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jungkoode · 3 months ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 18

˗ˏˋ on your kneesˎˊ˗

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

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8,7k

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

✧ author's note ✧

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

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

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

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

NOW. About this chapter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

His kiss tastes like four days of wanting.

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

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

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

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

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

Not you. This.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you could ever tire of him.

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

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

Just like your mouths do now.

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

So you do.

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

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

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

And the sound he makes?

Undiluted filth.

It spurs you on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It feels better than good.

It feels addictive.

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe both.

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

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

"Wait," you say, voice rough.

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

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

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

"Bring me the vibrator you chose for me."

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

"What?" he asks, voice cracking slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sprints.

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

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

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

Where the fuck would a girl keep her vibrator?

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

Under the pillow?

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

The wardrobe?

He eyes the wooden doors across the room, considering.

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

His eyes land on the nightstand. Bingo.

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

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

Focus, dickhead.

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

There it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To not look as desperate as he feels.

But then—

Fuck.

The vibrator nearly slips from his suddenly sweaty palm.

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

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

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

His eyes stutter back to one thing though.

The heels.

What is it about the fucking heels?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Crawl to me."

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

What?

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

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

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

He just... does it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks up at you, disbelief warring with arousal.

Surely you're joking?

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

Right?

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

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

"The vibrator, Ro."

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

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

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

You told him that much before buying it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can't take it.

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

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

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

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

"Start low and work your way up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doesn't care.

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

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

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

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

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

A warning.

A tease.

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

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

Fucking tease. Fucking gorgeous, evil tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallows, throat dry.

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

The word lies suspended between you.

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

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

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

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

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

You taste amazing.

Like always.

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

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

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

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

Until you kind of make him care.

"Jerk off."

He freezes, tongue mid-lick.

Did he hear that right?

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

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

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

Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's maddening.

It's genius.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he would.

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

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

It makes his strokes faster, more desperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But fuck if it wasn't worth it.

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

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

"Yeah," you agree, equally breathless.

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

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

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

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

He laughs, full and genuine. "Liar."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't get cocky," you warn.

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

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

Good.

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

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

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

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

“Always is with us.”

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

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

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

Something that works for both of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he doesn’t linger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of the time, anyway.

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

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

Very you, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” You murmur. “Your bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah.

Practical.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmhm,” you hum without opening your eyes.

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

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

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

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

You crack one eye open, squinting at him.

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

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

You grunt something unintelligible but make no effort to move.

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

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

Except there’s one problem: his arm.

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

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

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

“Let me extend my arm under the pillow.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it doesn’t.

It actually feels…weirdly good.

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

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

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

After Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then… you’d talked. Actually talked.

And—somehow—you’d listened.

Not just tolerated him. Heard him.

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

And yeah, okay—he kind of likes that.

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

Just this quiet flicker of maybe. Of could be.

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

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

And fuck—he’s kind of proud of that.

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

Not friendship. Not yet.

But maybe.

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

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@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap @jeontae @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex @minniejim

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kyri45 · 4 months ago

Text

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 25/02✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@esmailsadeh ha chiesto: Kyri I have a question...please don't end your amazing masterpiece (LMK AU) there are literally a ton of people that love it , so why must you end it? please reconsider for your fans >.<

The question is... why must I end it? Well cause it's a story and I don't like unfinished fics ahah.

@oddogoblino ha chiesto: Sorry, random dumb thought Think that Wukong or MK would go "kachow" when they're tryna look attractive for their respective partners? 😭 Imagining Macaque or Redson being really into admiring their partners just for their idiot to go "aha, ✨ Kachow ✨ " when showing off intentionally LMAO

haha well they could!

@meisawkwardashecc ha chiesto: Are shadowpeach switches?

Macaque is mostly the top

@anidiotkid ha chiesto: So, does Wukong or MK ever get cramps? And if so, how do they deal with it? (...totally not projecting here 😭)

yes they do! Wukong is a drama queen. MK will neglect his meds until he faints. (and then proceed to be scolded by Mei)

@captain-space-kin ha chiesto: Okay so, I happened upon the Shadowpeach bio parents au update today and then binge read the whole thing instead of doing college work. And I just wanted to say watching your art grow and change is really encouraging to me as an artist. I often times get stuck thinking my art isn’t improving “fast enough”, but seeing the progress you’ve made over the course of comic is really cool! And it also kinda making me want to try out making comics finally. Anyway! Love your art, and I’m very excited to see how the rest of goes!

Thank you!!

@itzlilith32 ha chiesto: Hello kyri, I just came here to say that I really love your Au. Lmk was already consuming my life since I discovered it like a year and a few months ago. And now I also have your Au consuming my everyday, but I wouldn't have it any other way. :3 I've discovered your au like between part 2 and 3 I think, so a while ago. And it's been the most fun rollercoaster of emotions I've been on. I like everything about it, from your art to the storytelling, I honestly can't put into words how much I love it ^^ Since we're in part 9, and the final from what you said, I wanted to say this. These past months have been wonderful, from discovering this au and seeing how it evolved, to now, where we're near the end. Although, correct me if I'm wrong, but I have a tiny bitty feeling that this is just the end of a big chapter. And I can't wait to see what happens next. :D 🫶

Awww thank youuu!!

@virtualjellyfishcolor ha chiesto: uh kyri…. did macaque hear all that…?like uh mk and redson..

Luckily his powers were still too weak. He most likely WILL hear what might happen in the future

@busterwarrior2099 ha chiesto: So what's going to happen to Li Jing and heaven now? Because I bet mk and the others are not going trust them again after the stunt they try to pull by kidnapping the guy who defeated the bull demon king,the lady bone demon,azure lion and prevented the world to end all because they learn about his heritage so yeah not a good impression at all

I have... plans.

@kid-of-chaos ha chiesto: Kyri will we get to see the mini monkeys at the Coronation or just around in general again I miss my gremlin friens :d

aww we can bring some of those little guys yes

@blairjojo ha chiesto: yo Kyri are u gunna make this into a full comic and publish it edventioaly (I need to buy it) @amyrosewithoutshadow ha chiesto: Hello! Brazilian fan here! How are you? First of all, love your art. Really, it makes me fell so safe and happy when I see it. Second, do you plan on doing a book or a web comic book with all the parts together when you end the Bio Dads au? I Would die for having the comic in hands and read it when I want and can. Thank you 💕

maybe, not now though (I don't have the time). I need mods and people who help me with the logistic first and a lot of planning

@lordmushroomkat ha chiesto: Your art is so genuinely great that I accidentally got invested in these fictional characters that I don't know just so I could see more of it. So like yeah, good job. I stumbled into it a few days ago and have re-read it like at least 3 times now and every time I get to the giant-kaiju Shrek 2-reference song-sequence I just feel an emotion that is very intense but that I have no idea how to quantify. I think the emotion is positive but there's also such a deep incredulity to it. It is glorious and unhinged and I am absolutely here for it. Loving whatever the hell this whole AU is, you have made me care very intensely about characters from a show I did not know nearly anything about. I've pieced together enough lore to understand enough of what is happening but you have made me want to actually watch the show.

awww tysm!!!

@gtuguzbuzbu ha chiesto: Will Wukong ever know what happened down there? Like he sorta knows that Mama got himself hurt but he doesn't know what exactly happened.

yeah Macaque eventually told him everything and he was condemned to 2 days in the hug-prison

@lordmageofart ha chiesto: Wait.. this instantly hit me but I have to ask! Is Macaque gonna Courtnap Wukong again? Will Wukong try yet fail to courtnap just to show Macaque he loves him? Or is it just going to be like a normal conversation like their normal people? (Probably won't be the last one but I still have to ask)

nah this time they just want to go straight to the point

@metalheaded-freak ha chiesto: Kyri, I just wanted to say… thank you, for creating the Bio Parents Au, it’s been such an emotional journey and honestly? If it wasn’t for you then I wouldn’t have gotten into the fandom the way I did. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you were the gateway for me to fully embrace this fandom and not be afraid to show what I do, so once again thank you!

Thank youu!!!

@classystudentmugdonut-blog ha chiesto: Hello I just want say I love your work I keep rereading it from the beginning even though I should be resting I got sick but anyways I want to who is YOUR MOST favorite in this lmk

MK. he is baby

@cranberrychaos ha chiesto: Considering you now got red bubble merch of the shadowpeach au... would you ever consider us paying to you to color in our favorite scenes from the comic? I got a couple I'd like to see colored and have in my house or wallpaper 😭

I don't take commissions

@redsontheredbull ha chiesto: Do you have a lady bone demon design?

mmm not really.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Do you think Red (or DBK) would get offended if people used cow/bull terms? Like bullshit? Or if they are driving and pass by a cow farm? Stuff like this pops into my head a lot and I wanted to know what you would think because all I can imagine is Red Son come face to face with a cow and it being so awkward 😭😭 Bye <3

mmm i think so.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I honestly think it would be funny to see how confused people would be if they just started being nice to each other, with no context as to how or why (Not like all their problems are fixed nice but just treating each other a bit better after their talk)

LOL i think everyone is either confused or glad they finally resolved their sexual tension

@roseltelle ha chiesto: Since Wukong is trans can he get pregnant too?!? Is this something he and Macaque have to worry about?!?

yes he can get pregnant.

@vivian-devoid ha chiesto: "kilani-123 ha chiesto:Does Mk know that Wukong and Macaque are still engaged?👀" WAIT WHAT?! I nearly choked on my water(stay hydrated) when the hell did this happen!?

the day before the brotherhood tried to take over heaven

@sleeo-goos10 ha chiesto: Hi kyri! Thank you for everything?! Just wanted to ask if you have other comics you plan on making once lmk is over aside from sky❤️

first i finish the sky comic, then I'll see

@violetcookie2007 ha chiesto: Do you personally have anymore nicknames for Shadow peach or Spicy noodles? I like all the ones you have in the comic and think they are all very cute and was wondering if you have any more. Also I love you art!

mmm not really. im open for suggestions

@gaybirdlovescrackers ha chiesto: How does it feel to singlehandedly keep a fandom afloat. To keep it trending by pure gay.

it feels illegal to hold this power

@steadylandface ha chiesto: Are we gonna get a Spicynoodles child in the future 👀

Yes, go watch Ninjago Pilot episode 1

@lonelydarkrai ha chiesto: Is there anyone dubbing your comics?

lots of folks are dubbing my comic.

@lordmushroomkat ha chiesto: I suppose now is as good of a time as any to wonder if this means Red Son has accidentally left his jacket with MK. Just like, as a concept.

oooohh yes

@nocturnaldaydreamer ha chiesto: Oh no, realized this a little while ago... But MK is not only the son of the Monkey King, but is gonna be crowned a Celestial Prince. Red Son and MK better be careful, there might be some crazies out there trying to Courtnap him...

Red son will be hissing like a cat to anyone who tries to come closer

@leve4ever ha chiesto: If season 6 comes out will you make more shadowpeach bio parents au?

yeah why not.

@nomadiclegends ha chiesto: 四耳孫小天 ...so is it pronounced "Sì'ěr Sun Xiǎotiān" ??? my mandarin's pretty weak sauce and I'm curious 😶

yes

@this-one-gay-person ha chiesto: For the LMK bio parents au is there like a specific post schedules?

every other day at 1Pm ET

@anxiety-beans ha chiesto: I need you to know that this comic is what converted me into a Shadowpeach shipper. It altered my brain chemistry, I swear.

let's goooooooo

@bonbonfoxyton ha chiesto: A little late asking this buut I'm curious, how did courtnaping go between macaque and Wukong exactly? Is it okay if you'd explain it, it's a 100% okay if you don't want to since I read your boundaries thing and everything to make sure your good with this question

I'll let the fans picture how it happened

@cutvdo ha chiesto: Have you thought of putting your fan comics ISAT: Sky CotL AU and LMK: ShadowPeach Bio Parents AU, on a different website? like tapas

you can't publish fan-comics on Tapas

@the-immortal-restless ha chiesto: Do you think that Macaque or Wukong’s hair ever falls forward? Like MKs does on purpose because style but like… Wukong and Macaque both have the longer fur so does it stay out of their face or does it fall forwards something in your au/opinion? (Petition for Wukong and Macaque to be Mukong… because if sun Wukong is swk then Mukong is MK!)

I think it could, maybe they use gel?

@wolfsbanex-x ha chiesto: KYRIII!!! Hello, I love your art so much. I just want to say that stream where you talked about motivation was very inspiring! I LOVE your comic so much, it’s been a shoulder for me whenever I have had a rough day. I hope you continue to gift us with even more amazing art (sorry if I’m rambling here). YOU CAN DO THIS!!! WHOOO!!!!☺️🥳

Thank you!!

@eneska31 ha chiesto: so we know when MK got his court napping thoughts, when did Redson get his? and can we see what happens in his POV in like a small comic at some point? p.s I absolutely love your art and this comic has brought me so much joy ☺️💛🐵

After MK called him beautiful

@factmeegg ha chiesto: Okay question, When first made this fan comic or whatever. What were your thoughts on this when you first started up to now?

that it would have been a really short and silly thing

@mischiefmelody ha chiesto: Question! Will MK be in his monkey or human form for his coronation? Either way he'll be gorgeous but I wanna knowwwww

He'll be in monkey form

cherrummi ha chiesto: After reading the latest update, I made an animation, but apparently asks don’t support video sooo here’s some key frames instead (I’m going to post my full animation in my blog, so if you’re interested you could check it out): Also: Will something like this happen in the story? 👆 How traditional is DBK and PIF would you say, comparing them to traditional human families? Could you give more insight on demon etiquette or courtnapping? Thank you so much for making art! It’s incredible! ❤️

uhh yeah in a way

they are very traditional, but they know when to put some traditions aside in sake of Red Son happiness

Courtnapping rooms are a must, old schools courtnapping usually last around a year but now days it's at best 2 weeks. The courtnapped person must consent and if not they can leave. The courtnapper must provide everything for their partner, including their hobbies, favourite food, family visits, etc… (it's basically a pre-dating very complex honeymoon

@huntershyperfixation ha chiesto: Your art is beautiful and the lmk fandom adores you ☆

ADFZBFD AGAER THANK YOU

@ithinkimprobablyweird ha chiesto: What is mk in the au? Like gay bi pan or something else?

Demisexual, trans masc, bi.

@cryptoknightpatch ha chiesto: Hi lol I’m curious did you come up with the court-napping idea by yourself or was it actually anything referencing Jttw?

it's a fan headcanon of the LMK fandom

@axtonorian ha chiesto: First up, I LOVEE YOUR ART Its really fun to look at and aesthetically pleasing in my opinion. Second I know Wukong had/has nightmares about Mk but what about Mac? And even if it all worked out in the end would his nightmares about those two get worse after everything that just happened?

he sometimes dreams of hurting him. a lot of cuddles ensue everytime he wakes up with wukong close by

@jinxdrawsstuff ha chiesto: Hi Kyri! Just wanted to pop in real quick and say thank you for your Shadowpeach AU <3 it’s getting me through my first college year, every update makes my day a lot better!

you're welcome!

#ask box #shadowpeach bio parents au

265 notes · View notes

proxycrit · 6 months ago

Note

I love your au!!! I love how the hylian duo look like gremlins, I LOVE the expressions and sass constantly and the changes to the lore, the worldbuilding and also the emotions (OUCH). I love their relationship with purah and each other and the new champions. I love the depth you gave Yona and her relationship with Sidon and Mipha. I love how link feels comfortable talking to sidon in addition to sign, I don't know if he does that with anyone else but Zelda unless its absolutely necessary (eg: just launched out a cannon and is paragliding down, so hands are busy) (side note: i love how much of an adrenalin junky/gremlin he is!!)

I do got a few questions! Will the pair get the sheikah slate again (so say link has the slate and zelda the pad), and can both slates do the warping and item storage (food, ingredients, armor, weapons, etc) (if so: no WONDER link was so upset! His collection!)

Does link have access to the ultrahand abilities (ik you said not The ultrahand, but what about fuse or ascend or rewind etc?) Where is the mastersword??

Does Link still have the champions' abilities, or did he lose those when their spirits moved on at the end of botw?

I know these are a lot of questions but I can't stop thinking about it!! The last few updates sent me back rereading the whole au and now its just vibrating in my head and giving me no piece

This is long and rambly, just know I am very much enjoying this au! Its silly and fun and touching and cute. Thank you for working on it!!

Oo some notes (also ty for circling my au haha im glad other people fixate like i do)

(Prewarning— i did not finish totk despite putting triple hours in it, so a lot of this story is being written while playing, though i know the big broad strokes thanks to cultural osmosis and video essays. A lot of Familiar Familiar builds from my playthrough with BOTW over TOTK, so the sheikah influence is significantly stronger and I will always choose botw characterization over totk characterization as a result.)

That aside

1. Sheikah slate’s dead. Rest in pieces, link’s rare collectable korok poop. Purah’s extracting as much data as she can to put on the purah pad but you can see the dread in her eyes whenever she has to tell link resurrection is not possible.

2. No idea about the zonai arm powers yet— im thinking about ascend, but the longer i go through this story the less likely ill hand it to him just due to immersion breakage. He and zelda will be getting sheikah gadgets from purah though! Maybe ill have a scene of him wandering through the sky island shrines, but without zelda warning rauru he and sonia wouldnt have prepared anything for the hero of the future. (But i DO love ascension and fuse. Lowkey dislike the building mechanics from a concept art pov because the green glue makes me want to cry, but it’s FINE i GUESS)

2b. Master sword’s chilling in korok forest. Link put it back in this au because of Reasons (part of his and zelda’s characterization in this au is to discard their past roles and embrace the present, not as knight and princess but as hero and researcher. They both have to face the reality those roles aren’t dead, but it’s a work in progress. I may also never address it. This “one off hehe lemme draw some guys” idea quickly spiraled into a web comic series so apologies for the vagueness, because i too am watching them adventure with dread and awe and i don’t know where they’ll go with it. They literally write themselves.

3. Rip champions, their ghosts are Gone (but their influence remains. You go mipha, keep haunting the narrative girl, i love you)

I know that some of these story notes don’t quite match up to what totk states is stone cold canon, but that’s the joy of fan work! Anyways sorry for folks who i have NOT answered asks of— i have a lot of them and I’m much better at the drawing and writing part then the socialization aspect (please feel free to peak in to my zoo enclosure ever so often though. I need the enrichment)

#ask #ah enough people asked these questions that i feel i should have a disclaimer #i may have 190 hours in totk #i still have no idea whats happening #brain emptier then a can of air

319 notes · View notes

soelstress · 1 month ago

Text

It May Have Started As An Act

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x female!reader

Summary: When you suggest a fake relationship to benefit you and a local deputy, little do you know how real it will become.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , non / con , minor language , minor violence , Lee Bodecker being an absolute sweetheart

A/N 1 - This is my submission for @gremlin-girly’s 20 questions challenge

A/N 2 - Prompts

Quote - “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

Character - Lee Bodecker

Trope - Fake dating

A/N 3 - Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work - I created the banner on Canva and the pics were sourced either from Pinterest or Google - credit to original creators - divider by the talented @firefly-graphics

A/N 4 - Please let me know if I've missed a warning, knowing me it's more than likely. Hope you all enjoy ☺️

“Knockemstiff is a Podunk backwater town where greed and corruption are fueled by political influence and powerful people looking to benefit.” Not once in your life had you ever doubted your parents' wisdom. Until now. It was your disbelief that led to your current situation with a sapphire stare burning into your soul.

Your mother was born and raised in Knockemstiff and said that nothing had changed from the time she was born to the day she left after becoming engaged to your father. They moved to Columbus while your grandmother stayed in Knockemstiff. Over the years your grandmother would visit for a brief escape and relish in the progressive city where your mother thrived in the updated fashions and attitudes while teaching you to speak and act as a lady should but never to let anyone mistreat you.

Twenty years that had been filled with laughter, lessons and love. Your mother taught you how to be true to yourself but also how to be a good wife to a loving husband, which was something your father exemplified. He in turn taught you to stand up for yourself and how a true husband and father should act. One day you hoped to find a husband with whom you could have a marriage like your parents.

It was something you held on to when you lost both of them in a car accident. A drunk teen had been drag racing and crashed into their car. Only days after their funerals a lawyer called to advise that your mother’s will stated that you had inherited your grandmother's house since she had passed when you were a teenager. With no other family to consult, it fell to you to decide what to do with the house which your mother had rented out. Though you weren’t sure if you wanted to stay in Columbus, you were reluctant to move permanently to Knockemstiff and decided that the best choice would be to rent out your parents‘ house for a few months while you spent time in Knockemstiff to consider your choices. The earnings you made from working part-time and the money that your parents had saved would allow you time to do this. After notifying your employer who bid you good luck and finding a tenant for your parents house you made the journey to Knockemstiff.

Almost a month had passed since your arrival. Almost every word of the warnings your mother gave was accurate. What she hadn’t warned you about was the difference in treatment you’d receive. There were a few of the elders who remembered your family were one of their own and treated you with kindness. Because you were from a big city where the fashion and attitudes were more advanced than the local ideals the women either treated you with condescension or with concealed fear as if you were a seductive temptress who would steal their men and corrupt their youth. To the men you were a challenge. Several of them had attempted to ask you on a date with some being more persistent than others.

One such man was the Sheriff’s son. Johnny Morton relished in his father’s position of authority knowing any misdemeanours would be overlooked. His confidence in his situation was so powerful that it carried over to the rest of his life. It was no secret that women were disposable to him though some foolishly hoped he’d look their way again. But instead his focus was now on you. Like today when he’d ambushed you working at the local library.

“Aw c’mon doll. Let me take you for a ride in my new wheels. I promise to give you a good time.”

Morton’s tone made your skin crawl followed by his lecherous gaze raking over your body. It took all your self control to hold in the shiver he created as you didn’t want him to know he inspired ANY kind of reaction within you. Unfortunately because he was the Sheriff’s son it also required every ounce of civility and propriety to address him.

“Unfortunately I have plans.”

His dismissive laugh just continued to rile you and that last thread of civility was barely hanging on to your last shred of patience.

“Toots I haven’t even said a day. We could go to a passion pit and play back seat bingo.”

Either he was really oblivious or just didn’t know when to quit. But either way you’d had enough. You’d spent weeks turning him down and still he was determined to change your mind. Or more accurately make you his latest conquest.

“I believe the lady said she’s busy.” The smooth drawl relaxed you instantly, knowing that you’d be able to escape this uncomfortable encounter with a witness.

Though his smirk wavered, Morton's eyes never left you. “This don’t concern you Bodecker so go bug someone else. Maybe you can bug someone to dance with you at the Fourth of July party?”

“I’m already goin’ with someone but that doesn’t change the answer.”

A muscle twitched in Morton’s jaw. “And what’s she busy doing?”

His arrogant attitude pushed you over the edge. “She is washing her hair.”

A snort disguised as a cough made your lips twitch though you saw a flash of teeth over Morton’s shoulder. Before he could answer you cut him off. “I also have a date to the party. Now if you’ll excuse me I have somewhere to be.”

You were glad for another presence as you suspected Morton would linger if you were alone but instead he grunted and stalked off. You turned to face your saviour. “Thank you Deputy Bodecker though I’m sorry you had to get involved.”

His blue eyes followed Morton as he turned out of sight. “Some men don’t understand the word ‘no’. Especially those with situations like him.” The scowl on his face melted as he faced you with a small smile. “I suspect you could’ve handled him just fine on your own. But after all the bellyachin’ he’s done and bragging about how he’d wear you down eventually… Couldn’t help myself Miss.”

Bile rose in your throat as the lack of consideration and arrogance of Johnny Morton. You had no intention of exchanging anything but polite words when required. But this just reaffirmed your parents' warnings. You shook your head before offering a smile in return.

“So who’s the lucky girl attending on the arm of the most gallant man in Knockemstiff?”

Deputy Bodecker blinked in surprise before rubbing the back of his neck. “Not so sure I deserve that title Miss. And there’s no dame. I said that to get him off my back. The Fourth of July party is in a few weeks and all the other deputies already have dates.”

You cocked your head in confusion. “And there’s nobody who wants you to take them? Beggin’ your pardon Deputy but that sounds unlikely.”

A shrug answered you. “There’s some ladies who want me to ask. But they just wanna be seen with potential Sheriff candidate Deputy Bodecker. I wanna ask someone who wants to know Lee Bodecker.”

Sympathy and pity flooded you. The Deputy seemed a good man, wasted in this cesspit of a town. “Forgive me if I seem forward Deputy but I’d like to know what Mr Bodecker likes to drink so I can thank him for fending off unwanted advances.”

Red coloured the deputy’s face and he ducked his head shyly. “Cola or lemonade would be swell. But I couldn’t allow you to pay Miss. My momma would skin me alive God rest her soul.”

Feeling brave you winked at him and giggled as his blush deepened. “What if the locals were the ones who paid?” You walked into the back of the library to open the icebox and pulled out two bottles of cola.

“Thank you Miss.” He held out his hand to pop the bottle cap before handing it back to you and doing the same with his own. You watched as he took a hearty swig and gasped in delight. “That’s so good.” He licked his lips and tilted his head at you. “Didn’t you say you needed to be somewhere?

Warmth filled you as you realised he had actually listened to you. “That was so Morton would make like a banana and split. But I should lock up.” The deputy made to stand. “Don’t rush on my account, Deputy. Please finish your drink. I’ll be a few minutes yet.”

As you walked around completing the last minute tasks you could feel his gaze on you but not once did it feel uncomfortable. If anything it felt reassuring. As you closed and secured the doors you turned to find the Deputy waiting on you and took a moment to look at him. Dark hair was closely cropped to his head which only seemed to emphasise the cherubic cheeks you made blush. His eyes had turned arctic when Morton was around but now those baby blues shone softly in the sun. Pink pouty lips tugged into a soft smile. He wasn’t slight like some of the men in town who looked like manicured bodybuilders. Broad shoulders and muscular arms lead to a belly that looked firm with just a hint of pudge continued down to thick thighs.

The man before you was a good looking gallant gentleman. He deserved to go to the party with someone who appreciated that. Suddenly your brain sparked with an idea. It was risky but could benefit both of you. “Deputy… would you mind walking with me for a bit please?”

“Beggin’ your pardon Miss. You want to do what?” The Deputy’s brows shot up so fast they almost flew off his face while his blue orbs now resembled owl eyes with how wide they’d grown.

“Pretend to be a couple for the next few weeks until the results of the election. First, I think it would help with the election if you were seen to be an upstanding citizen and traditional man with a sweetheart.” Your logic couldn’t be refuted. “Second it gets Morton to leave us both alone.” Another valid point.

His brows had lowered and were now furrowed as Deputy Bodecker tilted his head. “I guess that might work. But why would you want to be seen with a slob like me?”

You couldn’t help the feeling of pity that filled you at his question. Was this really how he saw himself or had Morton and his ilk somehow influenced him? “You said you’d like someone to look past the potential Sheriff. I’d like to know more about the man who’s shown me the first bit of kindness since I arrived.”

Lee shuffled his weight nervously. “And after the election? We can’t keep this up forever.”

You stepped closer and looked up to meet his eyes. “Deputy, I’ll be here until a realtor sells my house which I was told would take a month at least. But I’d make sure the blame wouldn’t fall on you. I’d say I was missing home or something.” Lee nodded in understanding. “One condition, Deputy. If I hear so much as a whisper you’ve been seen with one of those streetcorner girls-”

“No Miss, no chance of that. I’m all in.”

Over the next few weeks you and Lee played the part of a new couple. First you both went to a diner in the next county so you could talk freely away from prying eyes and find out about each other. Armed with basic information that one would be expected to know about their sweetheart so began the first step of your plan.

It started small with Lee bringing you a single flower every time he came to visit you at the library to which you reciprocated by offering a cola or another drink so he would have an excuse to stop and talk for a few minutes. Soon he’d offer to take you on walks in your lunch break and treat you to an ice cream if it was a warm day. Your momma had taught you that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach so you soon brought him food to the station if his shift differed to yours. He had been blown away with the tasty treats you brought him which varied from sweet to savoury and snarled at anyone who dared to try and sneak a bite for themselves.

It had become apparent very quickly that “Miss” or “Deputy” weren’t appropriate sentiments for a loving couple. But you hadn’t felt comfortable calling him Lee unless you were with other people. It felt wrong to use his name in such an intimate manner when it was just a ruse. Lee had readily agreed. Since you enjoyed making him blush you changed his pet name constantly to see which ones he’d react to so fiercely. When you called him “Hotshot” Lee’s reaction had you worried for a moment. He seemed to choke on thin air and his face turned white from lack of oxygen instead of the pinkish hue you’d come to expect from teasing. After a brief panic, Lee couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you and kept you close by for the rest of the day. He in turn called you ‘Pixy’ after you introduced him to your favourite candy.

During this time Lee had been nothing but a perfect gentleman. Not that you expected any less. His gallantry knew no bounds. Holding open doors, opening and closing his cruiser door for you, always offering his arm and being respectful with his carefully placed cheek kisses.

Though being in the public eye was the main intention of your arrangement it was unspoken how both of you seemed to enjoy each other's company and wanted time together without having to pretend. It was during these times that you told Lee about your parents and how you wanted so badly to have a marriage like theirs. Lee’s face had flickered slightly when you first told him that you had never wanted to settle in Knockemstiff but his face then transformed with slight envy as he heard the happy tales of your childhood.

Lee then told you that his father had walked out upon finding out his mother was expecting his younger sister Sandy but his mother had raised and instilled good values in them both. Even after their mother died Lee continued to look out for Sandy and followed her to Knockemstiff after she had a shotgun wedding to local boy Carl Henderson. But life had changed when both were killed in a home invasion gone wrong. He’d joined the police force in the hope of maybe being able to catch his sister’s killers but also to try and make a difference. Your heart bled hearing this. Lee had been dealt a terrible hand but remained a good man despite it all.

Though you knew that Knockemstiff was not where you wanted to spend your future, your stomach and heart sank at the thought of leaving behind the man who had completely changed your visit and so you spent every possible moment with him wanting to create lasting memories. But it was more than that. There were moments when you felt truly safe and cherished with Lee. The crinkle of his eyes when he saw you. The little strokes over your knuckles with his thumb if he held your hand. The way his drawl would become a soft whisper when he spoke to you.

Two days before the party you returned to the diner for a third meal. During the meal you learned that the Sheriff from an adjourning county would be attending the party to meet the hopeful candidates but also to try and build a good working relationship between the two counties. Supposedly it would be him and two deputies. Knowing it was vital for Lee to make a good impression you both discussed and reviewed any potential scenarios that may arise. From the Sheriff questioning him to the local ladies approaching him or Morton approaching you. Everything had gone well so far and you were determined to support Lee as much as possible.

After dinner Lee walked you to his cruiser to open your door and frowned when you didn’t get in. “Pixy, you ok?”

Nerves suddenly enveloped you and you ducked your head before nodding shyly. Quietly you reached into your bag and held out your hands. You heard rather than saw him approach and gently take your offering. There was a moment's silence.

“Pixy… why’d you do this?”

You gulped softly. In his hands Lee held two tickets to a horror movie he’d been talking about wanting to see. After the way he’d treated you and refused to take a cent for any dates you knew you had to do something for him. “I wanted to do something nice for you. Something that was for you alone.”

Lee smiled and offered you his hand which you took before squeaking when he pulled you into a brief but firm hug with respectfully placed hands. For a split second you were dazed by the calmness that Lee's touch left you with. All too soon he pulled back with a big smile and gently ushered you into the cruiser before heading to the drive in. At first when the movie played you were fine until tension built and you found yourself inching closer to Lee. When the monster appeared screams echoed throughout the lot but you were pressed against Lee’s side, face hidden in his neck with one hand gripping his leg while the other had a white knuckle grip on his shirt.

“Is it over?”

When the screams resumed you burrowed further into him. Once the screams stopped for a few minutes your breathing resumed normally and the scent of Lee’s cologne filled your nostrils. For another long moment you let his essence fill your head, heart and lungs before freezing. You weren’t sure what was more terrifying - facing Lee or watching the movie. But when you slowly tilted your head back you found Lee looking right at you, his eyes crinkled from the grin he was wearing.

“You’re safe Pixy. I got you.” One of his hands unwound yours that gripped his leg and entwined your fingers with his while the other squeezed the one that clutched his shirt. “You sure you wanna stay?” When you nodded slowly he turned back to face the screen. Every time you flinched or jumped he would stroke your knuckles or squeeze your hand. Butterflies erupted thick and fast in your belly and continued to flutter even after he drove you home and bid you goodnight.

The feeling lasted through the next two days up to when you were getting ready for the party. Lee had let himself in after knocking as instructed by you.

“Just a moment, Stud!”

All at once the butterflies were joined by shaky hands and a dry throat. Why were you so nervous? It was Lee for goodness sake. You figured the nerves were due to knowing so many people would be watching you and Lee tonight.

As you walked into the living room Lee turned around and your breath caught in your throat. He wore a gray suit with a white shirt and blue tie that hinted to how broad and strong he was while the colour made his eyes pop. His hair had grown during the last few weeks so the ends were starting to curl slightly and your fingers itched to stroke them.

Your heart skipped a beat in surprise. Had you really just thought that? It wasn’t till Lee cleared his throat that you realised you had been distracted by your musings.

“You polish up nicely, Deputy Bodecker. Heads will be turning tonight.”

“You’re correct there Pixy but those heads will be turnin’ for you.” Lee gulped softly. “I think every man will fight for a dance with you.”

Warmth flooded your face and heart while the butterflies calmed considerably.

“Can I count on you to protect me from those hoodlums?” You teased breathlessly.

Lee held out his hand which you took and gasped when he brushed a kiss over your knuckles. “Always Pixy.”

Once you picked your jaw up and collected the food you had made for the party Lee then escorted you to the cruiser and drove to the where the party was being held. When both of you entered the noise level dipped slightly before whispers broke out like hissing snakes. Hairs rose on the back of your neck when you felt dozens of glares aimed your way. Though you weren’t sure if it was because you ‘stole’ someone else’s chance to attend with Lee or because your dress, though modest and conservative by Columbus standards, was more revealing and form fitting than those worn in Knockemstiff.

Your grip on Lee’s arm tightened slightly and he smiled at you with reassurance before spotting a few unfamiliar people standing with Sheriff Morton. Since Knockemstiff wasn’t a big town you figured this was the party from the neighbouring county.

“Deputy Bodecker, good to see you. This is Sheriff Wallace from Pickaway.”

Sheriff Wallace shook Lee’s hand and nodded politely at you with a smile. “Pleased to meet y’all.” You watched as he introduced his deputies before a woman wearing a dress similar to yours stepped out from behind them. “This is Genevieve who works at our station.”

Genevieve giggled softly. “I couldn’t pass up the chance to visit our neighbouring county especially when there’s a dance.”

Lee tilted his head and introduced you to the strangers. This was a chance for Lee to impress the party so you decided to step away. “Honey, I’m going to find the food table. Can I get you anything?”

Lee winked. “You know what I like.” Surprised by his response you blushed and ducked your head as the men chuckled softly. Perfect. It was vital they believed in your charade. You walked over to the food table and placed your offering on the table.

“Oh honey you cooked these yourself? How brave.”

You recognised the voice belonged to Dolores. She was a backstabbing busybody with a holier-than-thou attitude that affirmed her position as the town gossip. Only a slight twitch of your brow betrayed the fact her very existence repulsed you as you set the food you’d prepared on the table.

Dolores’ sweet words were laced with venom. “Oh, little chicken pot pies. That’s… memorable.”

Instead of immediately responding you prepared a plate for Lee which contained your chicken pot pie before looking at her. “My recipes are tried and tested by my Momma who taught me everything. She and Daddy were together twenty-five years before they died and he never ate from any plate that she didn’t make for him.”

Dolores gave a simpering smile. “And just what did your dearly beloved Momma teach you?”

“That the way to keep a man was to fill his belly and empty his balls.”

You watched in satisfaction as Dolores choked on a sip of water and spluttered as her face burned red. For her to try to put you down was one thing but to insult your parents? Ire flicked through you at her audacity. When a small giggle sounded further down the table you saw Genevieve who had followed you quietly.

“Everything ok here?” Lee and the Pickaway men had arrived when they heard the commotion.

As you looked at Lee you couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “Yes sweetheart. Dolores here just bit off more than she could chew.” Lee’s brow raised but you saw his mouth twitch slightly.

“If it was this chicken pot pie I can't blame her.” Dolores triumphant smirk faltered when Sheriff Wallace started loading his plate with more. “This is incredible! What angel made this?”

Lee’s arm wound around you tightly. “That’s my girl's recipe.”

Even if it was an act you couldn’t help the pride that flooded you at Lee’s declaration. As you nuzzled into his side you couldn’t help feeling envious of the woman who would one day be lucky enough to take his last name after this ended and you left town. She certainly would be blessed with a kind devoted man like him.

Sheriff Wallace tipped his hat to you. As you blushed slightly Genevieve approached and smiled warmly at you and Lee. “Do you dance, Deputy?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“This is my favourite song. Would you mind?”

Lee glanced at you nervously. This was a situation neither of you had prepared for. On spotting a ring on her third finger he relaxed slightly but was still uncertain. “As much as I hate to disappoint a lady, I’d hate to offend her husband more.”

Genevieve giggled, a sentiment that was echoed by her party. “She’s been married a few years and her husband is a level headed fellow. I promise as long as you’re a gentleman you’ll have no qualms with him, Deputy.” Sheriff Wallace winked at her fondly.

Lee glanced at you again. You knew that the point of this whole thing was for Lee to make an impression but you were reluctant to share him with another woman regardless if she was married. With all eyes on you there was nothing you could do but smile and let him go. You watched as he offered his hand and led Genevieve to the dance floor before placing his free hand with careful deliberation on her hip before slowly gliding around. There was a swooping sensation in your stomach followed by a horrible twisting. Why on earth were you feeling this way?

“Seeing as your Deputy has done his duty I should do mine. Miss?”

Sheriff Wallace offered his hand. Though it was the last thing you wanted to do you politely accepted and allowed him to guide you first to the dance floor then around with graceful movement. Your gaze flickered around until you saw Lee smiling at Genevieve who was speaking softly to him.

“Deputy Bodecker seems like a good man.”

A blush stained your cheeks. Of course your mother had taught you dancing etiquette and that your focus should be on your dance partner, single or not. Though you didn’t think her teachings quite covered this scenario.

“I beg your pardon, Sheriff Wallace. That was rude of me.” You braved a peek and saw what appeared to be an understanding expression on his face. “But yes, Lee is a good man. Though it might be a bit prejudicial to ask the woman he’s seeing. Especially when I’m new to the area. You might be better asking the local folk.”

Sheriff Wallace shook his head as he twirled you gently. “Miss I’ve been a Sheriff for three years and an officer of the law for nearly three times that. I find that I learn more about a man in a position of power by how he treats his inferiors rather than his equals. From what I’ve observed Deputy Bodecker is polite and courteous to most, barring those who don’t deserve it and I cannot say they are undeserving.” Something crossed the Sheriff’s face. “I think he would make a fine Sheriff especially with someone like you supporting him.”

Your face heated as your heart twisted at the kind words. This was a means to an end. But it was promising that Lee was being recognised.

“I think I’ve kept you from him long enough.”

You glanced up in surprise and squeaked when he suddenly turned so you were next to Lee and Genevieve.

“Your sweetheart is a good dancer” she smiled at you. “But I think it’s time I returned Romeo to his Juliet.” They somehow moved effortlessly so you were now dancing with Lee as they swayed next to you.

“Miss me Pixy?”

Glancing up you saw the polite smile for Genevieve evolve as Lee’s face lit up as you started dancing with him. Instead of answering you hid in the crook of his neck. Lee kept swaying but one arm moved across your back to rest his hand on your waist while the other secured your free hand over his heart. As you felt the gentle thud of his heart you melted against him and inhaled the mixture of his cologne and the soap he used. As the song's final notes played you leaned back slightly to see Lee very close to you, his lips a mere breath away.

“Pardon me, would you mind coming with me to powder my nose?”

Despite the fact there were several officers in attendance you could have quite happily committed murder for having your moment interrupted. Lee looked slightly lost but smiled and grazed his lips across your knuckles before turning to face Sheriff Wallace. Cursing inwardly you smiled at Genevieve and followed her towards the restrooms.

“Sorry for interrupting your moment but I really wanted to talk to you.”

Any response was cut off with a growl when you saw the swarm of women descending on the two Sheriffs. They might have been cooing like pigeons but all you could see were a bunch of vultures. When you saw Dolores rubbing Lee’s arm you were seriously considering strangling her.

“I wouldn’t worry about those harpies, honey.” You blinked with surprise at Genevieve’s words. “That man is head over heels for you. Looked like someone had kicked his dog when he saw you dancing with Sheriff Wallace.”

She laughed and guided you towards the restroom. “I wanted to ask you two things. First, I can have that chicken pot pie recipe because it was divine. And second I liked what you said to that witch about how to keep a man.”

Blood rushed to your face. “Oh. I um-”

She laughed as she applied her lipstick. “It’s true though. I’ve been married three years and it’s how I’ve kept my man. He’s never had an appetite for anything another woman has ever offered. My Momma also taught me that.” She flashed a grin at you and winked with approval.

Suddenly a hand wrapped around your throat as you left the restroom and forced you outside. Despite your best efforts no amount of wriggling and fighting lessened the iron hold on your neck. Once at the edge of the property you realised it was Morton holding you captive and glanced over at Genevieve who was also struggling with one of his corrupt friends.

“Let her go Morton.” When his hand tightened around your throat you gasped “She’s with the Pickaway police. You hurt her and I bet they’ll raise hell for your daddy.”

There was a pause before Genevieve was released. When she glanced your way you smiled in reassurance and she took off before you looked at Morton. “What the hell do you want?”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “Heard what you gals were saying about how to keep a man. Wanted to see how well your Momma taught you.”

“Why don’t you take a long walk on a short pier?”

Suddenly your cheek stung viciously and you slumped to the ground from the force of his slap. Tears sprung to your eyes from the stinging but above that rose anger. Your parents had never laid a hand on you. Who the hell did this parasite think he was?

“Listen honey, the moment you arrived I called dibs. I tried being all sweet on ya, offering to take you for rides and I got the royal shaft. Now I hear that you’re easy for that wet rag Bodecker? Nu-uh. Not in my town.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

Morton stood with a twisted smirk on his face and his hands resting on his belt as his friend roughly lifted you to stand before Morton.

“Stop with the bit. Now you’re gonna show me just what your momma taught you honey. Do a good job and my friend here will go easy on ya. He loves leftovers.”

You shuddered slightly at the sound of slurping lips but stared Morton down. “Sit on it Morton.”

His face twisted with anger. But before he could raise a hand a grey blur blew past you and tackled Morton into the shadows. From the slivers of moonlight you could barely see but then a growl rose from the dark.

“Don’t. You. Fuckin’. Touch. Her.”

With each word Lee punched Morton who tried to escape but it wasn’t until his friend stepped in that you launched forward to help Lee by kicking and scratching where possible.

“Woah woah woah! Wuss goin’ on here?!”

The loud voice cut through the chaos and you all separated though Lee quickly shielded you behind him. One of his arms was thrown out towards you as if warning you to stay back so you gripped his wrist and squeezed it to reassure him.

“Hey! I asked what’s going on here?!”

It was the person you knew was least likely to help. Sheriff Morton. He glanced around as if expecting an answer but when he saw you behind Lee he hummed softly.

“I see. Well I think that’s enough fun for one night so you oughta head home.” He turned to Johnny. “Son, why doncha-”

“No.”

It took you a moment to realise that Lee was defying his boss. For you. And the elder Morton didn’t look happy with it.

“Cool it Bodecker. Johnny here can run her home while we talk about that scuffle.”

Indignant that Sheriff Morton seemed to imply Lee was at fault you spoke up. “He’s the one who started it because he couldn’t deal with bein’ clutched!”

Lee shifted closer to you as Sheriff Morton took a step forward. “Now you listen here-”

”Trouble in the ranks, Sheriff?” A quick glance revealed one of the Pickaway deputies walking forward.

Sheriff Morton eyeballed you before waving towards the deputy. “Just a lil misunderstanding son. I’ll handle it.”

”Well I’m sure it’s nothing a lady needs to see.” You detected an edge to his words but you were too busy watching the Mortons. When the younger didn’t meet his father’s eyes the Sheriff nodded reluctantly. “Miss, why don’t you come with me?”

When you didn’t react Lee tried to tug his wrist free but you held on. “Go with ‘im Pixy.” Lee didn’t face you and instead kept watching the Knockemstiff men. Your grip moved to squeeze his outstretched hand and relaxed slightly when he squeezed back. “Go on.”

The deputy escorted you to a car where Genevieve was waiting. “C’mon Miss. We’re gonna take you home.”

You shook your head in confusion. “No, I can’t leave him. He-”

“Wallace knows” she murmured softly, catching your hands. “We’re all too aware of how things work here in Knockemstiff. I promise he’s gonna help your Deputy. But we don’t know how long that’s gonna take and you don’t need those harpies judging you. We’ll take you home and you can wait for him there.”

Silently you knew that it made sense and allowed them to take you home. On arrival you began to pace back and forth with uncertainty whether to try and find Lee but you didn’t want to risk crossing paths with the Mortons. As the name crossed your mind you cursed them, Everything had been going so well before the younger interfered. What would happen to Lee now, especially as he had refused a direct order from his boss for you and fought the Sheriff’s son?

You heard a soft tread on the steps and held your breath. Three gentle raps. You knew that knock. Bolting to the door you yanked it open and gasped. Lee had a split lip and the shadow of a bruise forming on his face. Guiding him inside you quietly sat him on the couch before getting a chilled bottle to place on the bruise and gently dabbed at his lip. He hissed slightly but didn’t move apart from his eyes which swept over you a few times.

“Are you alright Pixy?”

Blinking you stared at him before letting out a laugh of surprise. “Me? Have you seen yourself Deputy? What happened?”

“Morton got in a few licks before his daddy arrived.” Lee’s eyes darkened. “They thought they’d get to keep goin’ once you’d gone…”

Lee never once turned as he heard you walk away, his glare at the three men before him never lessening as they watched your progress. Only when their eyes landed back on him did he concentrate on his own current predicament.

“Startin’ a brawl over a girl Bodecker? I expected more of you.”

“He’s whipped. Little hussy has him on his knees. Or maybe she’s the one on her knees for him.”

“You’re cruisin for a bruisin, Morton” Lee snarled, his fists flexing restlessly.

“And you’re done Bodecker. You can kiss the badge and your job goodbye.” Sheriff Morton smirked at him. ”Might wanna take care with those public displays you have with your little sweetheart. Could get you both into some trouble.”

Over the derisive laughter and taunting threats from the other two, Lee felt a thud of panic. Not for him. But you. How could he protect you from his former boss and his sleaze of a son without his job?

“I think you’ll find that you’re the one in trouble, Sheriff Morton.” Lee turned to find Sheriff Wallace with his remaining Deputy standing close by. Both wore identical grins.

Sheriff Morton straightened as his eyes narrowed. “All due respect but this ain’t your concern nor your county.”

Sheriff Wallace chuckled though there was no humour in the sound. “I think you’ll find that it is my concern. Who owns the maroon ‘49 Mercury?”

“It’s actually Midland Maroon. That’d be my ride.” Johnny’s chest puffed out, not noticing the warning glare his father shot. “Ain’t she a beauty?”

Wallace grinned and tilted his head. “Sure is. You wouldn’t forget that in a hurry. Especially when the passengers are engaged in repeated acts of public indecency. Unfortunately it always seemed to vanish by the time the police arrived.” His grin widened when he saw Johnny freeze with realisation lighting his face. “So I asked all Sheriffs in the surrounding counties if they knew about this vehicle. And most tell me they have the same issue. Except you, Sheriff Morton. You said you’d never seen it before. I wonder how well you can do your job if you can’t see what’s right in front of you?”

It was abundantly clear that Wallace’s words held heavier meaning and belied his knowledge of the true corruption in Knockemstiff.

“We’re gonna take your boy to our station. He’s in a lot of trouble.”

His deputy walked up and cuffed the younger Morton who was threatening about what the elder Morton would do. But Sheriff Morton’s face just paled. This was a man whose palm he had never greased and from the sound of things would never even have the chance to try.

Wallace’s eyes softened when they landed on Lee. “Walk with me Mr Bodecker. We need to talk about what happened with your lady.”

“I don’t know what lies that little hussy told you but she’s been leadin’ on my boy since she arrived here!”

Wallace’s brow raised. “Which hussy do you mean? Mr Bodecker’s girl who’s been a delight compared to the scum I’ve seen, or my wife who told me that this lowlife here manhandled her out of the bathroom for his own pleasure? Only the fact that she’s from Pickaway saw her being released. My other deputy heard the threat about leftovers.”

Wallace then slapped a pair of cuffs on Johnny’s lackey. “You best get these boys a good lawyer, Sheriff.”

Lee fell into step as they headed towards a cruiser with a Pickaway sign. Once the two were settled in the back, Wallace turned to Lee. “You ok son?”

Lee nodded, unable to believe what had just transpired. But suddenly it was like a fog lifted from his face. “Sir, my-”

“She’s safe. Gen and my other deputy took her home. I trust him with my life and Gen’s. I promise no harm would’ve come to her.”

Sheriff Wallace smiled at the man before him who didn’t seem to know which way was up.

“You got caught in a brawl and lost your job yet your first concern is for your girl. That’s commendable. That’s what I’d like to see in a fellow Sheriff.” Lee ducked his head from the praise, unused to hearing such a glowing review. “Mr Bodecker, I know you were set on becoming Sheriff here. How would you feel about becoming joint Sheriff for Pickaway county?”

Lee’s head snapped up. “Sir?”

“My deputies are happy in their roles. None of them want the job, not that I blame them. But I’ve been wanting to step back for a while and try for a family with Gen. I wanna be able to take days off and see my kids be born and grow up.”

Sheriff Wallace placed his hands on his hips. “I reckon come our next election you could be wearin’ a Sheriff’s badge. Whaddya say?”

”I need to think about it.”

“WHAT?!” Poor Lee looked startled by your raised voice but you couldn’t believe what he’d said. “Please tell me you didn’t say that. You’re wasted in this town! Why on Earth would you stay?” You frowned as a smile began to grow on Lee’s face and banished the dark look he’d arrived with.

Lee chuckled softly. “Sheriff Wallace asked me the same thing.”

You were baffled. “And what could you possibly have said in return? Lee, I swear-” When his pearly whites flashed your exasperation grew. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Lee shifted closer to you. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name when we’re alone.” His blue eyes sparkled as he murmured. “I said that I couldn’t leave without knowing you were safe. But it’s more than that. I want you to come with me.”

You opened your mouth but he took your hand and hushed you gently. “Pixy… This may have started as an act… but I fell for you. And I think you fell for me too.”

He nodded towards a box that sat on the coffee table. A box where you’d stored keepsakes of your time with Lee - the ticket from the drive in, every flower he’d given you carefully pressed and lovingly preserved.

“I want that future with you, the one that your parents inspired. And I don’t care if it’s Pickaway or Columbus or even the moon… but I want to be with you.”

As his free hand cupped your cheek his eyes darted between your eyes and mouth as he leaned in and kissed you softly. Surprised by his confession you froze momentarily. Mistaking your lack of response Lee almost pulled back before your free hand gripped his shirt and held him still before pressing your lips against his.

In your little bubble your senses were all centred around Lee - his cologne, the faintest metallic tang from the cut on his lip, blue orbs gleaming as he slowly pulled back and the reverence of your name leaving his lips as he brushed his nose along yours.

When Lee’s thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek you squeezed his hand affectionately. As you let him pull you into his hold and press a kiss to your forehead you giggled quietly.

“What’s so funny Pixy?”

You tilted your head back and found Lee’s sapphire gaze piercing you and filling every inch of you with warmth. “I wasn’t looking for love but I found it in the place I least expected.”

#grem’s 20 questions #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader #Lee Bodecker fanfiction #lee bodecker fluff #sebastian stan characters x fem reader #sebastian stan characters x female reader #sebastian stan character x you #sebastian stan characters

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 8 months ago

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< masterlist > as of 2025-06-17

My AO3 (updates slower than Tumblr)

✨ Writing Progress ✨

📩 Ask Count: ~35 (Unanswered writing requests/prompts/asks in my inbox)

📖 WIPs/Drafts: ~10 (Prompts and personal ideas I'm working on)

Click here to see the current list of asks and WIPs as of 2025-06-17

Send a Request (Anon asks are currently off while I work to catch up on existing messages)

Read About Me/This Blog Below The Cut!

Hey there and welcome~!

I’m Liv! A 26-year-old Canadian, iced coffee enthusiast, em dash connoisseur, and work-from-home tech gremlin with a soft spot for books I’ll never have time to finish. I’m an Aquarius sun and a INTJ/INFJ flip-flopper depending on how much sleep I’ve had. This little corner of the internet is where I share my writing, fandom thoughts, and whatever else I’m obsessing over at the moment.

You’ll find a lot of mid and plus-sized female protagonists in my writing because, frankly, there aren’t enough of them in the romance space, and I’m here to fix that. I love crafting characters who feel real, because everyone deserves to see themselves in the stories they love.

My favorite activity is making fictional characters fall in love (and suffer a little first). I am open to requests and would love to help bring your ideas to life! If you like my writing and have a fic idea in mind, please feel free to drop a prompt my way.

Thanks for being here and happy reading! 💙

My work is personal and unique. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my works without explicit permission. My stories are not authorized for use in Artificial Intelligence or bots in any capacity. Thank you for respecting my boundaries and creativity, and for letting me share these stories with you.

How I Feel About AI Use in Creative Spaces: 1, 2, 3

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#ao3 author #ao3 link #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic

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catyrv · 4 months ago

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in which a broke and sleep-deprived bio major experiences her first heartbreak during the start of february. as if your life couldn’t get any worse, a boy accidentally kicked a soccer ball at your head, and causes more unfortunate series of events to occur. you’re supposed to hate him. why is he all that you think of now?

soccer player!scara x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre - smau, strangers to enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, comedy?

୨ৎ warnings - may include: vulgar language (swearing), kys/kms jokes, implied sexual themes/jokes (but no actual smut), fluff, crack, ooc, grammar and spelling mistakes (more to be added).

୨ৎ status - [ started 2/23/25 - … ]

୨ৎ a/n - first time writing a smau 👀 so it may be underwhelming. I have absolutely no plot written for this, so I’ll be winging it as the story progresses (don’t worry I’ll try to make it interesting). I’m planning to make this smau at least 30 chapters but I’m aiming for more. Nonscheduled/inconsistent/slow updates (I’ll probably try to update as much as possible). Written chapters marked with 💗. I hope this smau will be worth your time reading!!!

୨ৎ profiles:

the gremlins (yn) adults and a child(e) (scara)

extra characters

୨ৎ prologue - screaming, crying, throwing up

୨ৎ Act 1: I hate him I hate him I hate him!

chapter one - idgaf chapter two - what the fuck chapter three - spilled coffee run 💗 chapter four - mentally and physically unwell chapter five - stage 1: denial chapter six - stage 2: anger chapter seven - stage 3: bargaining chapter eight - stage 4: depression chapter nine - stage 5: in my healing era chapter ten - girls day 💗 chapter eleven - varsity jacket delivery chapter twelve - boys night over 💗 chapter thirteen - heart once again shattered chapter fourteen - dinner chapter fifteen - finals preparation

CUT!

୨ৎ Act 2: Why is he everywhere!!!

…tba

୨ৎ taglist - open/ask

@mywillt0live @rvm1ne @ysabelyaps @b-bbytears @sketcheeee @kunikissr @kunikuni1819

#genshin #genshin impact #scara #scaramouche #kunikuzushi #scara x reader #scara smau #smau #romance

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trash-gremlin · 1 year ago

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had to make a few minor changes to his design, mostly just shuffling some markings around. had to move the cimmerian burmese to slot 4 but theres only 2 lions in game with that marking in that slot one of which is a rl so hopefully the owner is touched by my message and decided to sell me their rl cub. anyway. if they want to keep it i'll probably switch from cimmerian to noctis burmese

i have an adol male with strat base that im going to train up on my side while my mains king reaches the end of his life (also avoiding having the plain strat king for too long) and in the meantime ive got some lionesses with the desired traits including markings and found studs so hopefully i can breed up a good lot of stats before kinging the stat. ofc rosette will be the last thing to breed but i dont want to get ahead of myself

i know that my followers definitely didnt follow me for lioden as its the first time im talking about it but-

my plans for my beautiful heir!!! & genetics

breeding him is going to be a massive pain in the ass bc his traits are all breed only. im gonna use both my accounts for breeding and i will definitely not worry about clean breeding until hes done and get a nice heritage rep and probably a g2 pie.. thinking clouded or svelte

#i will be updating this as the project progresses ive decided #unfortunately i am very impatient #lioden #lioden breeding project #shut up gremlin

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floylia · 1 year ago

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ELYSIAN ♫

09. Hurt to try

Visiting has never felt more invasive.

A large screen rested in the middle. Two massive, black speakers sat on each side of his desk with a small piano perched on top. A white shelf filled with trinkets and golden awards stood beside his stand-up microphone. An array of purple and silver acoustic panels hung around the wall, and you can’t forget the line of guitars laying in a fashionable order.

“Your studio is cleaner than I thought,” you whispered in awe, eyes bouncing around the small room.

Scara scoffed as he dropped his belongings on the grey sofa near the door, “What did you take me for?”

“A gremlin who never leaves his cave filled with chip wrappers and empty cans of energy drinks,” you shrugged, eyes still wandering.

He rolled his eyes and headed to his desk to start his computer up, “Don’t compare me to Aether.”

“You’re lucky he’s not here.”

“What’s his short ass going to do?”

“You’re the same height.”

“Allegedly,” Scara stood from his seat, urging you to take his spot, “I’ll find another chair, you can sit in mine or look around–I might take a while.”

You went to his shelves. You saw a picture of him when he was younger, wearing a volleyball jersey and holding a trophy with his teamates, one of them you recognized—Childe—they must have been childhood friends.

Then you saw another picture, one with his family. It was his highschool graduation, wearing a cap and gown with a stash that boldly displayed “validictorian,” – his mother, Ei, stood on his left, radiating an elegant smile, while his aunt, Nahida, stood on his right, pinching his cheeks with a mischievous grin. They must have been proud of him.

The next one was 5WIRL’s first concert. They were all young, bright with aspirations, beaming at the large crowd despite being rookies. Beside it, you saw a small octopus plush–Marlin–next to a polaroid picture with you two–a photo you’ve never seen before. You snapped a picture of it.

“[name]—” Scara entered with the chair.

You placed the picture down and trailed him.

“Are those all your songs?” you pointed at the screen.

He shook his head, “There’s more I’d like to do, but I want you to listen to this one.”

He passed you the headphones.

You wore it, “What is it called?”

“Bewitched.”

The song started out slow with a piano. His voice was smooth—different from his usually raspy voice. You took everything in—the lyrics, the melody, and piano. His stare was intense, observing every bit of your reaction.

“Did you like it?” He asked.

You grinned at his expectant face, “I love it, are you adding this? I’d be a crime not to.”

“I was planning on making it my title track,” he paused, “And if you agreed before, I wanted you to finish the second verse.”

“Oh.” It’d be a shame…

“Yeah.”

You stared at the giant screen, “…Can I see the lyrics?”

He flipped through his notebook, you see glances of his other works, scribbles of words and phrases only his brain could think of–one of the many reasons why you admire him.

He gave you the page, “It's a work in progress, but that’s the draft.”

“Can I try?”

Kunikuzushi smiled, “Of course.”

notes:

i lied im more excited for the next chapter (had to break this scene in two)

im on a roll with these updates and then ill ghost again idk jk

synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo career. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

masterlist | previous | next

Taglist (open!): @aruatsu @magicalink @featuredtofu @scarasbaby @veekoko @scaranthropy @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @vernith @thystarsshine @lily-lmao @lovemari @mellowberrie @kunikuzushis-darling @skyoverkill1 @alatusorrow @kukikoooo @kyon-cherri @keiiqq @tzuw1ce @xiaossocksniffer @kaitfae @infinitetrashbag @lvnalxve @lovelypadisarah @ulquiorraswife @sketcheeee @atyour-kitchencounter @pirate-of-the-dark-seas @neiiuna @sn1perz @kazioli @inelenastyle @hearts4shu @wisheslost @Kazeyozuha @kazumiku @eutopiastar @chemiru @bananasquash @mujiwuji @danhenglovebot @chocolatesandvanilla @boomie-123 @kookiibun @help-whatdoimakemyusername @vavrin @beaniedoodz @misterpoofin @justpeachyteastea @one-and-only-tay @peaceindreams @strxwberryfetish @shutingstar @projectsfantasy @quacking-simp @morgyyyyyyy @cante-lope @k-cris

#ELYSIAN #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #genshin idol au #genshin fluff #kunikuzushi #genshin modern au #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x y/n #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader

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gremlinwithagachablog · 1 year ago

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Not sure what I've made here but I'm happy with the poses and the accidental expression

#gremlin's progress updates #powers and pizza #gacha life 2

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caffeineaddictedturtle · 1 day ago

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Is this what you call self-care?

idol!Felix × afab!Reader genre: fluff, slice of life, established relationship warning(s): usage of curse words, no beta we die like man an: i explain it here

It was a regular Saturday for you, waking up at 6 AM and feeling your boyfriend's arm around you. After you turn your alarm off, you turn to look at him, smiling. His long, blond hair fell into his angelic face. It is so hard to not say fuck it and stay in bed with Felix, but you—with the smallest of movements to not wake him—get out of bed, making your way to the bathroom to get ready. After you get yourself into some comfy stay-at-home-and-study clothes, you brew yourself a cup of coffee with some coconut milk.

You've been researching for your midterm paper for a while now. It wasn't the worst topic, but selecting what's important and what isn't is where you were hopeless.

After restarting it for the hundredth time, you heard movements from your bedroom. You peeked out of the study/gaming room to see Felix's tired face, which filled your heart with warmth. "Good morning, love. How did you sleep?" He looked back at you while he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "I slept well until some gremlin left from next to me way too early this morning." A smile crept up his face, reaching out for your hand so he could pull you in for a hug. He kept you close with one hand, resting his face on your head while you hid in the crook of his neck. His sweet scent filling your nose. "How's your university work going?" you scrunch your face, not even wanting to think about the research and writing your essay. "Well, I read a lot, but I do not know where to begin or what things are the necessities to put into my paper." You felt yourself wanting to throw a tantrum like the 5-year-old who you are at heart. He kissed your forehead, then put his pinky out. "Okay, I have a trade offer; once you're halfway done, we can play on our farm together." Your eyes lit up. You've been pretty hooked on Stardew Valley for a while now, especially since the new update, and you got Felix to play with you on his days off. Sadly, they've been pretty busy with their comeback, so you couldn't hang out as much. He usually got home by the time you were asleep, and you went to class or to the library to learn before he woke up, since it was soon time for your final exams. You only have one year back from your university, and you don't want setbacks, so it is important to get a good grade. Your parents would be pleased as well since you flew to another city to learn specifically there, so you want to make them proud. You link your pinkies together to form an unbreakable promise. "Okay, but no distractions! If you want to play, please play in the living room; we both know I won't ever finish my assignment with you distracting me." He chuckles and nods his head in agreement. You happily made yourself another cup of coffee, then went back to the study to work on your task. You still cannot believe it that you somehow snagged such a perfect man: he is supportive, understands your concerns, and can always accept your compromises. He openly talks to you about how he feels and bravely tells you if something bothers or concerns him. You honestly can't believe these past couple years have been real.

You've made a bit of progress; it helped that you talked with your old dorm roommates—you moved in with Felix about half a year now; you two realized that it would be the easiest since you went over any given chance anyways. They gave some good suggestions. Once you caught up with each other, you four said your goodbyes, since all of you have a lot of work to get done by the end of this month. After some time, you smelled a sweet scent coming from the kitchen. The door opened before you could sneak out to have a peek. Felix brought in your favorite cookies; it was a mixture of his classic chocolate chip and your oatmeal cookies recipe. You two perfected it while he got some time off, and you didn't have school just yet. His brown eyes looked at you proudly behind the plate of cookies with milk in his other hand. "How's your progress, baby?" He bent down to give you a peck on the lips. You waited until he put the plate and the cup down, then patted the ground next to you, signaling for him to sit down. He didn't waste any seconds, and plopped right next to you, happy that he could sit beside his girlfriend. Felix didn't want to make you feel pressured; he just wants to spend as much time as possible with you before he has to go back to endless dance practice, content creation, etcetera. You both know he loves doing what he does, but it can get overwhelming sometimes. They got cussed out a lot for the smallest of things, getting bullied and going as far as getting death treats. He was grateful for being able to work his dream job, and he is also happy that you understand what this kind of life comes with.

Felix watched you type your thoughts out in your document and started to play with your hair, which made you relax instantly. You couldn't help but melt into his touch. You leaned onto his shoulder, feeling exhausted. "I am almost done with half of my assignment; I just need another page, but I feel like my brain cells are giving up on me." He chuckled, placing a kiss on your head. "You got this; I believe in you." He started giving kisses all around your face, which soothed your tired thoughts. Felix eventually kissed your lips; the kiss was sweet and made you feel like you're under the sun at the beginning of the spring. You reciprocated immediately, feeling as though time had stopped—no tasks, no school, no pressure—just you and him tangled together in a complete state of Nirvana. Before it could get heated, Lixie pulled away, holding you firmly, so he kept up his strenght to not distract you further. "Is it okay if I play Zelda while I lay in your lap?" You saw a hint of pink on his face, making you smile. "Well, I am close to finishing it, so why not? I don't think it can cause any harm." Felix got up excitedly to get his switch with his headphones. He laid down and got comfortable, then started playing his game. He has been quite into it lately. The game was beautiful, and there were a lot of things to do. The excitement in him got you into playing it, asking for his help in some harder situations.

When you got done with half of your paper, you looked down and saw a sleeping Felix with a gaming console on the ground next to him. He looked so peaceful like this: his pink lips parted, his eyelashes casting shadows on his face, and his freckles painting constellations onto his features. You can't help but start connecting the dots on his face with your fingers, making his eyes flutter as he awakens. "What are you doing, gorgeous?" You lean down to kiss him as a response. You feel like you're going to explode with all the feelings inside your chest. "I am done with half of my paper; I didn't want to wake you, sorry." You pout just a little, earning a smile as he reaches for your face to caress it. "That's my good girl. Are you ready for some farming time?" You nod, knowing that you're going to end up either playing until the sun gets up again or none at all and will end up cuddling in bed.

You two made some lunch and plopped down besides each other. Your desks have been set against one another, his PC taking up one desk while yours is cluttered by notes and books for your university courses; you just keep pushing it back each time you take your laptop out instead of organizing it. Felix tried to reason with you or help with that mess, but that's how you were, looking unorganized yet knowing exactly what is where, always on point. That's what your grades always reflect: perfect or almost perfect scores, even though you procrastinate until the last minute. He smiled to himself, knowing how he and the boys wished they had this superpower.

You put on your two's favorite chill playlist and booted up the game. We made a lot of progress, stopping to occasionally show physical affection for each other or taking a quick bathroom or snack break. I didn't even notice how the time flied until you looked down on your watch, seeing that it had passed five a.m. "Yongbok, we have a problem. Have you checked the time?" He has been so into the game that he almost looked up into the corner to see the in-game time, realizing that this might become a problem in the future. "Oh shit, I didn't notice when it got this late. I mean, I am going to be okay; I won't work for a couple of days now, but when do you need to send this assignment in?" he asked, knowing damn well that you have a habit of sending in your tasks with one minute left on the clock, giving him a scare. One time, Chan got to see your study progress and felt his soul leave his body. He still remembers how he and Han watched how their leader scolded you about your academics and your attitude towards your learning, painting a picture of an overworked father lecturing his rebellious daughter, who—no matter what she's doing—will always be his treasure. It never got said out loud, but you became the younger sister of the group, with all the older members looking out for your happiness and safety. And Felix isn't sure that if you two ever break up—which, let's face it, is highly unlikely—he wouldn't get the shorter stick and wouldn't get scolded.

Once you two saved and logged off for the day, got ready for bed, you snuggled close to each other leaving sweet kisses on one another, fighting the strong urge to sleep. When he heard your breathing change, he knew that you were fast asleep, what he waited for all along. It makes him happy and calm, knowing you are asleep. He pressed a light kiss on your forehead.

"Good night, my love," and with that, he dozed off to sleep as well.

masterlist ║request something

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asirensrequiem · 6 months ago

Text

Long time no see! Here's a lovely little update post for you all!

Chapter 4 progress was on hiatus for about a month and a half to focus on school and event weeks... well, I am happy to say that has come to an end! I have finished up sketches for pages 1 and 2 of chapter 4. I am vigorously working to get that, and potentially the lineart as well, finished up in this next week.

The entirety of.. season? Arc? #1 is finished in writing, and has been for a while, but I have touched it up and made it so so good I am very excited.

I will be making official character sheets for my designs for Lucifer and Alastor in ASR as I have received a few requests for such! Given this information, I was to make it known that you are very welcome to make art of my AU and my designs! The only rule I have is that I BETTER BE TAGGED IN THIS ART!! I want to munch on it and then stick it on my fridge so I can see it everyday and smile.

Finally.... I have a big announcement coming soon regarding a certain very awesome charity project that I'll be taking part in with this little AU ;)

That's all of the announcements I have for now, I love you silly little radioapple gremlins, keep doing you because you are awesome <3

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #radioapple #appleradio #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin comic #asr #a sirens requiem #asirensrequiem #update #radioapple au #alternate universe

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jungkoode · 3 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 17

˗ˏˋ reconnecting ˎˊ˗

"Fridays are not always the best day of the week, you can vouch for this one at least. It's Emma's birthday party and you're not sure you two still vibe together or not after all this time. And coming home... you don't expect Jungkook to be awake, especially not with your cold war going on. But he is."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 9,6k

content: begrudgingly gift-shopping, hidden treasures, old vs new friendships, reconnecting, pretty girls and the inability to discern whether it's flirting or polite talk, AM talks, actually listening (thank god, progress!), and vanilla kink striking again because jungkook in this fic has free will and i cannot control him

✧ author's note ✧

WASSSSSUPPPP my peoplessss!!

Okay so here’s Chapter 17—aka the chapter where all of you start collectively projecting your unresolved issues with your high school best friend, your fuckboy roommate, and your local pastel/goth lesbian duo. I say that with love.

Now LISTEN. I keep raising the bar for this story like but honestly?? That’s on YOU. You absolute feral gremlins with your “when’s the next update” comments like I’m a vending machine that dispenses emotional damage. (It’s fine. I thrive under fear and pressure. You’re welcome.)

About this chapter!! So my initial plan was for Nix to buy Jungkook an actual vinyl player… until I did the research and realized those bitches go for 150-300 bucks even secondhand. Be fr. They are NOT in a relationship. This man is her hot emotional disaster roommate who’s been beefing with her for three days and literally slammed a door at her. I would not spend a single euro on that man beyond what is legally required. Fifteen dollars for a John Mayer record? That’s the sweet spot. It says “I hate you but I know what music you like and I think about you when you’re not around and that makes me want to bite drywall.”

Also: if you know that Inside Wants Out is an early acoustic EP that’s kinda slept on but has a few gut-wrenching tracks about vulnerability and romantic ambivalence… well. Have fun.

Now shut up because I love writing female friendships and this chapter is my offering to the goddesses of sapphic chaos. Yeji and Irya being absolute queens??? We love. But also EMMA. Emma and that awkward tension of do we still fit? Did we ever really know each other or was it just proximity and hormones and being stuck in the same suburban hellscape? That shit is SO REAL. Reuniting with old friends is like a spiritual liminal space and I needed to capture that gnawing weirdness.

AND JIMIN. The eyeliner scene??? I almost CRIED writing it. I had to pause. That man is so soft it makes me want to shove him into a pillow fort and protect him from the world. He’s so good. He sees her, without wanting anything in return. You better analyze it or I’ll strangle every single one of you.

Now. Regarding the very tense bathroom cologne scene. I was actually going to drag the cold war out longer, truly. I had plans. But Jungkook opened his slutty little mouth and said, “No, actually, I’m feral and I’ve been suffering in silence and she smells like sex and nostalgia and I must act.” And what was I supposed to do? Argue? Please. I have 0 narrative agency here. That much is clear.

Also his birthday is coming. So like. I didn’t want to enter that subplot with them still fake-ignoring each other like divorced parents. You’re welcome.

ANYWAY. The next few chapters are slower paced but VERY important. It’s all those little moments where the characters start changing without realizing it. The kind of growth you only see in hindsight. The slow part of the slow burn. But I swear to god I’m obsessed with how it’s turning out and I just want to share it with you and roll around in the angst like a dog in grass.

Okay that’s all. I love you. Go scream in the comments or eat drywall. Or both! <3 Mwah.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Fridays aren't supposed to sneak up on you like a debt collector with something to prove.

Usually, you spend the whole week crawling toward Friday like it's an oasis in the desert of your existence. Monday is hell. Tuesday is hell's waiting room. Wednesday offers a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, the week won't actually kill you. Thursday is its own special brand of torture—so close to freedom you can taste it, but still trapped in the purgatory of obligation.

And then: Friday.

Glorious, beautiful Friday.

Except this one. This one materialized out of nowhere, ambushing you with its presence and the sudden, horrifying realization that you have exactly zero hours to prepare for what's coming.

So here you are, somehow already standing in a flea market that smells like mothballs and questionable life choices, watching Yeji hold up a fishnet... something against her body while Irya coos over crystals that probably came from the dollar store.

"What do you think?" Yeji asks, draping the fishnet monstrosity over her shoulders. "Is it giving 'fashion-forward' or 'I found this in a dumpster'?"

"Definitely dumpster," you mutter, eyes scanning the crowded stalls without really seeing them.

Because your mind? Your mind is elsewhere—specifically on the fact that you still need to find a birthday gift for your insufferable roommate.

Jungkook.

Just thinking his name makes your jaw clench.

It's been three days since your argument, and the apartment has been a cold war zone of pointed silences and aggressive door closing.

He wants to be petty? Fine. You can be petty right back. Twice as petty, even. So you’re not talking to him either.

"Hello?” Yeji waves a hand in front of your face. "You've been staring at that old guy selling taxidermy squirrels for like, two minutes straight. Should I be concerned?"

You blink, refocusing. "What? No. I'm just... looking."

"For what exactly?" Irya appears at your side, a small purple crystal clutched in her palm. "You said you already got Emma's birthday present."

"Just browsing," you lie smoothly. "Flea markets are full of... treasures."

Yeji snorts. "Since when do you care about 'treasures'? Last time I dragged you to a vintage store, you said it smelled like 'dead people's closets.'"

“No I didn’t.”

"Right." Yeji doesn't look convinced, but she's already distracted by a display of chunky silver rings. "I'm gonna check these out. Meet you at the food trucks in twenty?"

You nod, grateful for the chance to browse alone. Not that you have any fucking clue what to get Jungkook. What do you buy for someone whose entire personality seems to be "brooding film student with inexplicably good taste in coffee"?

It is like an abandoned warehouse, this flea market—stalls crammed together in haphazard rows, hipsters and bargain hunters elbowing past each other, haggling over everything from antique doorknobs to hand-knitted beanies that look like they were made by someone's cat…

You wander aimlessly, passing stalls selling vintage cameras (too expensive), artisanal coffee beans (too obvious), and leather-bound journals (too pretentious, even for him).

Nothing feels right.

Not that it matters—it's just a stupid obligation gift. You shouldn't care this much.

But you do. And that's annoying as fuck.

Then, a rickety table stacked with milk crates catches your eye—or rather, the handwritten sign that reads "RECORDS $5-20" in faded Sharpie.

The elderly man behind the table looks like he's been selling vinyl since before your parents were born, his weathered hands carefully flipping through a box as a customer asks about some obscure band.

You wait until they leave, then approach, trying to look like someone who actually knows something about records. The crates are dusty, disorganized, with no apparent system. Just hundreds of albums crammed together like sardines.

"Looking for anything specific?" the old man asks, voice gravelly from what you assume are decades of cigarettes.

"Just browsing," you say, already flipping through the nearest crate.

Most of the covers are faded, corners bent, some with water damage or mysterious stains you'd rather not identify. You recognize maybe one in ten artists—a lot of jazz, classic rock, some folk singers your dad probably listened to in college.

This is stupid. You don't know what you're looking for. Jungkook collects vinyl but doesn't even own a record player. What kind of pretentious bullshit is that? It's like buying books just to display them on a shelf without reading them.

You're about to give up when your fingers pause on a familiar name.

John Mayer.

The album cover is slightly worn at the edges, but otherwise in decent condition.

"Inside Wants Out," it says in simple white letters against the picture of a dude (you guess it’s John) in the background.

You don’t recognize it at all.

But Jungkook listens to him. His vynil collection is basically a shrine to him.

So you ask "how much?", holding up the record.

The old man squints. "Fifteen."

Fifteen bucks. Okay, that’s... actually reasonable. Not so expensive that it seems like you care, but not so cheap that it looks like an afterthought.

Just a casual, "hey, saw this and thought of your weird vinyl collection" kind of gift.

Perfect.

"I'll take it," you say, already digging in your bag for your wallet.

The man slides the record into a paper sleeve, takes your money, and hands you your change with a nod.

Transaction complete. Gift acquired. Problem solved.

You tuck the record under your arm, feeling oddly satisfied despite yourself. It's just a record. Just a stupid birthday gift for your annoying roommate who thinks he knows everything about everyone, including your taste in men.

But as you weave through the crowd toward the food trucks, you can't help but wonder if he'll like it. If his face will do that thing—that brief, unguarded thing where his eyes light up before he remembers he's supposed to be all cool and detached.

Not that you care. You're just fulfilling a social obligation. That's all.

That's absolutely all.

"Did you actually buy something?" Yeji asks when you reach her, eyeing the record under your arm. "Since when are you into vinyl?"

"Just decoration. For the vinyl wall.”

Irya peers at it. "John Mayer? Isn't he like, your dad's music?"

"He's not that old," you find yourself saying, then immediately wonder why you're defending John fucking Mayer of all people. "And anyway, it was cheap."

"Whatever you say." Yeji shrugs, then holds up a small paper bag. "I got those earrings we saw last week. The ones that look like little daggers."

"Nice," you nod, grateful for the subject change. "I'm starving. Can we get food now?"

As you follow them toward the food trucks, you resist the urge to check the record again, to make sure it's not too scratched or damaged. It doesn't matter. It's just a record. Just a gift.

Just something to cross off your to-do list before Emma's birthday tonight and Jungkook's surprise dinner tomorrow.

Nearing the trucks, suddenly everything smells good. Too good. The kind of good that makes decision-making a fucking nightmare.

You slow your steps, scanning the options.

One truck’s got sizzling skewers of grilled meat, charred at the edges, dripping onto soft pita. Another is doing fresh arepas, the scent of melted cheese thick and indulgent in the air. A few feet away, some guy with tattooed knuckles and an unreasonably aggressive beanie is ladling out steaming bowls of Vietnamese pho.

And then there’s the birria taco stand—because of course there is—and the line is criminally long, people clutching Styrofoam trays of consommé like their lives depend on it.

Your stomach rumbles.

By the time you settle on something—one of those ridiculous but beautiful smash burgers, glossy brioche bun soaking up all that greasy, caramelized goodness—you barely get your wallet out before Yeji hip-checks you out of the way.

“I pay, I pay, I pay,” she announces, tapping her phone against the card reader with swift finality.

You blink. “Okay, what?”

Yeji grins, entirely too pleased with herself. “Well, I’m obviously paying for my beautiful girlfriend, and I kinda figured I’d put you in the package deal.”

You snort, giving her a shove. “Fine. But beers later on me.”

“Deal,” she says easily, tossing the receipt onto the counter like a Wall Street exec closing a million-dollar deal.

Irya latches onto your arm, steering you out of the way so Yeji can continue flirting with the guy behind the counter—some blue-haired, too-many-rings kind of guy who’s already leaning into it, smirking as Yeji compliments his “artistry” with the grill.

“She’s ridiculous,” you mutter.

Irya hums, but there’s amusement in her eyes as she grabs your food, balancing her own order on top of yours. “Just my type of ridiculous.”

You shake your head, leading the way toward a set of old picnic tables at the edge of the food truck lot. The wood is worn, graffiti-scratched and dented from years of use, but it’s clean enough. You drop into a seat, setting your tray down, and Irya follows, sliding in across from you.

She sets her elbow on the table, chin resting lightly in her palm, and smiles. A lock of blonde hair falls loose, catching the light, and she tucks it back behind her ear absently.

“So, Emma’s birthday tonight?”

You unwrap your burger, glancing up at her. “Yeah.”

She studies you for a second, eyes warm. “Excited?”

You hesitate.

“Yeah,” you say again, but it comes out different this time. Not untrue, exactly, but not as sure as it should be.

Irya notices. Tilts her head slightly, patient, the corners of her mouth tugging into something knowing.

“You don’t have to be.”

A breath of something close to laughter slips out of you.

“I mean, I am excited,” you say, because you are. “It’s just—it’s been a while. We used to be really close in high school, but then, you know… life.”

Irya nods, thumb idly tracing the grain of the table. “She’s in Columbia, right?”

“Yeah. I stayed in-state for a bit before moving here. Different cities, different schools, different everything.” You shrug, picking at the edge of the wax paper lining your tray. “We tried to keep in touch, but it’s not the same when you’re not living through the same things anymore. And then you just… don’t talk as much. And then that becomes normal.”

“And now?”

“Now she’s in the city, and I guess we’re both trying to reconnect.”

“That’s good,” Irya says, and she means it. “It’s nice when people want to find their way back to each other.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, glancing down at your food, pushing a fry through the puddle of ketchup on your tray. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Irya watches you, quiet for a second. Then—

“She’s inviting a lot of people, right?”

You nod, grateful for the slight shift in direction. “Yeah. Told me to bring people, too, so I figured you and Yeji. Maybe Jimin.”

“Jimin would love that.” Irya grins. “He’s been in study-group hell all week. He deserves some fun.”

“You think?” You manage to say whilst chewing on the potato. “I thought I wouldn’t be doing him any favors. Like, he’s the type of person to say yes just out of obligation. And I didn’t want to pressure him into anything.”

Irya makes a soft sound of amusement, propping her chin in her palm. “Nah. If Jimin really didn’t want to go, he’d find a way to say no without actually saying no.”

You pause mid-chew. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’d do that thing where he apologizes like, three different ways in the same sentence, but somehow, you still walk away not totally sure if he said yes or no.”

You snort, swallowing. “Okay, yeah. That sounds about right.”

Irya grins, poking at her fries. “And anyway, he actually likes going out. He just overthinks it first.”

“You say that like you’re sure.”

“I am sure,” she says breezily. “I have classes with him. I watch it happen in real time.”

“Real time?”

“Oh, yeah. Like, someone invites him somewhere, and you can see him start to spiral. Like, ‘Okay, but what if I go and I regret it? But what if I don’t go and I regret that instead? But what if I go, but it’s not fun? But what if I don’t go, and it was fun, and now I’m missing out?’” She mimics his voice, exaggerated and tragic, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but that is a valid crisis.”

“It is,” Irya agrees, laughing too. “But the point is, once he actually gets there, he has a good time.” She levels you with a look, half teasing, half expectant. “So invite him.”

You sigh, reaching for another fry. “Fine.”

And then—

“I got us free dumplings.”

Yeji appears out of nowhere, sliding into the seat next to Irya and dropping a white takeout box onto the table like she’s just secured a goddamn business deal.

You blink. “How?”

She shrugs, already reaching for a dumpling. “Wouldn’t take my money.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Irya hums, all faux-innocent. “Didn’t happen to have anything to do with that very long, very intimate conversation you were having with the guy behind the counter, did it?”

Yeji smirks around a bite of dumpling. “I dunno. Did it?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Men and their non-existent gaydars.”

“Right? Kinda sucks when she grabs all their attention,” Irya smiles, reaching for a dumpling of her own.

“Not my fault he was easy to entertain,” Yeji says, looking entirely unbothered. “Anyway, eat. They’re fresh.”

You don’t argue. The dumplings are good—warm, crisp at the edges, the filling rich with just the right balance of spice.

Yeji watches you for a second, chewing thoughtfully. “So what were we talking about?”

“Jimin,” Irya supplies.

Yeji groans. “Ugh. Tragic little academic. Is he still alive?”

Irya nods, popping a dumpling into her mouth. “Barely. But we’re dragging him to Emma’s party tonight, so he might actually remember what fun feels like.”

Yeji quirks an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Emma?” She flicks a glance at you. “Your other friend? Birthday girl?”

You take a sip of your drink. “Mmhm.”

Yeji hums, tapping her chopsticks against the takeout box. “Bestie competition, then.”

You nearly choke. “Oh my god.”

Irya grins, delighted. “It is kind of serious. High school bestie versus new college besties.”

Yeji tilts her head, considering. “I don’t know, man. Legacy friends have an unfair advantage. History. Nostalgia.”

“Yeah,” Irya sighs, fake mournful. “How can we ever compete with the memories?”

You level them both with a flat look. “You’ve known me for a month.”

Yeji leans back. “It’s been a whole month already? Woah.”

“We’re joking. I’m sure we’ll get along.” Irya adds.

You snort, shaking your head.

Yeji watches you for a second, still smirking, but then the expression shifts—just a little.

“Are you excited?”

The question catches you off guard. Not because it’s unexpected, but because it’s… genuine.

You pause, setting down your cup.

“Yeah,” you say, slower this time. “I mean, I haven’t seen her in a while, so it’ll be—nice. A little weird, maybe. But nice.”

Yeji nods. “You gonna introduce us?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah?”

Irya arches her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You groan. “Oh my god, what is that supposed to mean?”

Yeji shrugs, reaching for another dumpling. “I mean, if she’s bestie material, we gotta vet her.”

“Shouldn’t she be the one vetting you two? She’s known me since I had braces and a regrettable side bang phase. Feels like she’s got seniority here.”

Yeji gasps. “Wow. So you’re saying we have no authority in this situation?”

“We really don’t.” Irya muses, almost singsonging.

“I don’t know,” Yeji muses, tapping a finger against her chin. “I feel like we bring some very important qualifications to the table. For example, we met Y/N when she was already in her fully realized, evolved form. We didn’t just settle for her because we grew up in the same town.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus.”

Yeji nods, completely serious. “Yeah, we got to make an informed choice. Handpicked, if you will.”

“Wow, lucky me.”

Irya grins. “So lucky.”

You shake your head, reaching for another fry. “Just… behave.”

“I always behave,” Yeji says, smirking. “You’re just afraid we’ll be better besties than Emma.”

You scoff. “That’s not even remotely the issue.”

“Then what is the issue?” Irya prompts, head tilting to the side.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud feels like giving it weight. Giving it power.

You exhale. “It’s just—there’s a difference between keeping in touch and actually knowing someone after years apart. And I guess I don’t know if we still… fit the way we used to.”

That quiets them for a beat.

Yeji tilts her head, watching you with something unreadable in her gaze. Irya rests her chin in her palm again, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

“That’s fair,” Irya says, voice softer this time. “It’s weird when people grow in different directions. Sometimes you come back together. Sometimes you don’t.”

You nod, not entirely trusting yourself to speak.

“But hey,” Yeji cuts in, voice as casual as ever, “if she sucks, at least you’ll have us.”

You huff a laugh. “So generous of you.”

She winks. “I know.”

And just like that, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter.

You stare at your reflection, one eye perfectly winged, the other a smudged disaster—like your life, really: half put together, half absolute chaos.

You lean closer to the mirror, squinting at your uneven eyeliner with the kind of intense focus that FBI agents would reserve for defusing bombs or something. You've been at this for twenty minutes now, and your right eye is starting to look like it's been drawn by a five-year-old with a crayon during an earthquake.

"Fuck," you mutter, reaching for a cotton swab.

Third time's the charm, right?

Or maybe fifth.

You've lost count.

From the living room, Griffin's thunderous purr competes with Yeji's animated voice. She's been trying to convince Yoongi to produce some track for her for the past fifteen minutes, her persistence almost admirable if it weren't so clearly futile. Yoongi's monotone responses barely register over the distance, but you can picture his expression—bored, unbothered, probably wanting to kill himself before engaging.

"Orange cats are literally the basic bitches of the cat world," Yeji declares loudly enough for you to hear. "Black cats have personality. They have depth. They're mysterious."

"Tell that to Griffin," Irya responds, her voice warm and amused. "He seems pretty content being basic on your lap right now."

"That's cats for you," Yeji sighs dramatically. "The least person who wants them is the one who gets them."

You smile despite your eyeliner frustration. Because it’s ironic—Yeji, who swears black cats are superior, is now trapped under Griffin's substantial orange weight.

That's karma, feline edition.

You’re wearing a dress to the gathering—the same one from that night in January. You've worn it exactly once since buying it, and now it's making its second appearance.

It's not like you planned it this way. It just happened to be the perfect outfit for Emma's birthday dinner.

(At least that's what you tell yourself as you deliberately avoid examining your motives too closely.)

Emma. Your high school friend. Your only real connection to your life before college.

Before this apartment.

Before Jungkook.

You haven't seen her in months (since that night in January), and there's a strange anxiety bubbling in your stomach that has nothing to do with your makeup struggles.

You did vibe back then. But… was it a ‘we vibe because we are going out’ situation; or was it because you two actually connected?

People change. You've changed. The question hanging in the air is whether you've changed in compatible ways.

At least you won't be alone tonight. Emma said you could bring friends, so naturally, you are bringing them along.

You dab at your eyeliner again, smudging it further. Great. Now you look like you've been punched. Or crying. Or both.

A soft knock on the door interrupts your silent self-criticism.

"Come in," you call, not bothering to hide your frustration. It's not like anyone in this apartment hasn't seen you in various states of disaster before.

The door creaks open, and Jimin's face appears in the gap, his expression shifting from curious to sympathetic as he takes in your makeup situation.

"Having trouble?" he asks, stepping into the small bathroom.

The space immediately feels warmer with him in it. Jimin has that effect—like a human comfort blanket.

"What gave it away?" you deadpan, gesturing to your face. "The fact that I look like I let a toddler do my makeup, or the fact that I've been in here for half an hour?"

He laughs softly, the sound gentle and reassuring. "It's not that bad."

"Liar."

"Okay, it's a little uneven," he admits, moving closer to examine your handiwork. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face with unexpected intensity. "Let me."

Before you can respond, he's taking the eyeliner from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a brief moment of warmth.

"You know how to do this?" you ask, surprised.

"I have sisters," he says simply, which doesn't really answer your question, but you don't push it. "Close your eye," he instructs, his voice soft but confident.

You comply, feeling the gentle pressure of his hand steadying your face. His touch is light, precise—and you can’t help but feel this is some sort of significant moment.

"Stay still," he murmurs, and you can sense the smile forming on his lips.

The eyeliner glides across your lid with surprising smoothness. One stroke, then another. No hesitation in his movement. You're impressed and a little confused by his skill, but mostly grateful.

"Where did you learn to—"

"Shh," he interrupts. "No talking or I'll mess up."

You fall silent, letting him work. There's something about Jimin that's always made you curious. He's like a book with half the pages glued together—what you can read is beautiful, but you sense there's more to the story.

"Done," he announces after a moment, stepping back to admire his work. "Take a look."

You turn to the mirror and blink in surprise. The wing is perfect—sharp enough to kill a man, as Yeji herself would say. It matches the other eye exactly, creating a symmetry you couldn't achieve on your own.

"Jimin, this is..." you trail off, turning to face him. "How are you so good at this?"

He shrugs, a small, almost shy grin playing at his lips. "I just have a steady hand, I guess."

There's more to it than that—you can tell by the way he avoids your eyes, the slight flush creeping up his neck. But something tells you not to press further.

Everyone has their secrets.

Private pieces they're not ready to share.

You, of all people, know that.

"Well, whatever the reason, thank you," you say sincerely. "You just saved me from looking like a hot mess at Emma's birthday."

"Happy to help," he replies, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You look beautiful."

The compliment is simple, genuine, without the weight of expectation or desire that usually accompanies such words from men.

It's refreshing. Because you feel like Jimin sees you—really sees you—without wanting anything in return.

"We should probably get going soon," he says, glancing at his watch. "Yeji's been threatening to leave without us for the past ten minutes."

"As if she would," you scoff, reaching for your lipstick. "She's too excited about meeting Emma and judging her worthiness."

Jimin laughs. "True. Though I think she's more excited about the free food."

"Priorities," you agree with a smile.

You apply your lipstick—a muted berry shade that complements your eyeshadow without being too dramatic. The final touch to your appearance. Not too casual, not too glamorous. Perfect for a birthday dinner.

You've always loved makeup, the ritual of it, the transformation.

Not because you're trying to hide or become someone else, but because it's an extension of yourself—another form of expression.

You're so tired of those cliché "not like other girls" characters in movies and books who supposedly wear nothing but mascara yet somehow have flawless skin and perfect brows.

As if enjoying makeup somehow makes you shallow or less authentic.

The truth is, most girls you know love makeup to some degree. Some for the artistry, some for the confidence boost, some just because it's fun. And you're no different.

That doesn't make you basic or vain—it makes you human.

A human who happens to enjoy the satisfying swipe of a good lipstick.

"Ready?" Jimin asks, holding the door open for you.

You take one last look at your reflection. The girl staring back looks put together, confident.

Whether she actually feels that way is another story entirely, but hey—fake it till you make it, right?

"Ready," you confirm.

You're halfway out the door when you pause.

Something's missing. The final touch.

"Oh, wait. Cologne."

Jimin nods understandingly, already retreating toward the living room. "Don't take too long or Yeji might actually follow through on her threats this time."

You turn back to the bathroom counter, sliding open the narrow drawer where your collection lives. Four different bottles stare back at you, each with its own personality, its own statement. Your fingers hover over them, indecisive, until they land on one particular bottle.

Amber, its color.

The golden liquid catches the bathroom light, glowing like trapped sunlight inside the crystal bottle.

You haven't used it since... well, since that night in January. You've been saving it for special occasions, though what constitutes "special" has remained conveniently undefined.

You lift the bottle, turning it in your hand. You apply it to your wrists, your neck, your ears. And before you can overthink it, you bring it to your nose, inhaling lightly.

Memories unfurl instantly, blooming in your mind like clouds puffing up in a winter sky. They tumble through your consciousness, overwhelming and vivid, making it hard to breathe—though you're not entirely sure you want to.

His hands on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough pressure to leave phantom marks that lingered for days afterward.

His slicked chin when he smiled up at you from between your thighs, all smug and proud for making you cum with his tongue.

His infuriating, satisfied smirk that somehow annoyed you, but also turned you on.

Rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, soft eyes in the aftermath.

You distinctly remember that was the first time you had thought Jungkook looked cute. Not just hot or sexy, but genuinely cute in a way that had caught you off guard.

And you didn't even know his name then.

The door swings open without warning.

You nearly drop the bottle, fumbling to catch it before it shatters against the tile floor. Your heart leaps into your throat as you look up, startled.

Jungkook peers inside, and you both freeze, staring at each other like you don’t know which one of you should stay and which one of you should leave. His eyes flick from your face to the bottle in your hand, recognition dawning in his expression.

A long pause.

Your eyes drift down his torso, inevitably.

He's wearing a black t-shirt that hugs his frame in all the right places, hair rumpled and messy. His rainy-like scent envelops the cramped space, mingling with the lingering notes of vanilla on your wrist like they’ve always belonged together.

His eyes drift too. Drop lower, taking in the dress hugging your curves, fingers tightening on the doorframe, knuckles whitening with the pressure.

You watch the subtle movement, the physical manifestation of restraint, and feel an answering tightness in your chest.

You haven't spoken since Tuesday. Since the fight about Jason. Since he suddenly starting talking about vibes like he’s the type of guy to trust his gut.

And maybe he is.

And maybe you aren’t.

"Sorry," he says finally, breaking the silence. "Didn't know you were in here."

He avoids your gaze.

You don’t know if that makes you angry or anxious. It’s hard to determine what’s crippling your chest.

"It's fine. I was just leaving."

Neither of you moves.

His eyes drift to the cologne bottle again. Recognition, desire, frustration.

Then, he masks it.

But you caught it.

He remembers the fragrance.

And how could he not? When he constantly praised it that night, how it rested on your skin, how good it made you smell, how fucking good you tasted.

"Going somewhere?" he asks then, interrupting your conflicting thoughts.

"Emma's birthday dinner," you reply, voice tight.

He nods slowly, gaze returning to the dress. The dress from that night. The dress he peeled off you with those same hands now gripping the doorframe like it's the only thing keeping him anchored.

You should move. You should cap the cologne, put it away, walk past him and join your friends who are waiting. You should maintain the cold war you've established since your fight.

Instead, you find yourself asking, "Did you need something?"

He purses his lips. "Just needed to pee.”

"Right," you say. "I'll get out of your way."

You cap the cologne, and you just know his eyes are tracking your every motion. Because that’s Jungkook for you—when he’s focused on something, it’s obvious.

You move toward the door—toward him—and it’s like suddenly, the small bathroom feels impossibly smaller. Like there’s not enough space for both of you and all the unspoken words crowding the air.

You'll have to squeeze past him. There's no way to avoid it.

His grip on the doorframe tightens further, as if he's holding himself back. From what, you're not entirely sure. Touching you? Yelling at you? Both seem equally possible.

"Excuse me," you murmur.

He steps back marginally, not enough to clear the path completely.

Like he’s hesitating.

Like he doesn’t know whether he wants to move for real, or stay rooted in place.

“Jungkook,” you say, and his name feels strange on your tongue after days of not speaking it. “Move.”

“You smell like that night,” he settles for staying instead of moving, voice dropping lower, annoyed. “You know that, right? You’re going to smell exactly like you did when I had you against that wall.”

Your breath catches. Heat blooms across your chest, up your neck.

“That’s not—” you start, but the lie dies on your lips.

Because it is. Of course it is. You knew exactly what you were doing when you reached for that bottle.

You see his jaw work. His tongue peek against the inside of his cheek. His eyes lock into yours like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t.

“Have fun at your dinner,” is all he comes up with, stepping aside.

The movement feels like it costs him something.

You move past him. Take a deep breath, pushing thoughts of Jungkook aside.

Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about Emma, about reconnecting with a part of your life that existed before this apartment, before him.

But as you step into the living room, you can still feel the weight of his gaze on your back, can still smell the amber scent on your skin, can still hear his voice in your ear.

You know that, right? You’re going to smell exactly like you did when I had you against that wall.

And the worst part is, you don’t know why or how—but maybe that’s exactly what you wanted.

The restaurant is too loud, too crowded, too New York—but Emma’s hug is warm, and that makes up for it.

“Finally.” She squeezes you tight, like she’s trying to merge your atoms together. “You took forever.”

Yeji, behind you, snorts. “Blame her eyeliner existential crisis.”

Emma pulls back, eyebrows raised. “Oh? We still doing that?”

“We are always doing that,” you deadpan.

She laughs—her laugh. It’s the same as it was in high school, loud and full, like she actually enjoys things instead of just tolerating them. That hasn’t changed. Neither has the way she looks at you, eyes scanning your face, taking you in like she’s checking if you’re still the same person too.

The answer? You don’t know.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you guys,” she says, looping an arm through yours.

You let yourself be pulled in—into the restaurant, into her world, into the crowd of fifteen fucking people all squeezed around a too-small table in the back corner. She moves through the chaos easily, hand on your wrist, steering you like she used to when you were seventeen and invincible.

“This is Yeji, Irya, and Jimin,” you say as you go, pointing them out like exhibits in a museum.

Emma grins at them, all effortless charm. “Your uni friends. I’ve heard so much.”

Jimin, ever polite, smiles back. “All good things, I hope.”

Emma does not confirm or deny, which says enough.

There’s a blur of names you won’t remember—Emma’s friends, classmates, people who probably have their lives together in a way you do not. Someone pulls her into another conversation, and you hover awkwardly at the edge of the group, watching her slip back into a world that isn’t yours.

It’s strange.

You used to know everything about her. Every inside joke, every dream, every late-night insecurity whispered over FaceTime.

But now—now you’re an observer.

A guest.

Still, when she sits, she grabs your wrist again and tugs you down next to her.

“So,” she starts, picking up her glass—red wine, something deep and rich. “Are you finally admitting that I was right, or are we still in the denial phase?”

You blink, thrown. “About what?”

She gives you a look. “Do I have to spell it out?”

Your stomach knots.

Jungkook. She means Jungkook.

You exhale through your nose, reaching for your water instead. “We are so not doing this here.”

Emma grins, but she lets it go—for now.

Instead, she leans back. “God, I forgot how exhausting socializing is. I swear, law school is turning me into one of those people who can only function in coffee shops and libraries.”

You snort. “You were already that person in high school.”

“True,” she concedes, tilting her glass toward you. “But now it’s worse. Now I actually enjoy tax law. Like, genuinely. It’s fascinating.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Swear on my life,” she says, amused. “You should see me in my internship. I get excited about deductions. I have a favorite tax loophole.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Emma just grins. “Give it time. One day, you’ll come to me, desperate for tax advice, and I’ll be your only hope. And I will lord it over you.”

“You wish.”

“Oh, I know.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the way your lips twitch. It’s easy, falling into conversation with Emma. Easier than you thought it would be, considering how much has changed since high school.

“So, what’s the plan then?” you ask, nudging your knee against hers under the table. “You still set on Seattle after graduation?”

Emma hesitates. Not in a bad way—more like she’s holding onto something, waiting for the right moment.

“Actually,” she says, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about Europe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Europe?”

“Yeah.” She leans forward slightly, eyes lighting up. “I did a summer program there—France, Italy, Greece, Spain. It was insane. I loved it. I don’t know, I just—” She exhales, shaking her head like she can’t quite put it into words. “Seattle was always the safe plan, you know? The practical one. But now? I keep thinking about the Mediterranean coast. The markets, the people. It feels like people there work to live, not live to work like they do here in America.”

You watch her carefully. Emma has always been a planner, a strategist. She doesn’t make decisions lightly.

And yet—she looks alive talking about this.

“So, what?” you ask. “You’re gonna become a tax attorney in Greece? Help rich expats avoid paying their fair share?”

Emma snorts. “God, no. If I go, I’d probably work with international firms, corporate law, maybe even consulting. It’s different over there, you know? Taxes, policies, loopholes—everything shifts depending on the country, the treaties in place.”

“You realize you sound even worse now, right?”

“Shut up,” she laughs. “At least I’m passionate about something.”

You hum, thoughtful. “So, Europe.”

“Maybe,” she says. “Nothing’s set in stone yet.”

But you can tell, just from the way she says it, that it’s more than a maybe.

It’s funny. The last time you saw her, she was talking about Seattle like it was inevitable. Now she’s talking about the Mediterranean coast with the kind of quiet certainty that makes you think she’s already half there.

People change.

You’ve changed.

And yet, it feels like nothing between you two has changed at all.

Emma eyes you for a long moment, then smirks.

“Your turn.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’ve barely told me anything about your life,” she says. “How’s English? Still planning on breaking the hearts of young, impressionable students as a professor?”

“First of all, no. That is not the plan. And second—”

“You can’t tell me you don’t look the part,” she teases. “The eyeliner? The whole vibe? You’d have students falling in love with you instantly.”

“I hate you.”

She grins. “I missed you too.”

You feel it, then—the warmth of familiarity, of friendship. It settles in your chest, light and unburdened, and for the first time in a while, you think:

This is nice.

Even with the changes, even with the time apart, even with the half-truths lingering at the back of your throat—this is still Emma.

“Come on,” Emma nudges your arm, eyes gleaming. “Let me introduce you to my favorite tax nerds.”

You groan, but let her pull you toward the other end of the table. “If I die of boredom, I’m haunting you.”

“They’re fun,” she insists, dodging between chairs and half-full wine glasses. “For tax people, anyway.”

The group is mid-conversation when you arrive—something about offshore accounts, corporate loopholes, and why the ultra-wealthy pay less in taxes than you probably spend on coffee each year. (Fascinating.) Chris and Max, two guys who both look like they were born wearing pressed button-ups, are deep in debate, hands gesturing, voices overlapping.

But the girl sitting across from you—Nina—just listens, quiet, observant.

She clocks you the moment you sit down. And you clock her right back.

Dark brown skin, black curls tucked behind one ear, a delicate gold necklace resting just above the collar of an oversized sweater. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal slender wrists, and she has the kind of presence that doesn’t need to fill space to be felt.

There’s something measured about her. Something thoughtful. Like she only speaks when there’s something worth saying.

She’s pretty.

Really pretty.

But it’s more than that. She’s composed in a way that makes you hyperaware of yourself—your posture, the way you’re holding your drink, the way she looks at you with a quiet, unreadable expression.

“Hi,” she says, voice smooth, accent lilting ever so slightly.

It’s just that—simple. Friendly. Maybe.

You clear your throat. “Hey.”

Emma gestures between you. “Nina, this is my friend from high school—the one I told you about?”

Nina hums like she remembers, tilting her head. “The one who thinks tax law is boring?”

You blink. “Emma told you that?”

“She warned me in advance,” Nina says, lips twitching. “Said you might try to stage an intervention.”

You shoot Emma a look, but she’s already sipping her wine, unbothered.

“Well,” you say, turning back to Nina, “I was going to be polite about it, but now I feel like I have a responsibility.”

That gets a small smile out of her. Just a slight curve of the lips, like she’s amused but won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing just how much.

You don’t know why that makes you want to push, just a little.

“So,” you continue, tilting your head, “what is it, then? The thing about tax law that actually doesn’t put you to sleep?”

Nina considers this. Takes a slow sip of her drink. And when she speaks, it’s not rushed—it’s careful.

“It’s not about the numbers,” she says, setting her glass down. “Not really. It’s about human nature. About how people behave when they think no one is watching. Governments set up incentives, and people react accordingly. It’s a game of strategy. A reflection of what a society actually values, not just what it claims to.”

You weren’t expecting that answer.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass. “So, what—you think taxes are, like, a moral compass?”

Nina shrugs. “Not a moral compass. But they show you what people are willing to bend the rules for. What they think is worth cheating for. And that’s… interesting, I think.”

You watch her, trying to get a read on her. She’s got this almost effortless kind of intrigue—the kind of person who could make anything sound poetic if she wanted to.

Emma groans. “Oh god, don’t encourage her. She’ll start talking about capital gains tax next.”

Nina lifts a brow. “It’s actually fascinating, if you—”

“Absolutely not,” Emma interrupts. “Nope. I refuse.”

You smirk. “I don’t know, Em. I kind of want to hear her out.”

Emma glares at you. “Do not encourage the tax philosophy.”

But Nina is looking at you again. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way that screams I’m interested. But in a way that’s… present. Attentive. Like she actually finds this conversation worth having.

And maybe that means nothing.

Or maybe it does.

You’re not sure.

Which—God, why is this always harder with girls?

With guys, it’s obvious. But with girls—well. You think she’s enjoying this. But is she just enjoying it, or is there something else there? Is this just conversation, or is it something that, in hindsight, will feel like a moment?

You have no fucking idea.

The conversation shifts after that—Emma talks about her summer in Europe, Chris and Max start debating New York’s best pizza, someone brings up an upcoming bar crawl.

And then, at some point, Nina glances at her phone before looking at you again.

“You mind if I get your number?” she asks.

Casual. Easy. Nothing in her tone suggests it’s anything more than that.

“Emma talks about you a lot,” she adds, mouth twitching slightly. “I feel like I should probably fact-check at least half of it.”

Emma swats at her, but you barely register it, already pulling your phone out.

You’re not reading into it. You’re not.

But also—

You kind of are.

Still, you hand your phone over, watch as Nina types in her number, then passes it back. Just a name in your contacts now. Simple. Unassuming.

You have no idea if you just made a new friend or if this is something else.

And honestly?

You kind of like not knowing.

“Well, well, well,” Yeji drawls, sliding into the conversation without invitation. “Are we allowed to sit, or is this a tax-exclusive gathering?”

You exhale. “Jesus, Yeji.”

“What? We were getting bored.” She drops into the seat beside you, tossing an arm over Irya’s chair. “Jimin’s been overanalyzing the condensation on his glass for the past fifteen minutes, and Irya’s just been smiling at people like a lost pageant contestant.”

“I was being friendly,” Irya corrects, unfazed.

“You were being too friendly.”

“Networking,” Irya insists, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I love people.”

“You do,” Emma says, delighted. “It’s terrifying.”

Irya beams, pleased. Yeji just sighs like she’s accepted her fate.

Nina watches all of this unfold with quiet amusement, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You two are together?”

Yeji tilts her head. “That a problem?”

Nina meets her gaze evenly. “No. It’s nice.”

It’s a simple statement, but it rings genuine, like she’s not just saying it to be polite. Yeji studies her for a second longer before nodding, satisfied, and pulling Irya in to kiss her temple.

Emma turns to you, grinning. “Your friends are so much more fun than my law ones.”

You smirk. “That’s because they have souls.”

Chris, still lingering in the tax-law-heavy end of the table, lifts a hand in protest. “Hey.”

Yeji ignores him completely, waving to Nina instead. “So, you’re a tax philosopher?”

Nina looks faintly amused but nods. “That’s what they tell me.”

“Cool, cool,” Yeji muses, reaching for Irya’s wine and taking a sip before Irya can protest. “And do you also believe that money isn’t real?”

Nina tilts her head slightly, considering. “I think it’s real in the sense that it determines the way the world functions. But I also think it’s one of the biggest shared delusions humanity has ever committed to.”

Yeji brightens. “See? This is the tax conversation I want to be having.”

You roll your eyes, but Nina takes it in stride. She’s good at this, you notice—letting conversations unfold naturally, never forcing her presence but never fading into the background either.

Across from you, Jimin has settled into his usual quiet observation, sipping his drink slowly. He’s not uncomfortable, just taking it all in. He catches your eye at one point, a small look that says ‘you good?’

You nod, barely perceptible.

He doesn’t push. Just gives a small nod back and turns his attention back to the conversation. Just listening in.

Emma leans in slightly, nudging your arm. “I like them,” she murmurs.

You glance at her, raising a brow. “Yeah?”

She hums. “They make you lighter.”

It’s such an Emma thing to say—blunt in a way that doesn’t feel invasive, just observant.

You don’t respond right away, but you don’t need to.

She’s already grinning like she knows the answer.

The apartment is quiet when you finally get home, the only light coming from the TV screen where some game is paused.

Jungkook is sprawled on the couch, controller resting loosely in his hands, looking like he's been there for hours. He glances up when the door closes behind you, expression neutral.

"It's late," he says, not quite a question.

You drop your keys in the bowl by the door. "Yeah."

"Had fun?" He unpauses the game, thumbs moving lazily over the controller buttons. His character on screen walks aimlessly into a wall.

"Yeah," you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh of relief. "Emma's friends are cool. We ended up at this bar in Brooklyn after dinner."

He makes a noncommittal sound, still not looking at you.

"Jason wasn't there, though, so don't worry," you add, unable to help yourself.

That gets his attention. His thumbs still, and he scoffs, a short, sharp sound in the quiet apartment.

“You know I don't give a fuck about that guy, right?"

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow, heading to the kitchen for water. "Because you seemed to have very strong opinions about him on Tuesday."

The controller drops onto the couch as he turns to face you fully.

“Look," he says, voice tight with frustration. "I don't give a fuck who you fuck or who you date. Seriously. Not my business."

"Yup. Three rules," you start, unscrewing the cap on your water bottle.

"One, no one knows," he recites, cutting you off.

"Two, if somebody asks, we're just roommates," you continue.

"And three," he interrupts again, more forcefully, "no feelings. I know the fucking rules, Phoenix. I helped make them."

You take a long drink of water, studying him over the bottle. His hair is messy in a stupid endearing way, and there are shadows under his eyes.

"So what was Tuesday about, then?" you ask finally.

He exhales slowly, jaw working. "I told you. The guy gives me bad vibes."

"Bad vibes," you repeat flatly.

"Yeah. Bad fucking vibes." He rubs a hand over his face. "Look, I know how it sounded, okay? But it's not—" He stops, frustrated. "It's not about you. Or us. Or whatever the fuck we're doing."

You consider him for a moment, then set your water bottle down and cross to the couch, sitting on the opposite end.

"Explain."

"What?"

"Explain these 'bad vibes.' Because from where I was sitting, it sounded irrational."

"It's not—" He stops again, shaking his head. "You know what? Forget it. Not my problem."

"Jungkook."

He looks at you, surprised by the use of his actual name.

"I'm trying to understand," you say, softer than you intended. "So explain it to me."

He studies you for a long moment, like he's trying to decide if you're serious.

Finally, he sighs. "He's fake."

"Fake how?"

"The way he talks. The way he looks at you when you're not watching. The way he touched your arm in the car." His words come faster now. "The way he asked about your schedule, your classes. The way he positioned himself between us. It's all... calculated."

You frown. "That's a lot to read into a few interactions."

"I know what I saw," he insists. "Guys like that... they start small. Compliments. Attention. Making you feel special. Then it's suggestions about what you should wear. Who you should hang out with. What classes you should take."

His tone is raw, really raw, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard him talk like this.

Like it’s personal.

“You're saying he's controlling."

"I'm saying he could be." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "Look, I've seen it before, okay? People who seem perfect on the surface but underneath they're just... manipulative. They make you think everything's your idea when really they're pulling all the strings."

You're quiet for a moment, processing.

"This isn't just about Jason, is it?"

His eyes flick to yours, then away.

"I told you. It's not about you or us."

"But it is about someone."

He doesn't answer, but his silence is confirmation enough.

"Mia?" you ask softly.

"I don't want to talk about her."

"Okay," you say, respecting the boundary even as curiosity burns through you. "But that's why you're worried about Jason? Because he reminds you of her?"

"Not of her specifically," he says after a pause. "Just... the type. The signs."

You pull your legs up onto the couch, turning to face him fully. "What signs?"

He looks at you for a long moment, like he's deciding how much to share.

"The perfect act," he says finally. "The way everything seems rehearsed. The charm that never quite reaches their eyes." His voice drops lower. "The way they make you feel like you're the only person in the room, but it's not because they care about you. It's because they want something from you."

"And you think that's Jason?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there. But my gut says something's off with him."

You consider this. "Your gut's been wrong before."

A bitter smile twists his lips. "Yeah. More than once."

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. It’s like you’re both still processing the words exchanged.

"I'm still going on the date," you say finally.

He nods, looking away. "I know."

"But I'll... keep what you said in mind. Watch for the signs."

He glances back at you, surprise flickering across his face.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You shrug, trying to keep it casual. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't actually enjoy being manipulated."

"Could've fooled me," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it.

You kick his thigh lightly with your foot. "Asshole."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Brat."

Silence again. His forearms are resting on his knees, hands crossed together as his gaze remains unfocused.

"So," he says eventually, "how was the birthday girl?"

You're surprised by the question, by his apparent interest in your life outside this apartment.

"Good," you say. "Different, but good. She's in Economics. Has a serious boyfriend. Wears a lot of beige."

"Sounds thrilling."

You laugh despite yourself. "It was actually nice. Weird, but nice. Like visiting a place you used to live but don't anymore."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "Did your new friends play nice with your old friend?"

"Yeji, Irya and Jimin?" You smile at the memory. "They were on their best behavior. Well, Yeji's version of best behavior, which means she only made three inappropriate jokes and only drank half the table's wine."

He snorts. "Sounds about right."

"Emma liked them, though. I think." You pause, considering. "It's strange, bringing different parts of your life together."

"I bet it is," he agrees quietly.

You look at him, really look at him, sitting there in the dim light of the TV. For once, there's no smirk on his face, no challenge in his eyes. Just Jungkook, tired and rumpled and unexpectedly honest.

"Why were you still up?" you ask suddenly.

The question catches him off guard. "What?"

"It's 3 AM. Why are you still awake?"

He shrugs, defensive again. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd play for a bit."

You glance at the TV screen where his character has been standing in the same spot for the past ten minutes.

"Right."

"What?" he demands.

"Nothing," you say, but you can't help the small smile that forms. "Just... nothing."

He narrows his eyes at you, but doesn't press.

"I should get to bed," you say, standing up. "It's late."

He nods, picking up the controller again. "Yeah."

You're halfway to your room when his voice stops you.

"Phoenix?"

You turn back. "Yeah?"

He’s staring at you, but it’s not the usual smirk. No.

His eyes flick downward. To the floor, like he’s seriously considering his next words—or rather, if he should vocalize them at all.

But then he looks up at you again, seemingly decided.

"You..." he starts, licking his lips like he’s trying to pull himself together. But he’s failing. "You know you smell fucking delicious, right? Like, it’s so fucking unfair."

Your pulse stutters. "Excuse me?"

"The cologne," he says, standing up. "You’ve been driving me insane the whole night. The whole apartment smells like you.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and something hotter, heavier. "I didn’t wear it for you."

"No?” His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite—like he knows exactly how full of shit you are. "The cologne from that night. The dress from that night. And I’m supposed to believe that’s just a coincidence?"

"It is," you snap back, defensive even as your pulse betrays you by speeding up.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing—or maybe just like he can’t believe you.

“Fuck, Phoenix," he mutters, voice dropping into something rougher, more dangerous. "Do you have any idea how good you smell? How much I’ve been thinking about getting my mouth on you again?"

Your breath catches somewhere in your throat—an audible hitch that makes his eyes darken further.

"We’re fighting," you remind him weakly.

"Are we?" He steps closer, until there’s barely a whisper of space between you. "Because right now all I can think about is how wet you were for me the first time I smelled that shit on your skin."

You retreat physically; even though mentally you’re honestly already naked for him.

"Four days," he muses, tone dripping with frustration, almost needy. "Four days of smelling your shampoo in the bathroom, that stupid body lotion, and now—now you pull this shit. That’s fucking cruel, Nix.”

"You could’ve apologized," you point out dryly.

"For what?" He scoffs like the idea itself is offensive. "For telling the truth? For saying Jason gives me bad vibes?"

"There it is again," you say, crossing your arms over your chest like it’ll protect you from whatever energy he’s radiating right now.

It doesn’t.

He exhales softly, eyes flicking to your lips before moving back up.

“I’m being for real, Phoenix. Your vanilla shit drives me nuts,” he confesses bluntly.

Then llicks his lips, considering what he’s about to say

But says it anyways.

“I jerked off after you left.”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.

"Couldn’t help it," he continues. “The smell of your cologne... seeing you in that dress again... I couldn’t get the image out of my head."

"What image?"

"The first time," he says slowly, like he wants every word to sink into your skin and stay there forever. "In that room. The way you tasted... the sounds you made when I had my tongue inside you."

Your legs threaten mutiny.

"And now?" You force yourself to ask because silence feels dangerous—like it might give him permission to keep going without restraint.

"Now?" He repeats, almost hushed. "Now, I’m… really craving vanilla.”

You should walk away—should turn around and retreat into your room where things are safe and quiet and not vibrating with tension so thick it feels alive—but instead?

Instead, your feet betray you by staying planted firmly in place: "Eat some cookies.”

“I want to eat something else.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

He purses his lips. Tongue drops to lick the lower one. Gaze flickers to your mouth again before they come back to your pupils.

“You don’t?”

And the way he exhales it, like the mere idea of you saying no pains him—it melts through you.

Especially when his hand finally finds its way to your waist (warm and solid and grounding despite everything else about this moment feeling anything but grounded).

All thoughts of resistance evaporate faster than they came.

"I do," you hear yourself reply.

And when his lips brush against the sensitive skin just below your jawline?

You realize two things simultaneously:

One: You were never going to walk away from this moment no matter how much logic tried to intervene earlier.

Two: Logic doesn’t stand a chance against lust when Jungkook looks at you like this.

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