods, lips curling. “I think you like breaking the rules more than you let on.”

You know he’s not talking about Busan or teenage rebellion or barefoot sprints down side streets with your shoes in your hands and curfews already blown to hell.

He’s talking about you and him. About how you keep drawing the line and then stepping over it. About the trailer, the conference room. About the fact that every time you say it’s the last time, whether it’s to yourself or to him, you never really mean it.You refuse to give him the satisfaction. There won’t even be a hint of agreement that shows. You roll your eyes and reach for another fry like it’s a mic you’re about to drop. You bite into it with the kind of pointed defiance usually reserved for toddlers.

“You think you know me, Jungkook?” you ask flatly.

He grins. “I think I’m getting there.”

The smart move, the safe move, the version of you that has this conversation under control would be to disagree with him.

Instead, you stare at him. Fingers still pressed against the slick condensation of your wine glass, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and indignation.

He says it so casually like he’s peeled back the first few layers and now he’s just waiting for you to stop pretending there’s nothing left underneath.

You need to remind him exactly who you are and exactly why you never let people get close. There’s this unfamiliar discomfort curling at the edge of your confidence.

What the hell is this? This slow, winding conversation that isn’t bait or bravado?

You pull your walls back up tightly. “Getting there?” you echo, “That’s optimistic.”

“I like my chances.”

You roll your eyes again. “You would.”

“I mean,” he says, mouth quirking, “you did close your laptop.”

Oh god. You hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook watches it register and the way your posture stiffens. You shake your head quickly, a breath sharp through your nose, and reach for your laptop again with renewed purpose. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter. “I was just—”

“—taking a break?” he finishes for you,“Talking to me?”

“Admit it,” he keeps going, “I’m growing on you.”

You scoff instinctively. Shake your head like the idea is laughable. “You’re insufferable,” you say.

You really don’t know when it happened but you feel like you might be losing ground.

You tip your wine glass back, draining the last sip like it’s going to grant you strength, or clarity or at the very least the illusion of control. The warmth settles low in your chest, dull and steady, a quiet reminder that you’ve let this go on longer than you meant to. You exhale and push your chair back with a soft scrape against the floor.

“I need to go to bed,” you say, clipped with finality. “And so do you. Big shoot tomorrow.”

It should land like a period. A closing line.

Jungkook just sits there, no surprise and no protest.

Running is your specialty, isn’t it? Especially when things start feeling real.

You stand, smoothing your wrinkled hoodie tucking your phone into your pocket, gathering your laptop like it’s a shield.

Just as you turn, his hand finds your waist. It’s not demanding or aggressive. It’s simply there.

God, you hate how your breath stutters. Hate how, for one traitorous second, you almost lean into it. It’s not even the touch itself — it’s what it implies. The fact that he knows exactly how close he can get before you break.

You glance down at his hand, then up. He’s already looking at you, eyes dark, lips parted.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself, “Don’t.”

His thumb drags across the hem of your hoodie but you step back before you can fully indulge in it.

He lets go, hand falling back to his side. “You’re no fun,” he says matter-of-factly.

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Go to bed, Jungkook.”

You turn on your heels, fingers tight around your laptop. You’re ready to walk away, to build distance, to pretend none of this ever happened—

“Wait. Hold on.”

You freeze. Clearly this is what he does. He gets you to stop.

Slowly, you turn back. Jungkook is still in his chair, spread-out limbs. “You’re wound up so tight, I’m surprised you can still breathe,” he notes.

You go stiff instantly. He just reached under your skin and found the part of you that you keep duct-taped shut. “Jungkook—”

“You’re stressed about tomorrow. The shoot. The campaign. Your never-ending checklist of things to fix, control, and solve.” He tilts his head, gaze locked on yours. “I can help you relieve some of that stress.”

Your feet are already pivoting away from him. “Shut up.”

“What? I’m being helpful. Offering a solution,” Jungkook’s shit-eating grin is a mockery of you.

You spin around so fast your hoodie sways with you. “A solution?” you snap. “You are the fucking problem.”

“Am I?” He stands up, shoulders relaxed. “Because from where I’m standing…”

He steps forward.

“…you look like you need me.”

Your stomach flips violently.

No. Nope. Absolutely the fuck not.

You straighten your spine, square your shoulders, roll every ounce of professional restraint back into place. “You’re delusional.”

“You push yourself too hard.” His voice is low, careful, almost maddeningly calm. “You skip meals. You forget how to sit still. You act like rest is something you have to earn.”

He’s not accusing you. Which somehow makes it worse. He’s just stating facts.

His gaze skims over your face like he’s cataloging every reaction, checking for any signs of a flicker of resistance.

Finally, after a minute, he says,”Let me take care of you.”

It doesn’t sound like seduction. It doesn’t sound like pity.

Maybe it’s the wine still buzzing low in your veins. Maybe it’s the exhaustion clawing at your spine. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve spent weeks holding yourself together, and he’s the first person to see it.

You don’t care or know.

Because when he extends his hand, rings glinting under the amber hotel lights, palm open like he’s not asking, but offering, you take it.

No quips. No eye rolls. No fight left to give.

You let him lead you through the quiet, cavernous lobby, past the sleeping concierge, into the elevator. The doors slide shut behind you with a soft click. Jungkook stands beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw set. His reflection in the mirrored elevator wall watches you, even when he doesn’t turn his head.

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Somewhere between floor two and three, your mind flickers briefly to the last time you let someone in like this. The only man who ever got you to close your laptop without a fight. The only one who made you believe, for a second, that you didn’t have to choose between ambition and affection. You never really recovered from that, never fully trusted anyone not to resent the parts of you that needed to keep working. But now here’s Jungkook, pulling you away from your work without asking you to apologize for it.

Your skin is still humming from his touch, heart unable to stop tripping over itself.

The trailer was supposed to be the end. The final lapse. A mistake you could file under temporary insanity and bury beneath a mountain of brand deadlines and executive reports.

Now you’re here again. The numbers above the elevator door tick upward like a countdown to disaster.

Your grip tightens around your laptop, fingertips aching. In between the hotel bar and the lobby and this elevator, your resolve went quiet.

The elevator dings and you two shuffle out. All you can hear is the hush of carpet under your shoes, his steps right beside yours.

Jungkook stops in front of his door, pulls out the key card with one hand, swipes it through the reader, and the lock clicks open.

He doesn’t say anything. He steps aside, holding the door with one arm like he’s letting you decide.

You do.

You walk past him, cool air rushing out to meet your flushed skin, goosebumps blooming across your arms like your body already knows what’s coming.

When you turn around, he’s already looking at you. It’s not the usual look he wears. It’s not the push-your-buttons-and-watch-you-crack gaze he’s mastered. This one is quieter like he’s waiting for something to fall apart and praying it’s not him.

Before you can reason with yourself, before the part of you that’s still pretending to be composed can scream what are you doing, you move.

Your laptop slips from your hand, thudding softly against the carpet. Your phone tumbles after it. You don’t give a fuck.

Because your hands are already on him.

You push Jungkook back against the door, hard. He hits the wood with a quiet thud, breath knocked from his lungs in a sharp exhale, surprised, but not resisting.

And then, your mouth is crashing into his.

It’s not anything a sober, clear-headed version of you would allow. It’s reckless.

Your hands fist in his hair, dragging him closer like you’ve been aching to rip him apart. His lips part under yours, a groan caught between his teeth, his hands already on your waist, dragging you closer.

This isn’t like before. It’s not like that moment you swore you wouldn’t think about again and then did, over and over. It’s all the tension you’ve swallowed for weeks snapping like overstretched wire.

You moan into his mouth, and that’s it — he’s done pretending. His grip tightens, hands sliding down over the curve of your hips before curling under your thighs.

He lifts you up and your legs wrap around him on instinct, a breathless sound leaving your throat as Jungkook turns you, your back slamming against the door. His mouth drags down your jaw, down your neck.

“Fuck,” you whisper when his teeth scrape against the delicate skin beneath your ear.

His tongue flicks over your pulse point. His mouth sucks just hard enough to make your toes curl. His grip is bruising into your thighs, breath ragged against your skin.

“You’re been driving me insane,” he mutters. Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide.

You want to ruin whatever’s left of his self-control. You want to be the reason he snaps. If anyone’s going to unravel in this room, it’s going to be both of you.

Jungkook doesn’t even pretend to go for the bed. He sinks to his knees like worship comes naturally to him when it’s you he’s looking at. The door is still biting into your spine, but you barely notice it over the way his hands are already dragging your sweatpants down, knuckles brushing the bare skin of your waist. His breath is hot, lips swollen from the kind of kiss that could’ve shattered glass. Without hesitation, he yanks the sweatpants clean off your legs and flings them somewhere behind him. You’re ninety percent sure it lands on a lamp.

Maybe it’s the wine or the week you’ve had or the fact that you haven’t slept in days, but seeing him on his knees for you, hands splayed on your bare thighs, eyes hungry, does something catastrophic to your sanity. It really shouldn’t make your pulse skip like this.

His hands drag down your sides, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch he’s about to unveil. Fingers slipping just under the waistband of your underwear, knuckles brushing skin that’s already hot to the touch. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, sliding the fabric down inch by torturous inch, watching it fall past your thighs, over your knees, pooling at your ankles.

And suddenly, you’re standing there completely exposed in nothing but your old hoodie and the heat of his gaze that burns straight through you.

His breath is uneven, jaw tense, eyes locked on your face. You try to stand still, to play it cool, but your chest is rising too fast and your hands are twitching like they don’t know where to go.

You opt to thread them into his hair instead. Your fingers tangle at the roots, nails scraping softly against his scalp, and that’s when he moves. Leaning in, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans. His grip tightens around your thighs, anchoring you to the door, to him, to whatever this is rapidly becoming.

He mouths at your skin, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, higher, his tongue swiping gently, teasing, sending shivers up your spine so violently you nearly buckle.

When you look down, he’s already staring up. Like he could spend hours like this and still not get enough. Like you’re the answer to every sin he’s ever been tempted by.

“You look so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, hands skating up again, fingers curling just beneath the hem of your hoodie.

His teeth graze your skin enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You jolt instinctively, hips flinching forward.

“So pretty. So perfect,” he breathes, voice unsteady, like he means every damn word and hates how much he does. Before you can protest, before you can say anything about how close you are to the door, how thin the walls are, how anyone walking by could hear, Jungkook shushes you. “I want to take care of you.”

His hands spread you open. He licks up your slit as if he’s starving for it. That earns him a gasp from you, your head falling back against the door with a soft thud, fingers tightening in his hair so hard he groans into you.

Soft flicks of his tongue. Pressed kisses. A slow, slick circle around your clit that has your knees damn near giving out.

“Jungkook—” you whisper.

His hands grip tighter, holding your thighs open, making you take it. He looks up, eyes black with hunger, lips glossy with you, jaw set.

“Taste so fucking good,” he marvels, voice hoarse, lips hovering as his breath ghosts over your skin.

You can’t even answer. Can’t do anything but feel the drag of him licking into you like he’s rewriting your anatomy with his mouth alone.

He moans right into you, the sound vibrating straight through your core, and you cry out. “Oh my god,” you choke, nearly sliding down the door as your thighs start to tremble.

But Jungkook doesn’t let you go. He presses in deeper, groaning into your cunt like he’s home.

Jungkook is a goddamn menace. A man on a mission. On his knees like he’s praying, only you’re the altar, the sermon, the divine intervention he’s set on worshipping until you forget your own name.

His grip on your thighs tightens, fingers digging in like he’s trying to leave fingerprints behind. His palms press you wider, firmer, anchoring you against the door with nowhere to run.

His tongue is merciless, flicking over your clit, lapping you up like he’s dehydrated.

You’re past the point of composure or pride or anything that resembles logic.

“Fuck, Jungkook—” you choke out, the words punched out of your lungs in gasps.

Your head slams back against the door again as your thighs clench around his head, muscles spasming with every flick of his tongue.

He moans like he likes it when your legs shake. Like your desperation turns him on more than anything.

“That’s it,” he rasps, lips brushing against your soaked skin. “Fuck, baby. Give me more.”

He sucks on your clit, his mouth sealing tight around you like he’s trying to drink you dry.

The sound you make isn’t human. It tears from your throat, your core clenching around nothing, desperate for relief, for anything to ground you in the middle of how fucking good this feels.

You’ve never had someone so eager to fall apart between your legs. Had someone so content to stay there.

Jungkook groans again and it vibrates through your entire body like a shot to the spine. If anything, he goes harder. Two of his fingers, thick and deft, slide into you with devastating ease, like you were made to take them.

He doesn’t give you time. He just finds you already soaked and trembling and opens you up without mercy. Jungkook curls them upwards, knowing exactly where your sweet spot is, which normally would concern you that he knows your body well already, but instead you scream “Jungkook, oh my god.”

Your back arches clean off the door, fingers yanking at his hair like you’re trying to keep yourself from flying apart. His fingers pump into you at a brutal, perfect angle, dragging over that spot again and again and again.

His mouth wastes no time, already back on you, tongue flicking and sucking. “That’s it,” he pants, voice guttural, his mouth gleaming, his tongue ruthless. “You taste like fucking heaven.”

You moan out like you don’t care who hears, like you want the whole damn hallway to know. You’re too far gone to be embarrassed. You grind into his mouth like you’ve lost your mind, chasing the high he’s dragging you toward with no intention of letting up. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum, don’t you dare stop.”

“Like I’d stop when you sound that pretty.“, he growls, “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

His fingers piston harder, his mouth sliding up and down with. You can’t take it. You can’t.

But he gives you no choice.

The orgasm hits you like whiplash. A cry tears out of your throat, your legs locking around his head, your hips jerking helplessly as you come undone on his fingers, on his mouth, on him. “Oh my, fuck, I’m cumming —“

You’re sobbing now, barely coherent. Your release gushes out of you, soaking his hand, his wrist, his lips and he moans like he’s grateful for it.

His tongue licks up every drop. His fingers move slower now, coaxing the last waves of pleasure from your twitching body. His hands never let go, one on your hip, the other buried inside you, keeping you still.

“My perfect girl,” he murmurs almost to himself, lips dragging over the tremble in your leg. “So perfect like this.”

And that’s when your knees finally give out. The second his fingers slip free, the second his mouth leaves your oversensitive skin, your body surrenders. You collapse onto the carpet and he catches you, strong arms sliding under your thighs and around your back. He eases you down to the carpet with him like you’re made of glass.

There’s sweat cooling on your neck, your pulse racing in your throat. He doesn’t dare say anything cocky or ruin it with a joke.

He’s not sure if he went too far. He almost knows he did and is waiting to see if you’ll push him away.

But you don’t. You physically can’t. Right now, in this moment, you don’t want to.

His breath is shallow, lips parted, glistening with you in the dim light. His eyes are dark, blown wide, barely human. Hunger carved into every line of his face. Like he’s weighing the options between dragging you back onto his tongue or flipping you over and fucking you from a new angle.

His hands sit idle on his thighs, slick with your release, itching to touch again. To finish what he started, even if you’re already wrecked. Even if he already knows you’d let him.

Your hands find his face, palms hot against his skin, and then your lips are on his, desperately and messy.

You kiss him like he’s oxygen. Like he’s the only way back to Earth. Like you’ve never tasted anything like yourself on someone else’s tongue and didn’t know it could make you need them more.

Jungkook groans into your mouth, and his hands fly to your waist, yanking you down into his lap like he’s been waiting for this permission.

You taste yourself on his tongue, feel how his chest heaves against yours, how his body is burning beneath you. His cock is straining, pressing into you with enough pressure to make your breath catch mid-kiss.

You just keep kissing him, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, licking into his mouth, gasping into every moan.

“Fuck, baby…” he pants. His hands grip your thighs again, “Can’t even stand after I’m done with you.”

Your nails drag down his back, scratching through the cotton of his shirt, your hips twitching against his, legs wrapping tighter around his waist like your body’s forgotten how to let go. “Shut up,” you mutter, catching his mouth again, nipping at his lip.

You could slap him. You could kiss him harder. You opt for the second thing.

Jungkook’s hands slide lower, groping your ass and his hips roll up slightly, a soft grind that leaves your mouth parting in a broken gasp. He’s still hard. Painfully so.

But he doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t move to unzip his jeans. He’s not making it transactional. He wraps his arms around you and breathes. The two of you lay on the carpet in a tangle of limbs and oversensitive skin and sweat, and this time, there’s no urgency. No rush to get dressed. No nervous backpedaling.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. He smells like you now with a hint of whatever subtle cologne still clings to his shirt.

You don’t remind him of boundaries you never actually set, don’t shove the moment back into the safe, distant box where you normally keep your feelings.

You just stay, fingers idly toying with the edge of his tattooed wrist. Breathing him in like he’s not the exact reason you’ve spent the last month losing sleep.

You’re not thinking about campaign briefs or product shots or the three urgent emails Daniel probably sent while you were pinned to a door. You’re not thinking at all.

“Feeling better?” He wonders out loud.

You dare to lift your head. “Mm. A little.”

Jungkook makes a noise of satisfaction, “So I was right.”

You scoff. “Don’t make me regret coming up here.”

His laugh is low, rumbling beneath your cheek. “Noted.”

Your fingers trace along the edge of ink on his skin like you might find answers in the lines. You tell yourself it’s still nothing. Another late-night lapse in judgment you’ll shove into the archives tomorrow.

It really doesn’t feel like nothing, though. And that scares you more than anything.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You wake before the sun.

The room is silent, painted in that hazy, blue-gray light that only exists for a few short minutes before the world remembers it has things to do. Sleep still weighs heavy in your limbs, but your eyes are closed.

You don’t remember when he carried you to bed. There was a vague, dreamlike sensation of being lifted off the floor, of something warm pressed against your back, of fingers adjusting a pillow beneath your head.

Now you’re here, cheek pressed against a solid chest, arm draped around your waist, fingers curled loosely in the edge of a hotel sheet you definitely didn’t tuck in yourself.

For one suspended, silent moment, you don’t move or panic.

And… reality floods in like a dam breaking. Your eyes snap open.

Jungkook. Sleeping soundly beside you.

Breathing slow and even, one arm still heavy across your waist. His hair is tousled, his entire face relaxed. He looks younger like this. Less like the Jungkook who flirts just to get a rise out of you and more like someone you should not be this close to.

You never sleep over at a man’s house. Not after the first time. Not after the second.

You bolt upright like the bed’s caught fire. There’s a moment of untangling, sheets twisted around your legs, hoodie riding halfway up your torso, laptop halfway across the room. You scramble through it all, adrenaline laced with embarrassment, stomach clenching with the kind of shame that only hits after you’ve slept beside someone who shouldn’t make you feel safe.

Jungkook doesn’t move while you cause noise. He lies there, all golden skin and easy breath, completely unbothered, as if you didn’t just crawl into his mouth last night and fall asleep on his chest like some kind of walking red flag.

He looks… peaceful.

You hate how different he looks when he’s not awake enough to be cocky. Hate that for a second, you wonder what kind of man he is in the morning.

You shake off that thought like a wet coat, pull on yesterday’s sweatpants with practiced indifference, and snatch your phone off the nightstand.

You don’t glance back, or hesitate or wait for him to wake up and say something that might make you stay. You walk out of there with your laptop in one hand, your dignity dragging behind you, and your heart pounding a little too fast for your liking.

By the time you make it back to your own hotel room, your pulse has calmed down enough. You shower, get dressed, do all trivial human things that deserve your attention rather than jungkook . You bury yourself in your inbox like it might dig you out of the mess you made.

And when you finally walk onto set, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, a perfectly tailored blazer slung over your shoulders, you’re never been more ready to pretend last night never happened. Ready for him to smirk as per usual and say something infuriating about how you’re obsessed with him. Ready for the back-and-forth, the teasing.

Except, that’s not actually what happens and your brain turns into mush.

Jungkook says nothing when you walk past or when you call out instructions. When he catches your eye, you brace for it. The smirk. The too-obvious stare that always lingers just long enough to piss you off. You wait for him to play the game — whatever little game this is.

Instead, he just nods at you so goddamn normally it makes your skin prickle.

“You look pretty today,” he says.

Simple. And then he’s vanishing far off to his team without a wink, follow-up or a trace of the man who had you trembling under his tongue last night.

Almost as if you didn’t wake up on his chest and forget, for one stupid moment, that you’ve spent your entire life keeping people exactly where they belong; at arm’s length.

You stand there, frozen mid-step, your coffee suddenly tasting like battery acid. This is worse than the incessant flirting, than the smug comments, thsn every heated, too-close, too-loud argument you’ve ever had with him.

Somehow, you’re still calling the shots but something feels off, and you can feel it in every bone of your body.

Jungkook moves quietly across the set, present but distant, on the edges of your world like smoke.

What really fucks with your head is you keep waiting for a comment to be made, some annoying little thing about how you can’t keep your eyes off him. Because at least when he’s pushing, you know what to do. At least then, the fire feels familiar.

By the time lunch break rolls around, your jaw aches from clenching, shoulders welded to your ears. You make your way to the break station, clutching your empty coffee cup.

This is fine. You are fine. This is nothing.

You roll your shoulders back and breathe deep, try to reset.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim as you jerk around, already scowling.

Daniel.

He’s standing beside you, arms crossed, eyebrows arched like he’s just been waiting to pounce. You glare at him over your shoulder. “What the fuck do you want?”

Daniel grins, completely unphased. “You tell me. You’re the one acting like you’ve got a body buried under the set.”

You roll your eyes and force your voice flat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words leave your mouth quickly, in a way that’s soaked in a guilt you haven’t even admitted to yourself yet.

Daniel doesn’t buy it. He hums under his breath, gaze drifting casually across the studio until it lands on Jungkook.

Standing with the creative team, listening intently, nodding along like he’s never had his mouth on you. Like he didn’t pin you to a door and make you forget your own name. Like he didn’t let you fall asleep wrapped around him like it was easy.

And Daniel, that sharp-eyed little fucker, catches it immediately. A smile spreads across his features slowly, “You and Jungkook.”

That’s all he says.

Your hand slips. Coffee cup flies out of your palm. It falls to the floor with a crash, loud and sharp, echoing off the walls like a warning shot. Hot liquid splashes across your shoes, soaking into the hem of your pants. You stare at it, stunned, like your body forgot how to move.

Daniel blinks. “Okay…”

You’re already clenching your jaw, chest rising and falling way too fast.

Daniel tilts his head like he’s looking at a puzzle piece that just clicked into place. “I was kidding, but —”

“Shut up.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, but the smirk in his eyes is brutal.

You inhale through your nose and manage to grind out, “I need to change.”

And before Daniel can say another word, you walk away. Straight to the bathroom. Straight away from the fact that Jungkook has completely thrown you off your axis.

You have no idea how to fix it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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[shamerli]

Gather ‘round, ye merry souls, and let me spin ye a tale so wild, so full of twists and turns, ye’ll scarce believe it true. It’s the story of a rogue, aye, but not just any rogue—nay, this one’s a beast of a different sort. Trunk Shadowveil, they call him, a Loxodon, if ye can fathom it. That’s right, an elephant, skulkin’ through the shadows of Baldur’s Gate like some great tusked ghost. Now, I know what ye’re thinkin’—an elephant rogue? Pull the other one, stranger! But I swear on me mother’s grave, every word of it’s as true as the ale in yer mug.

Picture it: a massive beast, ten foot tall, with a trunk that could snatch a coin from yer pocket afore ye even knew it was gone. Stealthy? Ha! Ye’d think a creature that size couldn’t sneak up on a deaf man, but Trunk, he’s got ways. He’s a marvel, he is, a walkin’ contradiction, and that’s what makes him legend.

Like all good tales, this one starts with sorrow. Trunk’s herd—peaceful Loxodon folk, mindin’ their own—were slaughtered by poachers. Ivory hunters, hired by some shadowy noble with a taste for rare trophies. They came in the night, and by dawn, Trunk was the last of his kin, a wee calf standin’ amidst the carnage, his heart heavy as stone. Aye, it’s a grim beginnin’, but that’s how these stories go, ain’t it?

But fate’s a funny thing. Just when ye think all’s lost, along comes a band of rogues from Baldur's Gate Guild. They stumble upon this tremblin’ calf, and instead of seein’ a burden, they see potential—or maybe just a good laugh. They take him in, raise him in the underbelly of the city, teach him the trade. Lockpickin’ with that nimble trunk of his, daggerplay—though his daggers are more like swords to the likes of us—and, aye, even stealth. Now, stealth for an elephant? Ye can imagine how that went. He’d try to blend into the shadows, but let’s be honest, a Loxodon’s about as subtle as a dragon in a library. He’d pose as a statue in the marketplace, or knock over a stall and claim it was “part of the plan.” And somehow, bless him, it worked. He was never outmatched only on one terrain - in a tomato field. No matter how hard others tried - no amount of scrying was able to find him hiding between these red veggies.

The Guild loved him for it, especially his mentor, a halfling named Sly Jack, a rogue with a silver tongue and a heart black as coal. Trunk looked up to Jack like a father, trusted him with his life. But ye know how these tales go—betrayal’s always lurkin’ ‘round the corner. During a heist on a corrupt merchant’s vault, things went sideways. The Flaming Fist was waitin’, tipped off by none other than Sly Jack himself. He pinned the whole mess on Trunk, sold him out for a fat purse of gold. Trunk, in a panic, did what any self-respectin’ elephant would do—he smashed through the wall and bolted, leavin’ a trail of chaos in his wake. From that day on, he swore vengeance on The Guild that raised him, determined to bring ‘em down, one bungled caper at a time, and he does not intend to back out of this whole revenge gig - you can say what you want about Trunk, but he sure does have a damn good memory.

But here’s where it gets interestin’. Despite his life of crime, Trunk’s got a heart of gold. He’s no common cutpurse, oh no. He only steals from the rich—greedy nobles, shady merchants, the lot—and slips the loot to the downtrodden. They call him the “Elephant of the People,” a hero with tusks. He’s got a code, ye see, won’t harm the innocent, and he’s fiercely loyal to the few friends he’s got left. Aye, he’s a rogue, but he’s the kind ye can’t help but root for.

And if that weren’t enough, there’s whispers of more to Trunk’s story. Some say he’s the long-lost heir to an ancient dynasty, rulers of a forgotten empire, beyond Chult. Some madmans claim that he is an offspring of a powerful wizard, strong enough to walk between planes of existance, and that his kind is from another world. Others mutter about an ancient prophecy, a “great tusked shadow” destined to bring balance to the underworld. Trunk dismisses it as tavern talk, but sometimes, in the quiet of night, he dreams of a crown atop his head and wonders if there’s truth to it.

But let’s not forget the best part—his signature flair. Trunk’s got a move that’s all his own: usin’ that trunk of his to snatch purses or keys while distractin’ foes with his sheer, absurd presence. “Look at me, I’m just a harmless elephant!” he’d say, all innocent-like, while his trunk’s riflin’ through their pockets. And he’s got a lucky charm, a chipped ivory die from a fallen comrade, which he rolls before every job. Street-smart as they come, but ask him to read a scroll, and he’ll scratch his head like a confused ox.

Now, I know what ye’re thinkin’: an elephant rogue? It’s madness! But that’s the beauty of it. Trunk Shadowveil’s a walkin’ punchline, a lumberin’ legend who somehow makes it all work. I’ve seen him with me own eyes, ye know. Once, he tried to sneak into a noble’s manor, got his trunk stuck in a window. Took three of us to pull him out, and even then, he claimed it was “all part of the plan.” Another time, he faced down a gang of bandits, only to trip over his own feet and send ‘em scatterin’ in confusion. But somehow, he always comes out on top.

So, if ye’re ever in Baldur's Gate and ye hear a trumpet blast in the night, don’t be alarmed. It’s just Trunk Shadowveil, the clumsiest, cleverest rogue ye’ll ever meet, bunglin’ his way through another heist. And that, me friends, is a tale worth drinkin’ to. ------------------------------- Let me know if you want to bid. Current bid is $170

[modernwarfarelover]

Match Made in Hell PT1

My first fanfic, hope it doesn't come out ass. Thinking about Male!Reader and Ghost being absolute menaces when put together. They both like fighting each other and try to kill each other every time they meet but are like best buddies. Y/N: Your Name C/N: Code Name L/N: Last name PART 2 <---- Link

You were one of the best soldiers in your unit. Being good in stealth and damn good with a rifle. Other soldiers on base respected you due to your fierce reputation and skills on the field. You were a quick thinker, loyal, fast on your feet and could get the bravest men shaking in their boots. No one dared to disrespect you or your comrades. When TF141 and your team teamed up, 141 wasn't sure what to expect. Both teams had been after Makarov and came to an agreement to work together. Price and your captain got along well and everything seemed to be off to a good start. They were supposed to be meeting at your team's base today to get everything settled and so you could all officially meet. The captains have met but you'd yet to meet the rest of the team and were curious. Would they be practically attached by the hip like your teammates were? Well, only one way to find out. You stood quietly beside your captain along with the two sergeants on your team as he shook Price's hand. 141 didn't seem all that bad. In fact, they might even match up to your squad. One of them in particular caught your eye though. Their Lieutenant, Ghost. The skull mask on his face had you curious. Was there any specific reason he wore it? Was it the same reason you wore your balaclava? The thoughts were pushed aside when you heard you captain speak to you."(C/N), be a good lad and go show our new friends around, would you?" Captain Yachi addressed you with a smile. To which, you nodded in response and gestured for the three to follow you while the two captains talked. As you showed them around base, one of the sergeants, Soap, spoke up. The first thing you noticed was his accent. "So, ye're the famous (Y/N C/N L/N), aye?" He asked with a grin, "ye don't talk much very much." The mohawked man added. Gaz nodded in agreement while you just simply hummed in confirmation. You noticed Ghost was just staring at you the whole time. His gaze made more questions linger in your mind as you observed him and he did the same in return. Eventually, you came to a stop at the training room. Soap tried to peek over your shoulder to get a look, but that didn't go very well because of how damn tall you are. "This is where we'll be training and whatnot, you can all come here whenever you like." You said, crossing your slightly bulky arms over your chest. "Bloody hell, this place is a wee bit big." Soap exclaimed as you stepped aside so they could enter. Ghost was the last to come in. His eyes held a neutral expression as he took in the scenery. Then he looked at you again, silently sizing you up. It was obvious you could hold your own in a fight from the way you carried yourself. You were just slightly taller than him by a few centimeters, which almost surprised him given he was usually used to being the tall one in the room. You spotted him staring again from the corner of your eye, both of you holding eye contact for a moment. "Wanna spar?" You asked after a few minutes of silence. Ghost was quiet for a few more seconds before replying, "sure, if you think ya can keep up." He remarked dryly. Of course, he knew not to underestimate you, it was just a comment to ruffle you up a bit. So now here you both are, throwing punches and kicks at each other like one of you had wronged the other. It'd been over twenty minutes and still neither of you had managed to win. Both of you had a few bruises and scratches, maybe a black eye but no serious injuries. Soap and Gaz watched with stunned expressions as they watched the supposed sparring session. It didn't even look like sparring, more like a whole angered fist fight. Finally, you'd managed to pin Ghost down on the floor of the ring. Both of you panting with your hearts pounding in your ears from the adrenaline rush. Soap's jaw almost dropped all the way to the floor. It wasn't often anyone saw Ghost get one upped. And here he was, face down with a fellow LT sitting on his upper back and a hand pinning his head to the floor, legs on either side of him.

[matchadobo]

Omg i love your "cuddles" 🥰🥰🥰😍😍❤️🤩. Would you do a second maybe nsfw part? 🙏🙏🙏😋

KIDD & KILLER; cuddles pt. 2

part 1 is gn reader coded (still welcome for whoever wants to read 🥰)

wc: 1448 warning/s: very nsfw, 🔞, afab reader, 3some, polyamory

it was not long before the cuddles became a regular thing. you'd always end up crawling on kidd's bed, your perfume had already rubbed on his sheets. kidd will be on your right and killer will be on your left. a unanimous position that the three of you had agreed on without talking about it.

what comes to mind about 'not talking about it' is the thing you three have going on. everyone notices the officially unofficial relationship between the three of you. it's honestly suffocating to see you three tiptoeing towards each other.

everyday on the ship, it's you three who are always beside one another. on the dinner table, you sit next to each other and no one else in the ship even thinks about changing that. when in groups, they always pick dibs on you.

nobody hits you up because they know who they're gonna piss off and they're immediately going to be thrown off the ship if they even attempt to. same goes with them. ever since you came into the picture and they've laid dibs on you ,those who have even a shred of attraction to the captain and his first mate dissipated.

they envy you really, sleeping with the captain and his right hand man. be it nothing happened between the three of you. but something deep inside you hopes that something really does happen. you're too scared to break the thing you three got going on to even bring that up.

"you been quiet, name. it's scarin' me." kidd cleared his throat, his flesh arm cushioning thr back of his head. you were in between them. your arm was lousily slung over the surface of his torso while killer embraced you firmly by your waist, his chin nestled on your shoulder as he was deep asleep with parted lips and little snores.

you flinched a little, eyes trailing from the small window that let a wee bit of moonlight in and illuminated kidd's bright amber eyes staring at his ceiling. "nothing, just trying to sleep. why are you still awake?"

he heaved a deep breath before answering. "a thought been buggin' the shit outta me, you know?"

you furrowed your brows a little, it's so rare kidd opens up about something. "want to talk about it?" you snuggled closer but didn't move so haphazardly so as to not jolt killer awake, he's a light sleeper after all.

"bout time really. though kil's knocked the fuck out." he nodded to killer. further confusing you more.

"hey he's been working hard all day, let him. besides, can you not tell me without him?" you looked up at him expectantly, but he kept his eyes glued to the ceiling.

"'s about us. the three of us." he finally looked at you.

the mellow roar of the evening tide evidently disturbed the silence that pooled in the room. you returned his gaze but you held hesitation in yours while his had an earnest intent.

"i'm listening. go on." you broke eye contact, eyes trailing down to the steady heaving of kidd's chest.

"don't play clueless with me, aye? surely it crossed your mind." a little chuckle coated his speech. "thought about what it'd be if we three fucked or somethin'."

your spit got caught in your throat and you started coughing vehemently, waking killer up in the process who immediately rubbed your back to ease your plight while still half asleep. kidd couldn't contain his laughter he had to sit up.

"what... what did you do kidd? why is name coughing so bad?" killer rubbed his eye with his other hand to see better while the other rubbed on your back. he looked to the side to see kidd laughing hysterically with a hand on his stomach.

"bonnie's all flustered, it's the cutest thing." kidd started, wiping a tear by the corner of his eye.

"shut up! look, because of your dumbass killer's awake." you buried your face in your hands, all the blood rushing to your cheeks.

"me? baby, who's the one who coughed 'er heart out?" he teased, tone mocking as he poked fun at you.

"are you even serious or are you just playing with me?" you looked over to kidd once you had composed yourself, irritated as you approach him.

"oh, bonnie. i'm down if you're down, killer's too. we're just waitin' for your go signal." he tapped the bottom of your chin with his index.

"i-i... haven't tried doing it with two guys." you suddenly grow shy, you rubbed on your shoulders as you looked down on your blanketed thighs.

killer, who immediately picked up on the situation, reached over to ruffle your hair. "that's fine, dove. it doesn't matter." his fingers trailed down to massaging the side of your neck gently, reveling in the display of skin and the softness of it. "besides, if you need that reassurance, i really do want to do it with you, hm? " he placed a soft peck on your shoulder, his kiss on your bare skin raised your goosebumps from head to toe.

"what he said." kidd stretched before leaning on the headboard with an arm behind his head. "woulda love to see you naked, though. scratches an itch in my brain."

with their statements, you almost felt like smoke is coming out of you from the increase of heat in your system. your breathing was uneven, you could hear your heart just begging to calm down, and your cheeks felt hotter than the planet near the damn sun. it was all too much for you.

next thing you know, kidd's head was buried deep in your cunt and you were almost breaking your neck from making out with killer from behind. you were between killer's legs while kidd was between yours. killer massaged your mounds from under your shirt while he sucked on your lips. his cock growing hard on your back. it honestly surprised you to see him acting like this.

kidd was busy dragging his tongue feverishly across your folds, his hand pried your legs open as they shiver through the sheer force of his tongue. his nails were digging by the flesh of your thighs as he watched you melt before killer's frame.

after a long while of kidd getting drunk on your cunt, his lips moved back to your stomach up to space that separates your breasts towards your neck and to your lips. catching your lips from killer's. as the redhead got busy with kissing you, you felt his damp length brushing up by your stomach in much need of friction from you.

killer helped you off your shirt and unhooked your bra, his large hands didn't leave your breasts as he played with it from behind. he left trails of dark hickeys on the juncture of your neck and shoulder while pinching the bundle of nerves in the middle of your mounds.

as requested by your captain, you worked yourself up in giving him a handjob while melting in killer's stimulation. kidd had your lips captured by his, swallowing up your moans as he fucked himself on your fist.

you started working up a sweat, beads of them pooling by your forehead. positioned by kidd's lap as he filled you up while you choke on killer's length. your ass slamming by the surface of his toned abdomen as he placed his arm at the back of his head to enjoy the view of the two of you. killer got a firm grip on your locks as he guided your mouth to his sweet spots, throwing his head back as you gobble him whole. kidd relished the view from your behind as you struggle to cater to two of them while being cock drunk.

it wasn't long before they came on you, pumping their lengths over your heaving, sweating body.

"you know i'm a man of no self control but hell, wouldn't wanna get ya pregnant, aye?" kidd grunted, panting as he squeezed the last drop of his seed.

"don't even try. fuck you, kidd." you squirmed under them as the throbbing in your lower half hit you like a truck, curling into a fetal position.

"oh you already did." kidd gave your ass a little slap before lying down the same position as you three usually do.

"don't tease her too much now, kidd. she's spent, hm? i think it's best if we all get some rest, yeah?" killer lied down on your opposite side, hooking his arm under your head to cushion it as he pulled you closer to his embrace just so he could plant a kiss on your forehead. "bunny's done so well after all, didn't she?"

omg?? this was my first time making a 3some smut so if this was all over the place don't eat me 😓

hello anon!🌷 i was really hesitant to make this bc it's a 3some and i haven't done anything of the sort which exceeds fluff. but that doesn't mean i don't want to, ok? it's just uncharted waters, that's why this is short. i still hope i delivered?? 🫶 plus, i did this as afab/fem reader bc i can't make smut for gn readers 😭

[buffetlicious]

The Musang King or Mao Shan Wang (猫山王) was originally known as Raja Kunyit, meaning "Turmeric King", a reference to the fruit's turmeric-coloured deep yellow flesh. In 1993, Raja Kunyit was registered with the Malaysian department of agriculture and assigned the code number D197. The owner of this clone was a Mr Wee Chong Beng from Tanah Merah, Kelantan. The name Musang King was derived from the region of Gua Musang where the clone was first planted.

In the 1980’s, a man named Tan Lai Fook stumbled upon a very old durian tree in Gua Musang and brought a branch back to Raub and started cultivating it. Today the Mao Shan Wang (猫山王) from Raub and Bentong in Pahang are regarded as the best in Malaysia. The durians are prized for its unusual combination sweet, buttery, thick, bright yellow flesh and robust flavour, with a hint of bitterness. Got this 1.5kg tub of durians (S$65) direct from the durian plantation in Johor Bahru, Malaysia through a colleague’s friend. The seeds are flat which makes this purchase even more worth the money spent.

Actually, I wanted two tubs of MSW but seller only have one so she recommended this tub of pale yellow Durians (榴莲) at S$35. Cultivar is unknown but it is sweet and creamy though can’t compare to the musang king. However, it seeds are even smaller and flatter than the Mao Shan Wang.

[transmasculineswag]

Transmasc Swag Polls- ROUND 1

Propaganda and other info under the cut.

CANONICITY LEVELS-

DANIIL: Because I Said So GABRIEL: Subtext/ Coded, Word of God

MEDIA?

Pathologic (and other related media), Ultrakill

DANIIL PROPAGANDA- he's a man that wants to defeat death, I think he would defy his assigned gender. Also mad scientist, mad doctor? Definitely has synthesized t for himself. 100% Also the snakeskin coat, the red cravat, the fact that he was shorter in the original game. THE PLATFORM SHOES. All just made my brain go WEE-WOO that is a trans gay man. [Pollrunner's Note: He's such a cunt lmao]

GABRIEL PROPAGANDA- His story is a confirmed to be a big metaphor for being queer in some way in a catholic environment of sorts (I do not know its proper name) that punishes people who are different, like being queer + it’s one of the devs’ headcanons

Guy’s an archangel who once worked for the council, but then you, a literal robot, kick his ass twice and gave him a sexual awakening (read: realize that his hatred towards you after the first fight was actually passion and that he has been lied to his entire life) then killed the council who lied about being the voice of God, ruled Heaven with an iron fist, and are generally a bunch of jerks.

[numenoria]

The Rings of Power Season 2 EP1: Thoughts/Observations/Commentary ✨

Ayyy I finally made it to Season 2!

EP 1: Elven Kings Under the Sky

- Flashback to the Dawn of the Second Age...ooh backstory!

- A blonde short-necked individual is conferencing with Adar and the Uruks.

- S-Sauron?? This must be a previous incarnation. You smol squat necked bean.

- Adar does NOT like what he's hearing.

- Adar's actor has been recast :(

- I'll miss Joseph Malwe approach to the role but Sam Hazeldine is crushing it so far.

- "Many orcs will die" The Orcs/Uruks:

- Okay that explains the beef between Sauron and Daddy Adar.

- The Uruks are over it. Sauron keeps politicking to be Dear Leader. One of Uruks pops off and tries to STAB Sauron! 👀

-Sauron quickly dismarms the Uruk and KILLS him?? I don't think this will end well for Sauron..

- Adar and the Uruks simply beat the breaks off Sauron. They stab him so many times it makes the Ides of March look like light work.

-Sauron explodes.. I think? And shifts the climate. His essance leaks out of Frodowraith and he takes his form from a rat (poor sqeakers) and eventually other parts of his environment. He's basically a blob of sorts.

- Sauron takes his S1 form from a dead guy, kills several people, including a well meaning older man and we get the scoop on how he ended up on the raft.

- Galadriel chases Elrond in what looks like a "Wait don't tell dad!" moment. Galadriel girl you gotta be quicker than that!

-Elrond informs The High King Gil-Galad of Sauron's association with Galadriel.

- Gil-Galad is over it! Galadriel and Elrond argue.

-Naur Galadriel your situation is like 10x worse than Elrond's 😩

- Gil-Galad demands the Rings. Elrond refuses.

- "Seize him" Oop 👀

-Elrond: 🤸🏽🌊

- Galadriel is shook.

- Random/Possibly intentional parallel:

- Back in Mordor the unfortunate Southlanders have been taken prisoner by Adar's Uruks

- Halbrand/Sauron goes willing. Ooh boy..

- Some person with a badass bronze (??) skull mask spies on a lost Nori and Stranger/Gandalf.

- Nori talks the Stranger into rousing a tree with bugs so they have some food.

- It's giving Timon and Pumbaa with these fried beetles.

- Nori and Stranger bond over missing their respective homes. Stranger realizes they're being followed.

- Fucking dusty ass Waldreg and Co. bullies and beats Halbrand

- Halbrand/Sauron threatens to kill Waldreg. Pls send this old man packing!!

- Sauron tames the dog beast 👀

- We're in Lindon now and Elrond is camping out under a bridge.

- Cirdan is introduced. Yet another name I've been pronouncing wrong...

- Gil-Galad sends a messenger to Celebrimbor regarding Sauron. I do not think the messengers will make it...

- Gil-Galad scolds Galadriel out of love. Galadriel figures out where Elrond is hiding.

- Cirdan is infatuated with the Rings. Elrond asks him to destroy them. Cirdan skirts around the issue. Wtf else is in those rings??

- Elrond clocks Galadriel about her bad decisions

- Cirdan is on a wee boat making off with the Rings.

-Nori and Stranger try to trap their follower and it's POPPY?? Girlie pop is very Samwise coded 🤣

- Poppy helps get them back on course. We love a halfling queen with a sense of direction!

- Cirdan wants to fuck the rings and decides he cannot destroy them. The Simarils are like crack to elves!

- Adar and Sauron have a chat. Adar says Sauron's face was beautiful he gave him wine 👀

- Halbrand/Sauron:

-Halbrand states Sauron had taken a new form??

-Adar wants a chained up Halbrand to swear loyalty to him while kneeling at his feet. Whatever in the medieval bdsm is this?? 😂

- The dog beast attacks Waldreg. RIP!

-Halbrand sets off to "Find Sauron"

- Sang that shit High King!! 😩

-Beautiful yet somber scene. I love the diversity of the Elves. Everyone of them ethereal in their own way.

- Cirdan shows up with the Rings and it's pretty much fuck Elrond at this point.

- One of the rings falls out of the bag and tumbles towards Galadriel. She is captivated by it and puts it on. Cirdan and Gil-Galad wear the other two rings.

- Light returns to Ergieon again. Elrond storms out.

- Mirandia is introduced. Naur she's so cute omgg 😍

- Halbrand/Sauron reaches Celebrimbor before Gil-Galad's Messengers. 😳

ETA: Gonna switch to desktop later to add more gifs/screencaps. Mobile only let's me add 10 😭 Images added b/c tumblr mobile sucks!

EP 1 was great! It piggybacked off the momentum in S1's finale episode. One down 7 more to go! ✨

-Davi ☽︎♡︎☾︎

[crashandlivewrites]

👀👀 let me throw you some kyle coded quotes. do what you wish with it 🫴

"If the choice is the mission or coming home to you, I’m coming home."

"There will always be another mission, _ , but there won’t always be another you."

This has been sitting in my inbox for a wee bit and I’m sorry it took so long. Thank you for sending this through! I hope I did it justice for you.

Pairing: Kyle Garrick x GN!Reader

CW: slight angst, relationship troubles, but comfort and happiness because Kyle is the sweetest boy <33

You loved your boyfriend. With all your heart. Kyle was the sweetest guy you’d dated, the most caring and attentive man you could have ever hoped for. But every relationship has their gripes and unfortunately, Kyle’s job was yours.

It was important, you knew that. He saved countless lives every time he went away, putting himself in danger in the process. But the fact he was gone so often made everything hard. He often missed important events; wasn’t home for your birthday or your anniversary or the holidays in general.

Despite you trying to be understanding, sometimes you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unwanted frustration towards your boyfriend. He made it up to you whenever he was back, you knew that, but it wasn’t the same. And you selfishly wished for more.

“I want you to be here more!” You yelled at him in frustration one night, having one too many drinks. “I know your job is hard—”

“No, you don’t know how hard it is. You have no idea what I go through.” Kyle snapped back, just as agitated.

“And you have no idea what it’s like sitting here waiting for you, watching all my friends and their partners and wishing I had that instead of praying you’re not dead.” Shaking your head in exasperation. He just laughed darkly, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry for getting my hands dirty so the world stays clean. Do you have any idea how dangerous some of these arseholes are?” Groaning in frustration, you push past him, walking down the hall to your shared bedroom.

“You’re missing the point.” Gritting your teeth, you huffed out a breath. “I’m not a priority for you.”

The harsh words make him stop, no longer stomping after you. It’s enough to make you turn around, and the hurt expression on his face immediately makes you feel guilty.

“What makes you think I don’t?” He whispered, voice barely audible as he blinked with uncertainty. Ducking your head, you look away from him, not being able to stomach the expression on his face anymore.

“It’s just… you always leave. There’s always something more important than me.” His expression twists with anguish and steps forward with two strides, hand closing around your wrist.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” The dark brows on his forehead were pulled tightly together. His warm eyes, usually so calm and comforting, were wide and panicked. “You’ve always been a priority to me.”

The tears pricked in your eyes as his words dug into your skin, pulling down the defences you’d tried so hard to build around yourself. Shaking your head, you try to push him away, wiping furiously at your cheeks.

“I don’t feel like it, Kyle. You’re gone so often. And I know it’s important and I know I’m being selfish, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take!”

As if the universe decided to play a cruel joke on you, his phone began to ring. Kyle winced, closing his hand around your wrist tighter as he dug into his pocket. You knew whose name would appear on the screen before he even needed to tell you.

“It’s Price.” His voice sounded wounded, broken as he looked up at you, eyes desperate and pleading as the phone continued to buzz in his hand.

“Go on. Answer it. It’s important.” The iciness of your tone couldn’t be missed, despite trying to keep your expression dismissive.

“Fuck, babe, please.” He begged, keeping a firm hold on you and not letting you walk away. “I can fix this. We can fix this. I just—”

“You need to take it. Yeah, I know.” Shrugging, you leaned back against the wall, watching him as he gave in, putting the phone up to his ear.

“Sir?” The shift between Kyle and Sergeant Garrick was something you used to find attractive, enticing. Now, it just left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You watched the one sided conversation closely, Kyle’s face becoming more and more strained. His jaw twitched as he grit his teeth and you sighed, knowing what was inevitably coming. Flicking his eyes towards you, he saw the hurt on your face, the sad acceptance and his own heart pounded before opening his mouth.

“Actually, Captain, I was thinking about taking a bit of time off.” At his words, your ears pricked and head snapped up to meet his gaze. He met your eyes as his thumb tenderly grazed against the back of your hand. “Yeah, sir. Just something important that I need to attend to here.”

Dropping your wrist, he lifted his hand up to cup your cheek tenderly, pressing his forehead against yours. At this distance, you could hear the tinny voice of his captain coming through the phone speaker.

“Alright Kyle. Take care of yourself. And take care of that partner of yours. You’ve put them through hell this last year.”

“I know, sir. Need to sort out my priorities. See you in a few weeks.” And he hung up the phone, pushing it into his pocket and lifting the hand to join his other.

The pair of you remained there for longer than you cared to admit, your face tenderly held between his hands as you breathed deeply.

“You mean more to me than I ever could express. What you do for me, I couldn’t ask for someone better.” Curling your hands into the fabric of his shirt, you tugged him closer. Sliding under the cotton, you rested your palms on the warm, firm skin of his torso.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, you don’t need to apologise. I’m sorry.” He lifted his head up to look down at you with sincerity. “I have been putting work first, and not you. It always should have been you.”

“But I said those hurtful things—”

“Because you were upset, love. It’s okay.” His voice was smooth as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you. “I love you, babe. So fucking much. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

Being wrapped in his arms had always made you feel safe, and this time was no different. Breathing in, you let his familiar scent surround you, settling deep into the back of your mind as you hugged him back tightly.

“Still no excuse for saying all that stuff before. The work you do is important. If you need to leave… I understand.” Deep down, you knew it was the right things to say. If Kyle was being called to work, it was something important and as much as you wanted him for yourself, others needed him more.

“No, love. I’m not going anywhere. There will always be another mission, but there won’t always be another you.”

Letting out a breathy chuckle, you lifted your head out of his chest, staring up at him with a soft smile.

“You really mean that?” His deep brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he backed you against the wall, tilting your chin up and lowering his face to seal his lips over yours.

His fingers curled into the hair at the base of your neck, holding you close as his lips moved slowly, dragging out the kiss. His warm breath fanned over your cheek as he groaned, cupping your cheek and letting his teeth drag across your bottom lip before pulling back.

You knew your lips were already swollen, the temperature of your body rising as your breath came out in short pants.

“If the choice is the mission or coming home to you, I’m coming home.” He whispered, thumbs tracing against your cheekbones. “You are what’s important to me.”

[caramel1mochi]

ㅤㅤPlasma [ Yoru x F! Reader ] [3] [ part 1 / part 2 / part 3 ] words: 4k / Please refrain from stealing my work.

ㅤIt's known that earning Yoru's attention is a futile struggle. Still, the first to achieve it is you — a woman who plans for nothing beyond the optimal spot to doze off.ㅤ

note: Sooooo um can we please go back to January? I just thought of a good new years joke hehe

Early morning, you and Iso had met up at the cafeteria just like old times.

Upon your recruitment, some of the smarter agents were quick to deduce that the two of you often had breakfast together, so this wasn't a surprise. In actuality, the two of you pretty much spent every single morning together. The kind-hearted Iso did it because you and his grandmother were the only specks of light in his cruel, dreary life, while you did it because, well, you were lazy, and it was convenient. On the bright side, you were finally given a code-name, but that's not really what you focused on.

You and Iso sat at one of the many circular tables in the dull cafeteria. The lights were currently off because the gentle morning sun made up for it... in theory. In reality, the rays were too weak, and the vast area was shrouded in darkness.

Your tired eyes roamed across the surface of the cup set in front of you. Thoughts roamed across your mind at the speed of an incredibly slow turtle, and it took you too long to finally look up at Iso and speak.

ㅤㅤ

"Valorant's softer than I thought. I get to have a whole day break after submitting my report?"

ㅤㅤ

Iso nodded with a delighted hum to your remark. Unlike many of the other agents, he was one of the few utterly unbothered by how slow you were; he knew you weren't shy with taking your time.

ㅤㅤ

"Sweet, right? It's one of the reasons I left so fast. Also, we don't get yelled at as much." He set down his spoon and lifted the cup to his lips. "Do you have any plans for today?"

ㅤㅤ

"Waiting until training starts."

ㅤㅤ

Despite his stony expression, Iso's eyes glimmered in excitement at this.

ㅤㅤ

"Really? That sounds exciting. Hope you picked Sage to train you."

ㅤㅤ

"Nope. Yoru."

ㅤㅤ

You casually retorted as you lifted your arm and stretched it overhead as far as you could.

He watched you in silent confusion, though the silence was interrupted by the audible cracks as you stretched.

ㅤㅤ

"Uh... Wait, Yoru? Why Yoru?"

ㅤㅤ

"Cus Fade said so."

ㅤㅤ

You recalled Fade suggesting you request him specifically yesterday. You didn't know why, nor did she elaborate, but it was easy, so of course you complied.

But Iso didn't seem to share your ambivalence. He let out a very hesitant hum as he took another sip, and you couldn't help but notice it.

ㅤㅤ

"Is he dead?"

ㅤㅤ

"No, no! No death. He's just, uh..." Iso awkwardly smiled. "He and Fade are... Well, they're very hostile to each other, but they're not at the same time. It's sort of... inconsistent."

ㅤㅤ

...

ㅤㅤ

"...Huh?"

ㅤㅤ

"I– I don't know how to explain it; you have to see it to understand."

ㅤㅤ

"Sounds like you're scared to say he's Jess-coded."

ㅤㅤ

Iso unwittingly laughed.

ㅤㅤ

"Jess-coded? That's a new one."

ㅤㅤ

"Yup. Came up with it when you left."

ㅤㅤ

You noted and promptly returned to stretching. But this time, the focus shifted to your other arm.

ㅤㅤ

"Good morning!"

ㅤㅤ

A peppy voice from behind made you both flinch, and your eyes were drawn to a colourful spot in the centre of the entrance to the cafeteria.

Clove stood beneath the large doorway, immediately passing it with just a few animated steps. You even saw a few butterflies. There were only two, and they looked like cheerleaders that enhanced the Scot's entrance.

ㅤㅤ

"Hey, Clove."

ㅤㅤ

You both said at the same time with the exact same dreary tone.

And much to your confusion, the two of you earned a giggle from the wee Scot as they marched towards the cupboards. The cupboards that required them to stand on their toes to reach, of course.

ㅤㅤ

"Ya talk like clones. Is this what those Hourglass dafties do to their workers?"

ㅤㅤ

It didn't take long for Clove to quickly prep themselves a drink and move towards the two of you. They noisly pulled back the chair and sat down, setting their cup on the table. Iso noted the lack of extravagantly colourful dessert that would usually accompany the immortal's breakfast.

ㅤㅤ

"Aren't you hungry, Clove?"

ㅤㅤ

"Nae, I already ate at three."

ㅤㅤ

"You're still full from yesterday?"

ㅤㅤ

You chimed in with a raised eyebrow. This statement, however, earned you a confused look from both of the radiants.

ㅤㅤ

"Yesterday? I'm talking about three a.m.!" They lifted the cup to their lips. "I've nae slept all night."

ㅤㅤ

...

ㅤㅤ

"...You can do that?" You glanced at Iso. "You can eat at midnight?"

ㅤㅤ

"Oh! Uh, yeah, you can; there's no schedules or curfew here."

ㅤㅤ

You narrowed your eyes, clearly displeased at this information. This prompted Iso to continue explaining.

ㅤㅤ

"Yeah. We all do our own thing unless they tell us otherwise. Which they... often don't."

ㅤㅤ

You sighed and took out your phone. And within a few seconds, you had already created the outline for the schedule you were going to abide by during your stay in this boring old protocol.

Clove stared at you for a moment as they attempted to deduce what you were doing. Did Scion members have a secret language, or something? Why wasn't Iso as confused as them? They mulled to themselves. Then, their train of thought was cut off once they remembered the question you asked him before they entered.

ㅤㅤ

"So, what was the blethering all about?"

ㅤㅤ

"We were just talking about A/N's training."

ㅤㅤ

"Training? That's sound. Who's the unlucky trainer?"

ㅤㅤ

You looked up from your phone to give them a raised eyebrow.

ㅤㅤ

"Unlucky?"

ㅤㅤ

"Aye. Uh– I'm nae insulting you! I just cannae imagine training a blood bender. Whose blood would ya be testing on, and all?"

ㅤㅤ

Iso nodded in agreement. Like you, he probably hadn't thought about this until they mentioned it. But you shrugged.

ㅤㅤ

"That's Yoru's problem."

ㅤㅤ

Clove suddenly began laughing, and you noted the butterflies that burst from them just as they did. You were more enamoured with their little glow as they fluttered than you were with their reaction.

ㅤㅤ

"Wait, wait — Yoru? Why Yoru? Did he lose a bet, and all? Or was it Fade?"

ㅤㅤ

"It was Fade."

ㅤㅤ

"Ah! I knew it was her. Who else?"

ㅤㅤ

"Was I not supposed to pick him?"

ㅤㅤ

You asked the duo with a raised eyebrow. However, Iso was quicker at forming an answer than Clove was. Probably had something to do with the fact that he slept longer, but that's by the by.

ㅤㅤ

"Maybe I'm optimistic, but I think you two would get along." He met your gaze with a light smile. "He reminded me of you, sometimes."

ㅤㅤ

"Why...?"

ㅤㅤ

"He doesn't really... care about anything. I heard him say that once. Right?"

ㅤㅤ

Clove eagerly nodded, quickly setting down their cup in order to reply. Their clumsiness led to the spilling of a few droplets; though that didn't matter to them.

ㅤㅤ

"Right enough! Remember that DND sheet I gave him? He still did nae fill it out!"

ㅤㅤ

"Wasn't that over a month ago?"

ㅤㅤ

"It was. Ya think the numpty's picking his character name, and all?"

ㅤㅤ

Iso laughed, resting his chin on his hand.

ㅤㅤ

"Probably. But make sure he doesn't hear you say that."

ㅤㅤ

You blankly stared at space as they conversed. While Iso's words ran through your mind continuously, you still weren't sure it was a good thing or not. Knowing Iso, it was definitely a compliment. But the two of you didn't exactly have healthy standards for... anything.

Best case scenario, he doesn't care and wants to relax like you do. But an even better scenario would be that Yoru would be so problematic he'd get you out of your bored state.

You glanced down at your cup of tea, noticing your blank expression reflected in the coffee. If it turns out to be the latter, then maybe you have a problem.

ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ

Despite arriving at the training range on the dot, this Yoru guy was nowhere to be seen. And you weren't keen on exploring the new area either, just standing inside what looked like a box of metal, an place so vast even your slow palpitations echoed. Besides, the armoury was right there; that's all you needed to note.

You spent your time perfecting your little schedule while you waited for him.

Then, a set of muffled heavy steps from outside took your attention away from your phone. Accompanied by this was a silhouette with eye-catching spiky hair as he continued marching. It reflected in the massive two windows that stood on each side.

It was definitely someone you had never met before, that's for sure.

Finally, the metallic doors swung open and he appeared. You looked up to finally meet this Yoru's gaze. Although you expected an older looking guy, like Brimstone or something, you were instead met with someone who looked younger than Iso himself. Which was pretty impressive.

Spiky hair with a brilliant blue spot in the centre, an eye-catching bluu and orange jacket with an Oni design — that wasn't to mention his face. Yoru's eyes were narrowed. His brows were furrowed and an evident, tense frown painted his lips.

Everything about him was sharp; it was as if he was the embodiment of rapidly spinning blades, and you'd maim yourself if you dared approach. But you mustn't judge a book by its cover. After all, there's no way a cute, young lad like himself would be as rude as his looks implie–

ㅤㅤ

"A/N?"

ㅤㅤ

His harsh, sharp tone echoed through the area, injecting the atmosphere with tension just by calling your name. You were surprised by his demeanour. Along with his piercing glare, you weren't sure if you had accidentally killed someone this guy knew, or he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. So much for appearances being deceiving, huh...?

You blankly hummed in response.

ㅤㅤ

“Great." With unseen sternness from any other agent, he marched towards what seemed to be the armory. "Let's get one thing straight; I'm not meant to be training you, and they won't let me back out. Which means I'm stuck with you until Friday.”

ㅤㅤ

If the tone wasn't enough to surprise you, this statement felt like an absolute slap in the face. What on Earth did he mean by 'not meant to be training you'? Was this the wrong guy, or something?

ㅤㅤ

"You're not Yoru?"

ㅤㅤ

"I am. But I'm here against my will."

ㅤㅤ

You pocketed your phone.

His bluntness surprised you just as much as... everything else. Compared to the other kind, hospitable agents, Yoru's disposition screamed 'I will beat you if you bother me', and he wasn't even yelling. To be honest, you felt a little bit awed by him.

ㅤㅤ

"Wait, wait... Fade said you were good at this radiancy thing."

ㅤㅤ

"Yeah, but I don't train people. Fade's a filthy liar; don't ever trust her."

ㅤㅤ

Yoru promptly walked off, and you couldn't help but allow your eyes to follow his figure as you attempted to assess this situation. Though you gave up after a few seconds.

Ugh.

Is that the scale of drama around here? If so, you absolutely weren't in the mood to get caught up in some mean girl rubbish on your second day here. If you were gonna get in trouble, there better be some major injuries as a result of it, that's for bloody sure.

Pun intended.

Your bubble popped when Yoru nonchalantly tossed a Vandal at you, but you were quick to catch it.

ㅤㅤ

"Let's just get this over with."

ㅤㅤ

You wanted to know the gist of the situation in less than a few seconds; so your mind worked fast to come up with a question. A little too fast.

ㅤㅤ

"Don't tell me this was a joke at my expense."

ㅤㅤ

That wasn't even a question.

ㅤㅤ

"Jesus Christ. You're fine, A/N; she just likes to get on my nerves."

ㅤㅤ

What the heck did you get yourself into?

Once the settings were adjusted, Yoru pushed down on the start button, the audible sound of machinery taking over your ears. You watched the previously empty arena shift as what looked like docile robots began appearing.

ㅤㅤ

"Shoot those bots until I'm done."

ㅤㅤ

You brushed your loose curls aside and properly held your Vandal, marching towards where he stood. The thought of asking him to elaborate wasn't present, mostly because you were used to curt statements like this.

You lifted up your gun and began shooting the extremely slow-appearing bots. It only took a few seconds for you to already be bored out of your mind, no thanks to the cruel settings he had set.

On the other side of the training range near the workbench stood Yoru, your combat report in his hands as he roughly scanned through it. However, his eyes widened once he saw your overall score, and–

ㅤㅤ

"えっ？" <What?>

ㅤㅤ

You were caught off guard by his shocked… whatever he said.

ㅤㅤ

"Huh?"

ㅤㅤ

"Keep shooting."

ㅤㅤ

His order came off as a surprise to you. You tilted your head for a moment, but ultimately complied.

This allowed Yoru to continue scanning your combat scores in silence. And what shocked him was how perfect it was. Your proficiency was off the charts... literally. It was one of the highest he'd seen. Dare he say, higher than his.

Your scores were impressive in every criteria. Awareness, combat skills, endurance, adaptability, all except for... ability usage.

There, he noticed the comment below that effectively repeated Brimstone's order from a day ago; that Yoru needed to help you control your newfound powers after the 'restrictions' were lifted. Huh. Wait, what restrictions?

Yoru set down the piece of paper and curiously glanced at you as you trained. His curiosity was only evident when your back was turned; he would've concealed it with a bored look otherwise. It didn't take long to outline the sets of impressive muscles that decorated your exposed legs, a very subtle hint that you weren't some random sad-looking lady they plucked off the street, like he previously thought. He also noted the scars littered throughout...

Yoru had to pry his eyes away from your figure.

I mean, who cares about the muscles? And those scars? It would've helped if you didn’t wear a dumpy hoodie and sports shorts that made you look the part, you know? But he said the same thing about Iso; he only discovered the former assassin's true strength when he accidentally broke the arm of... You know what? Nevermind.

Maybe hiding strength is a trend for Scion members.

ㅤㅤ

"Not that I care, but where'd you come from?"

ㅤㅤ

What an oxymoron, he mused. But he just wanted to confirm.

ㅤㅤ

"Scions of Hourglass."

ㅤㅤ

"Really? So you know Iso."

ㅤㅤ

"Yup."

ㅤㅤ

"I'm guessing he trained you."

ㅤㅤ

You two had rather similar shooting stances, though Iso held himself up with more focus than you did.

ㅤㅤ

"No? I'm a higher rank; I even gave him a check-up before he left."

ㅤㅤ

You were amused at his question, and Yoru was impressed at your answer. This detail seemed to match up; he saw somewhere in the notes that you used to be a healer.

ㅤㅤ

"...That means you knew he infiltrated us."

ㅤㅤ

"Yup." You lazily glanced at him as you reloaded. "Valorant's spoiling him; kid looks much better here. Health-wise."

ㅤㅤ

You slowly returned to shooting, oblivious to the confusion that now etched his sharp features.

He set down the report and approached with crossed arms. There, he saw how freakishly fast your reaction time was, even when the bots were set to slow. Your grip, your posture, all objectively horrible. You had a loose grip, you casually leaned on one leg, you couldn't be bothered to hold your head up to look at the bots… and yet, the results rivalled seasoned agents like Omen or Brimstone. He would've never guessed you were above Clove and Gekko in terms of skill level. But he didn’t want to give you too much credit on account of the settings being on easy.

ㅤㅤ

"Why didn't you join him when he switched?"

ㅤㅤ

Yoru asked as he opened up the control panel and began fiddling with the settings.

ㅤㅤ

"Boss said he died."

ㅤㅤ

"Yeah, and? You didn’t question it?"

ㅤㅤ

"Nope."

ㅤㅤ

...

ㅤㅤ

"Why not?"

ㅤㅤ

"Too much work."

ㅤㅤ

Yoru... tilted his head.

ㅤㅤ

"Let me get this straight – you gave Iso a checkup before he infiltrated us to kill someone, then when he disappeared, your bosses tried to cover it by saying he died?"

ㅤㅤ

"Yup."

ㅤㅤ

"And not once did you question that?"

ㅤㅤ

"Yup." You shot another bot. "Not asking usually gets me more sleep."

ㅤㅤ

Yoru rolled his eyes.

ㅤㅤ

"Whatever. What can you do, again?"

ㅤㅤ

"I control blood."

ㅤㅤ

...

Yoru audibly sighed in defeat.

Great. So not only was he tasked with training a person objectively more experienced than he was in literally everything, an assigned healer to a legendary hitman, but also someone who could control blood. Where, oh where, would he be able to get blood for you to test your powers on, exactly? He thought as he fiddled with the settings once more.

On the very slim bright side, you just said you don't ask questions, and that aligned with Yoru's desire to leave asap.

He finalised the new settings, then pressed enter. Suddenly, just as you were about to shoot another bot, every single one of them disappeared, and the arena turned back to the flat, metallic landscape it once was. You glanced at Yoru for an explanation, but he already took your Vandal from your hand and tossed it aside.

Then, once he stopped in front of you, he crossed his arms.

ㅤㅤ

"Can you control your own blood?"

ㅤㅤ

"All I know is how to take it out." You lifted your arm overhead and stretched once more. "But I dunno where to get blood to test on."

ㅤㅤ

"We could use Fade as a guinnea pig, but Viper won't say yes. We're sticking to your blood, or… No, wait."

ㅤㅤ

You already lost track after the guinnea pig comment.

Yoru pulled his hand back and suddenly ripped open what looked like a portal to an ocean of blue. He promptly began digging through, the entrance now enveloping his elbow the deeper he stuck his hand in. Then, he pulled his arm out and dropped a gloop of midnight blue and black fluid. Spikes began protruding from the liquid as it sat on the ground.

You watched it form a very general outline of a human being, probably a clone of him judging by the spiky hair on his head. This feature was just too recognisable; it was Yoru's hair.

Yoru leaned on the counter next to him with crossed arms.

ㅤㅤ

"Go ahead."

ㅤㅤ

You held out a hand and attempted to gain control of the creature's blood. And though you swore there was something you could get a hold of, you just couldn't exactly... grab it. It felt like being blindfolded, under water and tasked with getting a hold of a really slippery jellyfish. And though you clearly had more control over every droplet of blood that made up this clone's, you weren't sure what to do beyond taking a hold of it.

This went on for a while. And you were bored within a few seconds. However, unbeknownst to you, Yoru watched you with a keen eye.

And to say he wasn't amused by your inability to put the slightest bit of effort would be an understatement. But he remained quiet and let you 'work' in peace.

You weren't sure if he was still thinking about ways to kill Fade, or if he still scrutinised the way you carried yourself. Either way, you didn't spend more than a few seconds thinking about it.

You simply continued training.

ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ

The corridor that led to the training range was filled with a set of cheerful voices. It was very easy to recognise that they belonged to both Gekko and Jett considering their different pitch. And on the way to see you, they conversed to each other about both random nonsense and what they thought of you, their opinions fuelled by what they were told by Iso and Clove.

But not Fade. Of course not Fade.

The nightmare agent who previously minded her own business made a great resurgence upon your recruitment, and it would be a lie to say they enjoyed her stealing you all for herself. But today, they would speak to you for the first time.

Exciting, right?

They turned the corner and walked towards the entrance, moving past the empty lockers. But the duo flinched at the sight of Fade's hand blocking them, moments before she took a step forward and stood in their way; they were met with the terrifying aura of the nightmare agent. Arms crossed, brows furrowed, they already knew what the conversation entailed.

Where the heck did she come from? Jett mused to herself. But it's not like Fade didn't hear that thought, much to her misfortune.

ㅤㅤ

"Where do you think you're going?"

ㅤㅤ

She started, her tone as brutal as they remembered it to be. Jett couldn't help but flinch.

ㅤㅤ

"Oh, we were, uh, just about to see A/N?"

ㅤㅤ

Gekko noted as he fiddled with the strap of his bag that held his buddies. However, despite being recruited after Fade, he wasn't spared from the upcoming snide comment.

ㅤㅤ

"What're you, blind? Don't you see that I'm standing here?"

ㅤㅤ

"Yeah, well, we thought since, you know, you've been talking to her for a whole day, it would be our turn. You won't mind, right?"

ㅤㅤ

Jett noted. And in response, there was only an ambiguous silence.

The two paused and desperately hoped that she would just accept the offer and drop it. After all, while there were many horrible things in the protocol, one of the things up there was evoking Fade's wrath; a shockingly easy task for many... all agents. It was a lesson learned the moment she stepped foot into the protocol and received a less than favourable welcome from them, including Jett, who made the terrible mistake of throwing her a snarky comment.

Of course, not Cypher, Omen, Yoru, or Viper those four obviously had it easy. Oh, and you.

Fade brutally scrutinised whilst they anxiously waited. And the pure annoyance that radiated from her was incredibly tangible. But it wasn't until she finally spoke.

ㅤㅤ

"Yeah, actually. I do mind."

ㅤㅤ

"Come on, you've had her for a whole day!"

ㅤㅤ

Jett blurted out, but she immediately silenced herself once she realised her mistake. However, it was too late, and−

ㅤㅤ

"So what? You got a problem with that?"

ㅤㅤ

Fade bit back with a sneer, and the two were immediately overridden with anxiety.

ㅤㅤ

"Okay, jeez, nevermind! We'll just catch her later."

ㅤㅤ

Fade watched them with narrow eyes as they walked off. She was only satisfied when they escaped her sight, really, and it didn't take long for that to happen. But when she heard a familiar set of footsteps, ones that belonged to a person who could hardly bother to lift their feet to walk, her expression softened.

A smile painted her features as she crossed her arms and approached you. Incidentally, since the two disappeared by the time you left, you were practically clueless to the interaction that occurred mere seconds ago.

ㅤㅤ

"A/N. How was training?"

ㅤㅤ

"Fine. Fade, is there something you need to tell me?"

ㅤㅤ

She tilted her head in confusion, as if Yoru wasn't training you literally two seconds ago. It prompted you to continue.

ㅤㅤ

"What's with you and Yoru?"

ㅤㅤ

"Oh." She grinned mischievously, her black lips contrasting her white teeth. "It's just fun to make him mad. Seriously, have you seen him?"

ㅤㅤ

You also leaned on the wall and allowed your mind to wander off. From your memory, he didn't look too expressive despite being very obviously angry back there. In fact, you were surprised he didn't spend the whole session yelling at you, and instead took it seriously.

ㅤㅤ

"He wasn't too bad."

ㅤㅤ

"You just don't get it." Nobody did. "Anyway, come on."

ㅤㅤ

She fixed her posture ushered you to start walking alongside her, to which you did.

ㅤㅤ

"So, how was your first training session with him?"

ㅤㅤ

"Fine." You glanced at your hand. "Didn’t do much with his blood."

ㅤㅤ

"His blood?"

ㅤㅤ

"Yup. He made some person that looked like him for me to test on."

ㅤㅤ

"Person..."

ㅤㅤ

Fade averted her gaze for a moment as she went over his 'lame' abilities to infer what you meant. Beyond the flashes and the teleporting, where did you get the person from...? Oh.

ㅤㅤ

"Is he seriously using his clones for you to train on?" She shrugged. "I'll give it to him, that’s pretty creative."

ㅤㅤ

He made a clone? You just assumed it was some kind of replica or a sculpture. That actually explains the hair, now that you thought about it.

ㅤㅤ

"But Yoru isn't meant to be training me."

ㅤㅤ

"Relax. You'll be able to switch in a week. Besides, as much as I hate him, I can attest to his efficiency."

ㅤㅤ

You lightly laughed.

ㅤㅤ

"For real?"

ㅤㅤ

"Definitely."

ㅤㅤ

Just as you two came to the sharp turn, Fade suddenly stopped in front of you, stopping you from continuing down your path.

ㅤㅤ

"Any who, what's on the agenda today?"

ㅤㅤ

"Schedule says I have to prepare for lunch."

ㅤㅤ

You answered nonchalantly, oblivious to the weird expression you evoked from Fade.

ㅤㅤ

"…We don't have schedules."

ㅤㅤ

"Yup. Made my own."

ㅤㅤ

You took out then held up your phone, allowing her to see the monstrosity you willingly created an hour ago. Surprised wasn't enough to describe how she felt. So much so, Fade mindlessly reached out to take your phone from your hands and confirm what she was seeing.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she read through the crowded columns. It wasn't a normal schedule like she expected, it was full to the brim with what she considered over-the-top preparation for the most minute things. Why did you need a twenty minute period before and after lunch curtly labeled 'prepare'? And who the heck sleeps at ten on the dot?

She couldn't help but look up at you with a raised eyebrow.

ㅤㅤ

"This seems a little excessive. Why don't you go through the day and figure out what you want instead?"

ㅤㅤ

"I dunno. Making choices. Sounds like work." You took your phone from her. "Anyway, lunch's coming up. See you."

ㅤㅤ

You fixed your posture and went to walk down the other end of the hallway. But just as you took a few steps away from her, Fade's voice promptly emerged with a curious question,

ㅤㅤ

"Does the schedule account for your lunch as well?"

ㅤㅤ

...

Oh. Right. Cooking. That was something you had to do now, huh? You know, because there were no more rations anymore, and you... yeah, you had to cook for yourself, now.

Great.

You sighed in defeat and turned back to face her. There, you saw the smug grin that lifted her black lips. If her hair didn't conceal half of her face, it would be a familiar look by now.

No words needed to be exchanged. Just by your light frown, the nightmare agent could tell that she had already won the battle before it even started. As per usual, huh? Fade grinned and began walking towards you, forcing you to move alongside her the moment she passed you by roughly grabbing your arm.

ㅤㅤ

"Looks like you're stuck with me today. Let's go."

ㅤㅤ

With no reason to resist, or desire to think about what your lunch should be, you were left with no choice but to walk alongside her... well, you were being dragged by her towards the cafeteria.

Seems like your fate was to be trapped with her for lunch, or for however long she planned to keep you bound to her. Maybe until you get settled in. This must be what Yoru felt all the time: a begrudging respect for the woman who could churn out a victory at every other turn.

Not that you were mad.

[skepticdoe]

okay hey gang 😛

so this is my headcanons for what the South Park characters specialise in terms of dancing

this may be a bit messy because the only dancing I know is just dance from when I was like 9 🙏

also thanks to @voltadream for feeding into my delusional headcanons and for providing me with samba dancer Craig!!

Here we go!

Kyle:

Headcanoning Kyle is always a wee bit difficult BUT I persevered and came up with the idea that he would be in ballroom. Not like your elegant super slow dancing but more foxtrot, upbeat and complex footwork. He would aim for perfectionism and every relationship he gets into with his co-dancer always ends with a breakup which leads him to keep on having to change partners. He eventually realises his feelings for Stan and he gets a permanent partner: Bebe. Bebe herself would be in a secret situation ship with Wendy lmao

Stan:

I personally cannot see him as a dancer😭 he gives off really strong personal trainer vibes who’d help the others train their mobility and flexibility. He would help craft an appropriate nutrition plan and would be against extreme dieting because it does more harm than good.

It’s either a personal trainer or a physical therapist for Stan. He would just be in charge of making sure everyone’s taking care of their bodies and helping them adapt physically to their performances.

Kenny:

Kenny is UNDOUBTEDLY a hip hop dancing. Breakdancing is his favourite (because of course it is) and he would literally FLY around the dance floor. He’d be into the political graffiti movement. Honestly a chill guy. He would stress poor Stan out SO much by attempting a move that Stan himself said he should train more for instead of attempting lmaoo.

Cartman:

I’m always tempted to put Cartman in the “tyrant manager who everyone hates but he’s good at his job” BUT I’ll try to be different and put him in the swing dancer category. By this I mean he’ll be as over the top as possible and he would wear his suit with suspenders and try to give off seduction vibes with smouldering glances and by licking his lips while dancing thinking it’s going to get him all the women 💔 literally no one likes him but he’s mysteriously getting a lot of funding and somehow made a name for himself. He’s also guilt tripped and coerced Heidi to be his dance partner (free Heidi 2025 ‼️🙏).

Butters:

He is LITERALLY the most theatre performer coded character ever! He would be at the front of every dance member (and would probably dabble in a bit of singing for musicals). He would also be REALLY good at line dancing.

Craig:

solo samba dancer OR a samba dancer with Red as his partner and all the fans keep shipping them and it gets to a point where a public statement has to be made saying they’re cousins 😭

Tweek:

He would be in production. Whether it’s event staff or just the general competition day manager who walks around yelling into his walkie talkie and making sure everything’s up to code before competitions. He’s also the one everyone begs for favours like a bigger lounge or for insider production information about other teams lmao

Wendy:

Our fav chair organiser who handles finances and CRASHES OUT whenever Cartman puts in an order for over the top and probably dangerous props and equipment. She’s the one that handles all the legal stuff and the aftermath after one of her dancers makes a very questionable comments or decisions during interviews. In a secret situationship with Bebe

THATS A WRAP!! thanks for reading this far and I would LOVE to hear any opinions and suggestions!!

[theladyragnell]

Congrats on the novel draft!!! I've come to chum the ask game waters with various off-the-wall Tortall next gen ideas, no pressure to pick up all of them:

Considering you've done so much with Neal, I'd be so curious to know if you'd ever be interested in writing a Jessamine fic? I'm not opposed to AUs where she goes for knighthood either instead of/with Neal, but I almost wonder if it would be more interesting to have her pursue more of a healer's path (Neal takes up his brothers' role, and Jessamine takes up Neal's). The gender play there is perhaps a bit more complicated, since I find magic to be, if anything, female-coded, but not by any means the 'proper' sort of femininity that a noblewoman is supposed to pursue! Especially cool I think if Jessamine doesn't just go the typical university route here.

My other thought is what you might do with any of the, well, sort of "textually missing but quasi-canonically existing" page boys, the sons of people like Gary/Cythera and Corram/Rispah, who really probably should have been at page training with Kel, but never appear on-page. On one hand, they're a blank slate for wholesome brotherly figures, but on the other, it could be cool to explore divergences between the next gen and their parents through them. Which is to say: what if they were bystanders to Kel's bullying? Or worse, what if Joren wasn't from a new fief, but rather Naxen or, irony of ironies, Trebond? The latter is so evil but I do like interplay between new nobles choosing progressivism vs. conservatism to shore up their shaky class standing... Your fics do class-through-marriage-politics it would be interesting to see how that stuff shakes out in other contexts.

Because I'm me, and have no shame about fishing for your lore, Elwene of Tirragen fic? How long can you use femininity to escape the shadow of your uncle before you trip head-first into the Delia of Eldorne trap?

Finally, Conté or Pirate's Swoop kid free space, but honestly I'm low key curious if you would ever write the (inevitable? tragic? legendary) Conté/Pirate's Swoop family romance arc and, if so, with whom? Hang on that's not a premise it's a prompt, so let's go rapid-fire: Lianne/Alan (bog standard love-doomed-by-the-necessity-of-political-marriage narrative), Vania/Thom (mage4mage? but maybe Thom's magical style is much more Conté-coded, builder of the realm, and Vania is a loose canon always trying to do dangerous great workings? you could also go lavender marriage here?), and for a real wildcard... Jasson/Alan (youngest son complex? named after the worst family member out of all our siblings which is saying something complex?).

This got SO long sorry!! Again no pressure to pick up on all of it :)

Tortall next gen messy business is SO fun!

I'd not thought of doing a Jessamine fic before--a healer's path makes sense for her, but I also very much like the thought of, mm, duchies are big and complicated to run, and Baird and now Neal have tangled themselves up with a LOT of other duties and seem to keep their spouses with them, which means probably younger siblings are going to get involved! So Jessamine needs a match with someone who is worthy of a duke's daughter but either isn't going to inherit his own title or doesn't mind splitting time, which is a fun tension in a society based around patrilineal inheritance. (See also part of the reason it's hard to match off Maura.)

If you peek, Jonthair of Trebond is is around a wee bit in one or two of my fics! And truly, I know Pierce wrote herself into corners, but WHERE are all these implied young men. I'm a bit too weenie to write any of them as villains in Kel's story but it really is sad that they aren't around the same way it's sad Maura's not around in Kel's books.

Elwene of Tirragen! I'm not sure what I would do with her (although her marrying Gary's invisible son would certainly be a hell of a thing) but really, I had her for one sentence in the manifesto and had to restrain myself from going down a rabbit hole.

And man, yeah, some Conte/Pirate's Swoop stuff would be fascinating but I've never quite found my way in on it! Like, I imagine Thom Jr. spent some time pining after Kally, but she'd be too smart to encourage that. Alan and Jasson is a VERY fun combination, though, of the options you threw out there I think that's where I'd be most likely to go. I have not introduced enough queerness to Tortall! (Says the woman, in all fairness, who wrote 70k of polyamory.)

[upslapmeal]

Notes from the Taskmaster 16x10 recording

The last two episode recordings I went to, I meant to make comprehensive notes when I got home afterwards that I would be able to look back at and post when the episode aired. I did not, in fact, end up doing that. So this time I was determined to have lots of notes, and made them on the go in the breaks in recording. However. They were made in a rush and I never went back through them to pad them out (you'd really think I would have learned by now). So instead of just having to rely on my memory, I ended up with an almost coded list of words and phrases that it's taken me pretty much 2 weeks to sit down and decipher lol. So with that said:

the pre-episode Greg-Alex entertainment was Greg getting Alex to sing a song about a recent news story to the tune of a song suggested by the audience - in this case it was Trump's lawsuit (the one in May 2023 since there are...a few) to the tune of Wuthering Heights

Alex really went for the whole live thing, and was constantly referring to it throughout the episode

when the contestants came onstage, I obviously first saw Sam in his bright colours and blond hair

we were right on the back balcony and my first impression from that distance was that he kinda looked like Jamie Laing lol

Greg made a passing comment about how he's been dressing in grey but I was completely taken by surprise when the vt rolled and he looked completely different!

I had assumed he'd actually buzzed his hair and didn't realise it was a wig until the ep aired

Sue made comments throughout the episode about how Sam looked like Dahmer

Lucy's prize task story, unsurprisingly, went on for ages and included a whole story about the holiday they went on that I tragically cannot remember

I was so glad they didn't cut 'untaffled' because I looked through my notes before again before watching the episode and couldn't for the life of me remember what she'd said

Greg's said that his immediate response to naked Alex in the prize task was that he was 'smooth like an eel'

After Julian's prize task there was a discussion about how people wanted to be buried, and at one point (I wish I could remember the conversation leading up to this) either Greg or Alex said they would be buried 'together forever in the Victoria monument'

There was a whole long debate about whether Sam intended to use nature as part of his doughnut task, and whether the bird toppling Ms Doughnut to her death should be counted

Greg told Sam to 'convince me to give you 3 points'

Sam went on talking about how amazing nature is and how we're all connected and at one point said 'consider the statistics.....3000' (I'm 99% sure this is what he said and I didn't just forget the rest of the quote)

Julian's exercise name was absolutely not a one-off, to the point they started running a 'cunt count' for the episode

Sue talked about how she had recently had an ADHD diagnosis, and that she kept viewing tasks holistically rather than paying attention to the details. This was specifically in relation to the exercise where she just did the same thing 4 times

I'm not sure if we saw the full extended version of Hotel Taskmaster, but we definitely saw a cut that included more than the aired version (though tbh I think they do that for most tasks and I just noticed this one bc we got the extended version)

We got an 'I put it to you' from Greg that Alex-as-Qrs looked genuinely cool

Lucy described Alex as having 'tight metallic buns' which Greg later referred to as his 'robot arse'

I cannot stress how much of a breakdown Susan had in the studio about the forks and marbles - you get a glimpse in the episode but that was nothing!

Susan also took AGES to do her throw in the live task - she kept on being about to throw before being interrupted, or saying her arms were too short, or that she needed a wee, or having a fit of giggles, and the longer it went the worse it got lol

Greg and Alex also had a go at it, and Sue wanted another go without the pressure. Greg and Sue got the ball in but Alex didn't

Don't ask me to remember the context, but at one point during the record, Greg told a story about someone he knew (whose name he said he would tell the others backstage) who would have sex in a cow mask and would demand 'LOOK AT ME!!!'. Anyway that was referred back to a few times in the ep

When Sam was given the trophy he just stood near-motionless with it for what felt like ages before we got to the hugs and everything

And now we enter the magical world of ~what on earth was this note referring to~ where I just hope someone else who was there (@politicalprocrastinator how's your memory?) sees this and can fill me in on what I've forgotten:

At some point around the prize / first task I wrote 'correct dog guess'. Whose dog? What was being guessed? Absolutely no idea

At some point there was a joke about the 'former Prime Minister', I think the idea being that by the time the episode aired we'd inevitably have a new PM? but I honestly can't remember

Someone called someone else submissive in a way notable enough for me to have written 'submissive' as a one-word bullet point, but not notable enough for me to actually remember

And now three bullet points which I will present in their original form:

Birthday

Bum hole in back

Get in bath

[eschergirls]

May 2025 Caption Contest Winners!

It's been 2 weeks it's time to announce the winners of the May caption contest!

The captions, as always, were really great so because we had so many good ones, I'll pick 3 honorable mentions and 3 winners (1st, 2nd, and 3rd place ranked).

Each winner will get to choose a prize if they wish (but you don't have to, you can just participate for fun too.) The prizes are extra Steam codes that I've acquired. If you won and want a prize, please contact me. 

The honourable mentions can get a prize if any of the winners decline (I will contact you if that happens, the prize order for honourable mentions will be selected randomly so the order you're listed here doesn't mean that's the order I will contact you in).

So here are the entries, organized by the platform they were submitted on:

Fedi/Mastodon:

Adriano:  I like this new spin on Tetris Waitworry: clearly she is being a shuriken yassie_j: her body is in the shape of a zigzag

Disqus:

 Adriano: "When they go loescape from the military, I go left." Also, it looks like she's pooping directly on Juggernaut's leg. Tsk. Alan D: I will destroy the enemy by the power of interpretive dance and tightly compressed boobage. Leak: "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8 bulletholes - that does it, I quit!"

Tumblr:

chaoscheebs: Shuriken, honey, that's not how you bring your knees in tight for the Time Warp dance. Alternately, behold the rare seated version of the Pee-Wee Herman dance from the hit film Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. drastrochris: "POOM" is the sound I make as I butt-bounce off of Juggernaut's thigh. genrenommer: Behold! The amazing Human Flea! harukami: Not everyone can butt-blast off the Juggernaut with a perfect poom, but her name is Shuriken, not Shuri-can't. heymerle: Giant over-muscled guys and teeny women in painful-looking poses, floating in mid-air: I can't figure out what's going on, either. hsavinien: With her heels accidentally glued to her butt, the only thing left was to propel herself into battle tits first for a devastating nipple attack. ihavearobotpanda: Shuriken over here living up to her sake and throwing herself at the enemy like... Well, like a shuriken spears-and-tears: "Oh no no no no NO! I *knew* I forgot to turn the stove off! But if I use my secret 'Heels-thrust-into-butt' speed-boost technique, I can make it back before my house burns down!" twilight-owl: She doesn't have time for this!  She's late for her interpretive dance class! vo-kopen: Three cuts … it’s the mark of Zorro! Alert Captain Ramon, the fox is in our midst. ward-leon: she saw a great pool party happening in the background and decided to join in - good thing she brought her swimsuit along!

The honorable mentions go to: Adriano, @spears-and-tears, and @twilight-owl

The runner-ups are: 

In third place: Alan D: I will destroy the enemy by the power of interpretive dance and tightly compressed boobage.

In second place: @harukami: Not everyone can butt-blast off the Juggernaut with a perfect poom, but her name is Shuriken, not Shuri-can't.

And the winner is... @hsavinien: With her heels accidentally glued to her butt, the only thing left was to propel herself into battle tits first for a devastating nipple attack.

Congratulations to all the winners and a big thank you to everybody who participated! Your captions are, as always, really funny and great!

Stay tuned in June for another caption contest!

If you won and would like a Steam code as a prize, please message me with which prize you would like.  If you came in 2nd, message me with 2 choices in order of preference...  I'll give you your top choice that hadn't been taken by the other winners. (To clarify, every winner only gets 1 prize, but winners other than the one in first place should give me their list of games in order of preference so if one is taken, I'll give you the next on the list.  It makes it easier for me to hand out the prizes.)

If the winner or the runner ups don't claim a prize, then I will pick from the honorable mentions randomly to claim a prize if they want one.

The Steam codes I have available as prizes are for: Aragami, Blacksad: Under the Skin, Gedonia, GoNNER, Hotel Giant 2, Peachleaf Pirates, Rebel Galaxy: Outlaw, Riot: Civil Unrest, Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun, and Survivalist.

[sgiandubh]

OMG! I can practically see her pulling at her pearls in indignation and fury! I wonder how many wet dreams he rejected her to result in this anger 🙃🙄😜 https://www.tumblr.com/maximumwobblerbanditdonut/747779411400671232/public-intoxication-sh-was-invited-to-the-landcon?source=share

Dear Pearl Clutching Anon,

This woman is the worst mythomaniac and the most pathetic know-it-all of the entire fandom. Mark me: probably a sock account of one of the Mordor sopranos, who'd like to play it cool otherwise. She is an impostor, pretending to be a Scot. But her grammar and spelling recurrent mistakes point to anything else but an English native speaker.

Prized and praised as she is by the dim-witted, she is living proof of the fact that you cannot reasonably and endlessly pretend to be an expert in hair implants, cocktails/bartending, audiovisual production, copyright, alcohol sales and pretty much everything in between. To me, she is at her most pathetic when she pretends to analyze the legal intricacies of the French regulations applicable to public alcohol tasting events.

What happened, in fact, at the Landcon 6 whisky tasting?

Ok. So, this was announced by the French organizers on March 5th and presented as a limited audience event, priced at 350 euros.

This idiot's comment is absolutely priceless:

She would be surprised to find out that, unlike the US, there has never been any Prohibition decreed in France (Hell would have frozen). Even more interestingly, the only venues where French law specifically prohibits alcohol tastings and sales are enumerated very clearly in regulations far above her intellectual abilities:

The main idea is that you cannot sell/organize alcohol tastings in public health venues (hospitals, clinics, etc), rehabilitation clinics (d'oh!) - both for alcohol and drug addictions -, schools, youth summer camps, sports arenas, swimming pools or any other public or private sports venues.

(Source: French Public Health Code, https://www.dalloz.fr/documentation/Document?id=CODE_CSPU_ARTI_D3335-1&scrll=CSPU022225&FromId=CODES_SECS_CSPU_TALPHA)

To these limitations, the French national professional organizations add, as best practice, the following: churches, cemeteries, prisons, military barracks, railway/public transport facilities (including depots).

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la dégustation/Tasting Legal Guide - https://www.syndicat-cotesdurhone.com/upload/article/file/202103guidejuridiquedeladegustation-60658bb9468b4.pdf)

To my knowledge, Landcon's venue was neither a cemetery, nor a church (the latter could be, however discussed: wee & lame joke, btw). And for that poor woman's information, you would not need an exemption, but a permit, or licence. In current French law, there are four such sale permits, ranked from I (soft drinks, such as Orangina) to IV (all drinks, including spirits). The fabled Licence IV (also the name of a beloved 90s French kitschy music group, LOL) is now impossible to obtain and if you want to have one, you have to buy the venue (cafe, nightclub, bar, bistro, restaurant or buvette) that had it issued first, many moons ago.

That problem solved, we would have to further analyze the type of event hosted by the Landcon. Was it a tasting or a sale, according to French regulations?

If it was a tasting, no licence is needed. If it was a sale, you might need a temporary licence, granted by the Mayor, provided you have notified them at least 3 months before the event. These are also famously hard to get and very sparingly granted, too.

Because tastings are an exception, they are strictly defined by French regulations as 'free alcohol consumption' and their regulations are excruciatingly detailed. Procedures and limitations vary according to the type of event: sports, tourism promotion, markets and fairs, public gatherings or cultural events (which is the one that seemed the closest to our situation). But a cultural event-cum-tasting would have to be completely free of charge (no paying access tickets), in order to be exempt from any legal obligation. This was not the case, as we know there was a rather steep, 350 euros fee, to be able to attend it:

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la dégustation/Tasting Legal Guide - https://www.syndicat-cotesdurhone.com/upload/article/file/202103guidejuridiquedeladegustation-60658bb9468b4.pdf)

That new activity was certainly not a tasting, as defined by French law. An amateur could then conclude, that S's event was, in fact, a disguised sale and that he is either a sinister fool or a filthy conman.

The trouble is, French legislation tolerates one single, overruling exception to everything I wrote above: sale by the producer of said alcohol. It is to be found (or rather interpreted - and it has been so by myself AND the French professional organizations), in the Code Général des Impôts/ French Tax Code:

To avoid a tedious legal translation, the idea is that if you do not sell your own produced booze, you are automatically considered as a stockist/trader and as such, subject to alcohol sales' regulations. If the Landcon organizers would have sold/promoted Laphroaig, for example, they would have needed the permit. But hosting a paying tasting event organized by SRH, promoting SRH's whisky and which profits entirely belonged to SRH is a sale by the producer, as defined by French law, not needing a permit:

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la vente/Sales Legal Guide - https://fgvb.fr/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/Vin-et-Societe-Guide-juridique-de-la-vente-19042021.pdf)

So: even if the tasting event was, in fact, a sale, French law allows a producer to sell his own alcohol, for promotion purposes as a side event, with no further need to obtain a permit. And this is exactly what their legal team rightfully advised them to do and completely what I would advised them to do, too.

That woman is so often and in so many ways completely wrong, that she is absolutely ridiculous. She (and also her other Big Friend) should perhaps stop pretending to be whatever they are not. Infantilizing, bullying and snarling at people does not help with their credibility.

Such women are genuine Frauds and absolutely despicable. People spend years fucking their eyesight in law school and we do not joke about interpreting and reading legalese. Ever. But to see idiots pretending to know just because they fucking used Google for ten minutes is just infuriating: it took me two hours to find the exception and another two to write this comment.

I hope this long, tedious answer was helpful, Anon.

[cemetery-circus]

Do you have any Showtime headcanons

Two for two, fluffy stuff for you!

Caine has fairly neutral opinions on musicals as a whole, but after accidentally catching Pomni singing to herself in the wee hours of the morning and falling in love hard with her pretty voice, he organized a musical adventure with Pomni as the lead star for it. Pomni wasn't thrilled about this even a little bit, but Caine was kicking his feet listening to her. These days, when he can muster the courage to voice his wants, Caine will ask her to sing to him during quiet moments like when they're cuddling at night or in each other's private spaces during the day.

Caine learned how to make coffee with his own two hands for her, no snapping his fingers to make it appear, in an effort to prove his care and devotion. It was a bit of trial and error with measurements and dealing with his own perfectionism-borne frustration (and the fact that Pomni wasn't really keen on drinking cups upon cups of coffee, especially not bad tasting coffee) but it was all worth it to receive her praise and smile once he got it right. He locked the recipe into his code and makes it for her every morning.

Speaking of praise, though she can be clumsy with her words, Pomni learned how to be more overtly praising for him. She can be quick to say what she doesn't like and what upsets her and, in doing so, she can forget to say what she enjoys and what makes her happy, which weighs on Caine, especially whenever he legitimately tries. A program can't learn to do right if you only tell it what it's doing wrong, she supposed.

Despite Caine's eccentric way of speaking, Pomni is the one with more pet names for him. It started as her just repurposing Jax's attempts at insulting them so she could get under his skin about not caring what he had to say, but then she started to legitimately enjoy calling Caine things like "sweet tooth" and "cavity." He just gets so cute when she calls him that...