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dreamersparacosm · 4 months ago

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jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part two)

warnings ; none!

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

note ; thank u all for the love on part one!!!! eep!!!! it’s so sweet and fuzzy and… my heart 🥀 this part really delves into the dynamic of our beloved girlboss!reader and cocky ass idol!jk who just really annoys the shit out of her #freeher (the poor woman needs an escape after this one) all ur comments and asks are so cute and feel free to leave any thots in my inbox, let’s chat!

playlist here

series masterlist here

There’s no escaping him.

Not that you ever expected to, not when Calvin Klein’s biggest campaign of the year has his name attached to it. From the moment the deal was signed, your schedule became intertwined with his. Brand meetings, strategy calls, shoot planning sessions… he’s plaguing your every thought.

You’d known, of course. You’d signed off on it yourself. You oversee every aspect of this campaign, and that means oversight of him, how he’s presented, how he moves through the brand’s world, how the final product will be shaped.

But, knowing something in theory and experiencing it in reality are two very different things.

If he’s not on your Zoom calls, he’s on your email threads. If he’s not in your email threads, he’s being discussed in meetings. And now, he’s here, in the flesh, right in front of you, not making your job any easier.

The first photoshoot is set against the backdrop of a high-rise studio in downtown Seoul, a sleek industrial space with floor-to-ceiling windows,

You arrive early with Daniel and the rest of the brand’s creative team, immediately slipping into work mode. Lighting setups are checked, wardrobe racks are lined up, the creative director goes over the shot list with the photographers.

Everything moves with calculated efficiency, and you navigate the space effortlessly, clipboard in hand, scanning every detail.

You are, by all accounts, a menace with a calendar. A tyrant with a timeline. If something isn’t color-coded, cross-checked, and confirmed twice over, it doesn’t exist. You’ve planned weddings you weren’t invited to. You once scheduled a breakdown and it started early, which pissed you off. So this shoot? This shoot will run like a Swiss train: on time and terrifyingly precise. Every outfit and even a coffee break has been slotted into an airtight agenda that could withstand a nuclear winter. If spontaneity knocks, it will be turned away at the door and escorted off the premises.

Yet of course, all that goes to absolute shit when Jeon Jungkook steps onto the set twenty minutes late like he owns it.

In a way, and you hate to admit it, he does.

Dressed in black denim, a crisp Calvin Klein shirt hugging his frame, and an open jean button-up that hangs off his shoulders, he looks every bit the part of an icon. His dark hair is perfectly tousled, his tattoos stark against his skin, silver jewelry catching the studio lights with every movement.

Now, you don’t necessarily care for men. Or well, scratch that, ctrl, alt, delete. You do. Unfortunately. Against all better judgment and with mounting personal regret, you do. It’s offensive, really, how good Jungkook looks in the outfit you personally styled (and fine… you’ll admit it. The fashion team did work on all final touches.)

You genuinely feel ill. Nauseous. Your own taste is betraying you in real time. You picked this look for the goddamn aesthetic, not to have your brain short-circuit and your stomach drop like you’re 13 and doomed.

He’s spent over a decade being watched, dissected, and adored. He walks like someone who’s long made peace with the fact that all eyes will follow, that entire rooms shift on their axis the moment he steps in. He has the kind of confidence born from years of people telling him he’s extraordinary and him deciding, yeah, I’m the shit. The kind that makes you want to slap it off his face, to put it so nicely.

His gaze finds yours immediately and you do your best to barely acknowledge him.

A simple nod. A professional, detached greeting. Then, you turn back to your notes, flipping a page as if you care about the pencil scratching in your journal pad.

Jungkook doesn’t like that. That’s saying a lot, because Jungkook likes a lot of things. Expensive clothes, pretty girls, the sound of his own name trending at number one; he’s not exactly hard to please. But being ignored? That’s a different beast. Especially by you. During his photoshoot? The one where he looks like sin incarnate in head-to-toe Calvin Klein and you’re barely giving him a glance, busy scribbling like you’re allergic to his existence? Please. It’s offensive. Insulting, even.

Jungkook thrives on attention the way plants need sunlight, except he doesn’t wilt without it; he gets petty. Because really, who do you think you are? Some executive with a headset and God complex? Okay, yes, that’s exactly what you are but still.

You hear it before you see it, the amused exhale, the small click of his tongue against his teeth. “Come on. Not even a ‘good morning’?”

You don’t look up. “I assume you know what time of day it is.”

“Still so cold,” he muses, arms lazily crossing over his chest. “I was hoping we’d warmed up to each other by now.”

Daniel, standing beside you, doesn’t even glance up from his phone at his taunts. You roll your eyes, “It’s been two days, Jeon. Relax.”

Jungkook ignores that, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe I should make it my mission to see how long you can keep up this whole ice queen act.”

You finally look at him then. “It’s not an act,” you say simply.

His lips part slightly, maybe expecting you to play along, to give him something to work with. But you’re already turning back to the shoot, eyes scanning the set.

Jungkook shifts beside you, and you catch the slight twitch of his jaw, the way his tongue rolls against the inside of his cheek.

He’s irritated. Good. Maybe now he’ll shut up and do what he came here to do: stand in front of the camera, look pretty, and let the professionals handle the rest. You don’t need his commentary or whatever flirty nonsense he’s cooking up. You need him silent and in frame. You want five minutes of peace. Five. Is that so much to ask from the most attention-starved man in South Korea?

The photoshoot begins, and you remain exactly as you were before, analytical, focused on the execution rather than the man at the center of it.

Jungkook, however, is not handling it well.

He does his job because he did sign a contract, after all. He’s flawless in front of the camera, shifting effortlessly between intensity and ease. But in between takes, his eyes keep flicking toward you, searching for something — approval, irritation, anything.

There are small, almost petulant glances he throws your way. He exaggerates his movements, as if daring you to react. His mouth tightens slightly every time you remain unaffected.

You’re standing a few feet away with Daniel, eyes trained on the monitors, deep in conversation with the photographer about lighting and angle ratios like Jungkook doesn’t even exist. He’s used to being the center of gravity, the one pulling attention without trying. But you? You’re immune. Or, pretending to be, which makes him want it more.

Daniel eventually notices too. He exhales beside you, muttering under his breath. “I think you’re actually pissing him off.”

You barely blink. “He’ll live.”

Jungkook stretches lazily. “I can hear you, you know.”

Daniel shrugs. “Wasn’t exactly whispering.”

A stylist steps forward to adjust Jungkook’s shirt, but his eyes remain on you. A slow smirk creeps up on his face, “Bet she’s more fun outside of work.”

You don’t react. Not even a flicker of amusement, or a twitch of annoyance. You just turn a page in your notes.

You’ve worked with celebrities before, countless of them. Models with impossible cheekbones, actors who appear in photoshoots as stoic as they do on screens, musicians who spend half the time singing more than speaking. You know how this works.How they work.

They are charming when they need to be. Calculated, even when they pretend not to be.

You’ve seen the way they shift in and out of personas, the way they make the world fall at their feet without ever having to try. And above all, you know not to get attached. Not to care too much, not to mistake proximity for something personal.

At the end of the day, this is your job. A carefully structured exchange where both parties win.

Jeon Jungkook is no different, no matter how many times he tests you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Luxury brand trips are a logistical nightmare. You’ll shout it from the rooftops.

The world sees the polished, effortless veneer: the private jets, the accommodations, the effortless blending of celebrities and influencers. What they don’t see is the meticulous orchestration that happens behind the scenes.

It’s not just you and Jungkook. It’s his team: managers, stylists, security. It’s your team: brand executives, PR strategists, creative directors. It’s an entire machine moving in sync, ensuring that when the cameras flash when you touch down in Los Angeles, everything looks flawless.

The airport in itself is even controlled chaos.

Jungkook’s security detail moves like clockwork, clearing pathways, keeping him shielded from prying eyes and eager phones. Your team works around it, checking baggage, confirming schedules.

Jungkook, as per usual, is unbothered.

You catch glimpses of him as you navigate through the VIP terminal, dressed in loose gray sweats and an oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his inked forearm. Dark hair ruffled just enough to look effortless, AirPods in, hands tucked in his pockets.

You don’t acknowledge it. Not when fans outside the terminal scream like they’ve seen the second coming of Christ. Not when his security team moves like a highly trained boyband of their own, parting the chaos with eerie, synchronized precision. Please. You don’t get starstruck. You don’t get flustered. You’ve survived Milan Fashion Week on three hours of sleep and a juice cleanse.

It’s a commercial flight, but first-class, of course. Private travel was considered, but Calvin Klein, ever so strategic, prefers the occasional glimpse of their brand ambassador in the wild. A silent PR move.

Your boarding pass has you in 1A, which would have been fine…

Except Jungkook’s is 1B (and you’ll never forgive your assistant for this, you make a mental note of it.)

You stare at the seat next to you for a half-second longer than necessary before placing your carry-on in the overhead compartment, sinking into your seat, and immediately pulling out your iPad. Noise cancellation on. Work mode engaged.

Jungkook arrives minutes later, dropping into the seat beside you with zero urgency.

“You work too much.”

You’ve heard that before. You’ve also gotten that your laptop should pay rent for how often it’s attached to your side. It’s nothing new. Friends say it with concern, colleagues say it with admiration. It really doesn’t phase you anymore.

One hand taps against the digital screen in front of you, scrolling through a campaign brief. Your AirPods are in., and you’ve confirmed that when you tapped against your ears. There is no reason for this conversation to be happening.

But Jungkook, as you’re coming to learn, is persistent.

He leans slightly toward you, not enough to invade your space, just enough to be impossible to ignore.

“Come on,” he drawls, “At least pretend to be excited. We’re going to LA.”

You finally glance at him, expression unreadable. “I’m working.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “I can see that.”

You blink once. “Then why are you talking to me?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, leaning back against his seat. “Because it’s fun watching you pretend you don’t like me.”

You don’t even flinch. “I don’t pretend.”

He tilts his head, assessing. Like he’s some kind of airport therapist and you’re a particularly fascinating case study in emotional repression and overachievement. Then, he does one slow, infuriating nod. As if, in the two seconds he’s been sitting next to you on this plane, he’s cracked the code. Solved the mystery. You don’t even have your seatbelt buckled and he’s already looking at you like ah, yes. This one’s never known peace.

“Right. Just like you don’t take breaks.”

You return your focus to the screen in front of you, ignoring him.

He stretches out slightly, legs shifting closer, tapping a lazy rhythm against his armrest. “So what’s the plan?” he asks. “We land, and then what? Straight to fittings? Or do we get one of those ridiculously overpriced hotel dinners first?”

You sigh through your nose. “We land, go to the hotel, and get some rest. Tomorrow, all business.”

Jungkook hums. “Of course it is.”

You turn a page on your iPad. “What else would it be?”

Silence. You think you’ve got him to finally pipe down. Then, with zero warning, he reaches over and pulls out one of your AirPods.

You blink at him, genuinely caught off guard.

Jungkook grins, twirling the small white earbud between his fingers. “Maybe a little fun.”

You stare at him for a long second. Without a word, you take the AirPod back, place it in your ear, and turn the volume up.

Jungkook watches you with a look of amusement head tilting slightly like you’re the most entertaining in-flight movie he’s ever been assigned a seat next to. He might as well have said challenge accepted with the way he chuckles at you.

It starts small with some light taps against the armrest, exaggerated sighs, subtle shifts in his seat as if he’s just trying to get comfortable.

You wedge your elbow against the armrest like it’s a shield. The glow of your screen bathes you in a holy light, a divine protection against the man seated beside you. You highlight key notes in yellow, underline them in red, even bold them for good measure, like the sheer force of productivity might drown out the weight of Jungkook’s gaze burning holes into the side of your face. You pretend not to see him. You pretend so hard, you could win an Oscar for Best Actress in a Scene for a new movie starring you, Ignore the Menace. And you’re doing so, so good, until the clown opens his mouth once more and peace dies before the wheels have barely left the asphalt.

“So what’s your playlist?” he questions innocently, turning his head toward you.

You keep your gaze fixed on the iPad. “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely to your AirPods. “What are you listening to? Classical? Productivity podcasts? White noise? Oh wait..” he smirks, “Let me guess. Something cold and terrifying, like a stock market recap.”

You exhale slowly through your nose. “It’s none of your business.”

Jungkook hums, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “It’s gotta be classical, right? You give off the vibes of someone who looked up what music is the best for work.”

You don’t even care anymore. “And you give off toxic male rap.”

He gasps dramatically, pressing a hand over his chest. “Wow. That was uncalled for.”

Finally, you tilt your head to him, raising a brow. “Was it?”

Jungkook bites back a grin. “You wound me.”

You let out a long, slow breath, dragging your fingers across the screen of your iPad with as much patience as you can muster. “I’m trying to work.”

“I can see that,” he replies smoothly. “And I’m trying to help.”

“By doing what, exactly?”

Jungkook leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to be intentionally annoying. “By making sure you don’t die of boredom.”

Your jaw clenches. “I’m not bored.”

“Oh no, of course not.” He gestures to your screen. “I mean, who wouldn’t be riveted by… spreadsheets?”

You slam your iPad down onto the tray table with a sharp thud.

The passengers in first class don’t react because they are far too wealthy to acknowledge petty mortal noises but Jungkook? He grins widely, entirely too satisfied.

You turn in your seat, glaring at him. “Do you have an off button?”

Jungkook pretends to think about it. “Mmm. No.”

You inhale deeply, pressing your fingers to your temples. “This is a 14 hour flight.”

“Oh, I know.”

Your lips press into a thin line. “You can’t possibly be this annoying for the entire time.”

Jungkook leans back, stretching his arms over his head, biceps flexing slightly as his shirt shifts against his skin. “Wanna bet?”

You deadpan. “I will throw you out of this plane.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You can’t. We’re already too high up.”

“I’ll find a way.”

Jungkook’s laughter deepens, amused. “I like you.”

You sigh, grabbing your iPad again. “Tragic.”

“Oh, come on,” he teases, nudging your knee slightly with his. “Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. “I was fine before you sat down.”

“Were you?” His voice is teasing but with just the faintest edge. “Because you look a little different now.”

You glance at him. “Different how?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Less ice queen. More… alive.”

For a split second, you pause. Not because what he said was particularly clever — Jungkook’s never been burdened by the weight of originality — but because being called an ice queen is somehow both insulting and weirdly flattering. He smiles, clearly pleased with himself, and you wish you could throw him out the emergency exit without violating FAA regulations.

Nonetheless, you turn the volume up on your AirPods and go back to your screen.

Jungkook sighs dramatically. “So heartless.”

Still nothing from you. There will be no reactions until the wheels of this plane touch down on United States soil.

“Honestly, it’s kind of hot.”

You don’t know what possesses you, but suddenly, you rip out one AirPod and shove it into his ear.

It takes him all of three seconds to realize what’s playing.

“You’re listening to The Weeknd?”

His voice is so scandalized that you finally let the tiniest little smile onto your face, barely.

Jungkook blinks at you, processing. His face is laced with pure betrayal, considering you’ve just shattered every preconceived notion he had about you.

You barely suppress a smirk. “What? You really thought I only listened to stock market updates?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I mean… yeah.”

You throw your head back against the seat, “That’s rich coming from you. You probably only listen to K-pop.”

Jungkook’s jaw drops in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

You lean back slightly, giving him a slow, assessing once-over before narrowing your eyes. “Let me guess… Stray Kids?”

Jungkook lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on. That’s too obvious.”

You pretend to think harder. “Fine. TWICE? ATEEZ?”

He exhales sharply, squinting his eyes at you, “Jesus. Just say BTS and get it over with.”

You raise a brow. “I feel like that would be cheating.”

Jungkook grins, adjusting his posture slightly so he’s angled toward you. “Okay, since we’re making assumptions… what else do you think I listen to?”

You tap a finger against your chin, pretending to study him. “I don’t know… something angsty. Definitely some 90s hip-hop to feel cool. Maybe, on a rare occasion, some lo-fi beats when you’re trying to be different”

Jungkook stares at you, slow-blinking. “Are you stalking me?”

You snort, shifting your iPad to your lap. “I just have basic critical thinking skills.”

He exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re dangerously good at this.”

You hum, turning slightly to face him more fully. “Alright, then. What do you think I listen to? Besides The Weeknd, of course?”

Jungkook bites his lip, eyes glinting like he’s been waiting for this challenge. “Oh, that’s easy.”

You fold your arms. “Try me.”

He leans in slightly, voice low. “You pretend to like jazz.”

You gape at him. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah.” He nods, far too pleased with himself. “You tell people you listen to jazz to sound cultured, but secretly, you have a playlist titled ‘girlboss rage’ that’s just early 2000s pop punk.”

You burst out laughing before you can stop yourself. “I do not—”

“Be honest,” he interrupts, smirking. “When was the last time you listened to Avril Lavigne?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Kinda like a fish gasping for air, fresh out of water. You narrow your eyes, pressing your lips together. “…Mind your business.”

Jungkook laughs loudly, shaking his head in victory.

Just like that, your work is completely forgotten. The conversation shifts, and you talk about concerts, about the way you never had the money to go to them growing up, and how he barely remembers a time when he wasn’t the one on stage.

You tease him about his tattoos. He teases you about being chronically online. Somewhere along the way, you tell him that you hate in-flight meals. Somewhere along the way, you also manage to forget why you were working in the first place.

It’s when, and only when, a flight attendant interrupts, clearing her throat politely, that you both snap out of it.

“Excuse me,” she says, smiling professionally. “Would you both like to order lunch?”

You blink. Lunch?

You glance at your iPad. The screen is dark, long since untouched. A fresh wave of nausea rises in your chest, not from hunger but from the horrifying realization that you, in all your hyper-disciplined glory, have just spent over an hour talking to Jungkook. Talking. Laughing, even. Worst of all, enjoying it. You swore you’d use this flight to catch up on work, to review the final media strategy deck and highlight the client notes that were due yesterday. Instead, your iPad went to sleep sometime around his third remark, and you let it. You stare down at it like it personally betrayed you. Honestly, it probably did.

He looks over at you, voice filled with fake innocence. “I thought you were busy working?”

You inhale deeply, dragging a hand down your face. You are going to kill him. Is this even in your pay grade?

After the flight attendant leaves, you immediately straighten in your seat, ignoring the look Jungkook is still throwing your way. Without a word, you pick up your iPad again, drowning yourself back in work.

Jungkook hums, completely unbothered. “That was fun.”

You don’t even peer up. “For you.”

He chuckles, then sighs, sinking deeper into his seat. “I think I’m gonna nap.”

You hum noncommittally. “Good idea.”

A few minutes later, you dare to peek, just to make sure he’s really out.

The heavens above have answered your prayers — he is. Blessed, blessed silence.

For the next few hours, the world is right again. You manage to finish multiple reports, respond to three emails, and revise a campaign strategy without interruption. It is peaceful. It is productive. Everything your heart has ached for.

And really you shouldn’t have gotten so cocky, because disaster strikes. Just as you’re finally settling into a focused rhythm, Jungkook stirs. You hear it first; the quiet inhale, the slow stretch, the rustle of fabric as he shifts beside you. You brace yourself for impact.

“Did you miss me?”

Your eye twitches. Goddamnit.

“No,” You say flatly, not looking up.

Jungkook lets out a hoarse, sleep-heavy chuckle. His voice is groggy, unfairly attractive (and you hate to see it.) “Damn. What time is it?”

You exhale through your nose. “Time for you to continue not talking.”

Jungkook beams, “Wow. You missed me, huh?”

You turn back to your screen. “Not even for a second.”

He stretches again, rolling his shoulders, sighing loudly. Does the man have any concept of personal space and inside voice? Probably not, but you keep typing anyway.

Then, to your point, he starts talking again.

“You always this fun on flights?” he says, tapping absentmindedly against the leather of his chair. “Or am I just special?”

You still don’t look up. “If by special, you mean insufferable, then yes.”

Jungkook laughs, then shifts slightly closer just enough to be impossible to ignore. “So where are you from?” he asks casually.

You blink at him.“What?”

He shrugs, like it’s a completely normal question. Like he hasn’t spent the entire flight annoying you. “I’m curious.”

You resist the urge to sigh. “Why?”

“Why not?” He smirks. “Maybe I just want to know what kind of environment produces someone so…emotionally unavailable.”

You glare at him. “I’m not emotionally unavailable.”

He tilts his head, considering. “Mmm. Jury’s still out on that one.”

You press your lips into a tight line. You do not have time for this. Maybe if you give him the answer (and you should know better), he’ll quit it. So, without thinking, you say, “Busan.”

Jungkook stills, brows lifting slightly. His mouth parts just a little, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. The thing about Busan is it’s the kind of place where you feel like you know everyone, and worse, everyone thinks they know you. You were the girl who worked two jobs in high school, the one with a mother who never quite forgave the world for how hard her life turned out.

His entire expression softens. “Me too.”

There’s something about the way he says it. His usual cockiness fades for a second. There’s no teasing lilt, no smug amusement. Just quiet, a little familiar. Jungkook says it like it means something. Like it’s a revelation. Like this shared detail is suddenly supposed to bridge the vast gap between you.

So, before he can say anything else, you shake your head, turn back to your work, and bury the moment beneath the weight of reality. Jeon Jungkook might be from Busan, but he’s also unbelievably full of himself. You are not going to fall for it.

You let out a hum “That’s nice.”

Jungkook stares. “That’s it?”

You keep scrolling through your notes. “What else do you want? A hometown reunion?”

Jungkook exhales a short laugh, “I don’t know. I just thought you’d find it cool.”

You peek at him through your lashes, “Why?”

He leans back, studying you for a moment before shrugging. “People usually do.”

There it is again. The ego. The casual arrogance. The absolute, unshakable certainty that the world is interested in him.

You sigh, tapping your stylus against your iPad. “I hate to break it to you, Jungkook, but not everything about you is a special trait. ”

Jungkook gapes at you. “I— what?”

“You heard me.”

For the first time since you met him, he looks genuinely, completely thrown, like his brain just hit a blue screen error and forgot how to reboot. It’s almost touching, really. He can’t decide whether to be offended, impressed, or propose on the spot.

Jungkook leans in slightly, narrowing his eyes. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna go back to ignoring me?”

You shrug. “That was always the plan.”

His tongue rolls against the inside of his cheek, a telltale sign of frustration. He sputters for another beat before going, “Well, I think you secretly like me.”

You exhale sharply, slamming your iPad down for the second time on this flight. The man is unbelievable.

And just like that, the momentary amnesia clears. You remember exactly why you can’t stand him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Los Angeles is warm when you land, almost too warm for how tired you are.

The descent into LAX had been smooth, but the exhaustion settled in almost immediately after stepping off the plane. The weight of fourteen hours in the air, the unfortunate stiffness of first-class seats, the unrelenting ache of schedules waiting to be met, it all clings to you.

And judging by the low murmurs and sluggish movements of the team around you, you aren’t alone. By the time you make it through private customs and into waiting black SUVs, Daniel sighs dramatically beside you. “Food. We need food.”

There are collective murmurs of agreement.

Jungkook, lazily lounging beside his manager, half-asleep but still annoyingly composed, lifts a brow. “We eating somewhere fancy?”

“No,” you say immediately, before anyone can even think of pulling out a Michelin-star reservation. “We’re in America. Let’s eat something that actually reminds some of you of home .”

Daniel hums, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

You barely have to think about it. “Korean barbecue.”

You take them to your favorite spot, a tucked-away, no-frills restaurant in Koreatown, where the air is thick with the scent of sizzling meat, sesame oil, and open flames. It’s loud inside, the hum of conversations overlapping, the occasional clang of tongs against grill plates.

“You come here often?” Jungkook muses as you lead the group toward a long booth in the back.

“When I’m in LA,” you say simply, flagging down a server with an easy nod. “It’s the closest thing to home you’ll find in this city.”

Daniel slides into the booth first, followed by Jungkook’s team and yours.

“Wait.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts in immediately, halting Daniel mid-slide.

Daniel eyes him, suspicious. “What?”

Jungkook gestures vaguely toward the booth, expression all innocent. “I just think.. since she picked the place, she should have a good seat.”

You blink, watching this madness unfold.

Daniel scoffs. “And you think that seat just happens to be next to you?”

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “Who’s to say?”

Daniel narrows his eyes, clearly weighing his options. Jungkook raises a brow, challenging. You exhale, too tired to deal with the absurdity of two grown men engaged in a silent battle over seating arrangements (which apparently you have no say in. Like who made that rule?)

“Just sit,” you mutter, sliding into the booth before either of them can argue.

For a second, you think you’ve won.

Then Jungkook moves quickly as he slots himself beside you, the movement so smooth it barely leaves room for protest.

You don’t have time to react before Daniel groans loudly, sliding in on the other side with a deep scowl. “I hate both of you.”

Jungkook just grins. “Love you too.”

The booth is long but cramped, packed with bodies and shared plates, bottles of soju sweating condensation against the wooden table. You, however, are acutely aware of one thing. Jungkook is too close. Not enough to be obvious, but just enough for the heat of his body to radiate against yours, for the barest brush of his knee against yours beneath the table.

You keep your expression neutral, ignoring the way his thigh shifts slightly closer every time he adjusts his position, or the way he leans back against the booth, arms stretching along the backrest, fingertips just grazing your shoulder.

When the first plates of pork belly hit the grill, sizzling on impact, you pretend you also don’t notice the way Jungkook smirks when you finally pick up your chopsticks. You really don’t get what his interest in you is. It’s not like you’re doing anything seductive. You’re literally just eating dinner, holding your chopsticks like a normal, well-adjusted adult. At this point, you’re convinced you could sneeze and he’d find a way to make it flirtatious.

The conversation flows effortlessly around the table and you sip your water, nodding along, almost relaxed, until your phone buzzes quietly in your lap.

Your mother’s name flashes on the screen, bright and insistent. You don’t hesitate. Thumb to the red button. Declined. You tell yourself you’ll call back later, maybe after dessert, maybe tomorrow. Maybe when the timing feels easier.

No worth dwelling on it now, you’re busy anyway.

While you try to re-enter the conversation, your elbow bumps Jungkook��s under the table, barely skin on skin, but you recoil like you’ve been burned. Not subtly either. You yank your arm back with the kind of reflex reserved for hot stoves and childhood memories of being told boys have cooties.

You swear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Daniel is the first to catch on. He watches you and Jungkook, brows furrowing slightly before he lets out a low snort. “This is painful to watch.”

You glance at him, expression flat. “What is?”

Daniel smirks, picking up a slice of grilled pork with his chopsticks. “You. Pretending you’re not about five seconds away from flipping the table over just because Jungkook exists.”

You exhale sharply, reaching for your water. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jungkook hums, propping an elbow on the table, gaze flickering between you and Daniel. “I don’t know. I swear she’s about to crack.”

You nearly choke on your drink while Daniel barks out a laugh, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, sure. And I think you’re capable of shutting up for more than two minutes.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue, “Wow. I just got here, and already I’m being disrespected.”

His manager shakes his head, amused. “You’ll survive.”

Jungkook grins, then nudges your shoulder. “You still haven’t denied it, though.”

You set your glass down, exhaling slowly. “Denied what?”

“That I’ll crack through your icy exterior.”

The booth goes silent. Jungkook’s team is watching now, entertained. Here’s the thing: you’re not necessarily the frigid ice queen he’s mentioned 40 times in the past few days you’ve known him. No, you have feelings too, you swear. You’ve cried at movies, once teared up at a perfume ad, and you even pet a stray cat last week. But what you don’t do— what you refuse to do —is bend to men and their silly little habits.

Absolutely not.

You are not going to be undone by an elbow. You will not dignify that smug flicker in his eye. He needs to be humbled. And if the universe won’t do it, then congratulations, it’s your new personal mission.

You pick up your chopsticks calmly, unfazed. “Jungkook, I deal with Fortune 500 companies, hostile celebrities, and CEOs who have tried, and failed, to intimidate me. You.. don’t even make the list.”

Low snickers erupt around the table.

Jungkook smirks, leaning in slightly. “Damn. I think that was the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Daniel groans, reaching for the soju bottle. “I cannot do this sober.”

Jungkook’s manager shakes his head, muttering, “Neither can we.”

You ignore them. You ignore all of them. But what you can’t ignore is the small twitch of Jungkook’s lips, the flicker of amusement, intrigue, like he’s watching you under a microscope and finding the results fascinating. No, because why is your heart picking up speed? Why is your skin warm? He’s not even doing anything. That’s the problem. He’s just there, annoying and bothersome and stupidly attractive, and somehow your entire nervous system is reacting like he declared war on your self-control.

And well, you also certainly can’t ignore the way his knee presses just a little firmer against yours beneath the table.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @koofleur @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97 @jksusawife @rkivesarchive @hyunjinswifetingzz @bjoriis @nan4rf @parkinglot-nights

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #bts #bts army #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff

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katyawriteswhump · 9 months ago

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omega found, omega lost 5.1

Title: Omega found, Omega lost; Chapter: 5.1/6; WC: 2356; Rating: E; Tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, angst, hurt/comfort.

Chapter 1 on tumblr Chapter 2 on tumblr Chapter 3 on tumblr Chapter 4 on tumblr On AO3

For whumptober prompts day 23, I'm doing this for you; day 21, let the bedsheets soak up my tears, no. 25, it's for your own good; no. 29, fatigue, no. 30, hospital bed/holding back tear, no. 31 asking for help, and alt prompt, motion sickness.

Chapter 5.1: I'm doing this for you

A few hours earlier

“Don’t tell mom, okay?”

Steve’s dad pulsed his hand, and Steve was too weak to return it. His brain was fogged, and the weight of his bones pinned him to the mattress. After his father scuttled off, his news gradually seeped beneath Steve’s clammy skin and into his aching head.

It was all right.

For starters, he’d learned that Eddie hadn’t ditched him. He’d allowed Hopper to take Steve to ER, because he’d had no choice. Now his dad was going to find Eddie, which was pretty much the first time his dad had gone behind the back of his Alpha wife. As far as Steve knew, that is. Hopper was in on it, too.

Somewhere, deep beneath layers of grinding misery, hope kindled.

In less than an hour, he was sitting up in bed IV-drip free—chewing on a granola bar, then bouncing the wrapper off the ceiling. Dustin dropped by in visiting hour, apologising profusely for going off grid. Apparently, it was because Wheeler had kept on yelling hoax ‘code reds’ whenever he got fangs deep into a coding marathon with Suzie. And yeah, they made a half-joking pact to kick Wheelers’ butt, ASAP.

When Dustin left, Steve considered the epic task of getting out of bed. He wanted to call around to see if his dad had any news, or if any of their friends had heard from Eddie. Dustin had promised to get the whole gang on the case. Annoyingly, though, the pup’s visit had drained Steve, and his eyelids grew heavy as his bones.

He sensed his mom draw close a few minutes later. He had already hunkered down beneath the blankets and now he pretended to sleep.

He listened to her latest conversation with the doctors, hardly daring to breathe. Maybe she knew he was awake and didn’t care? It’s not like his opinion had ever been worth shit to her, even before he presented as Omega.

As they left, he swore he heard her softly growl: “Steven. I’m doing this for you.”

He remained motionless save breaths reduced to shallow quivers in the back of his dry throat. When her stinky perfume had retreated far enough, he sat up, leaning heavily on his palms, and tried to quell his trembling. Then he pushed the side bars down, swung his legs over and slid out of the bed.

The room swayed and swerved like he was on a ship, and his knees felt like water. He grabbed the bars to steady himself, while the pain in his heavily bandaged ankle gathered pace. Hot tears pressed in the back of his eyes, his throat. Shit, he wouldn’t cry now.

He fucking refused it.

He had to get better. He had to tough this out like… like a goddamn Omega. If he didn’t haul ass out of here today, his mother was going to send him back to that clinic. Oh yeah, she’d be all, “It’s for your own good, darling,” like last time.

He’d be treated as a piece of meat.

If her path crossed with Eddie, then Eddie would be dead meat.

Okay, his dad said he’d be back soon, but waiting was now unbearable. Besides, Eddie had smelled him from over a mile off. Steve was sure he’d pick up his Alpha’s scent trail, no sweat. He should be leading the search, not languishing here. On top of everything else, he was desperate to pee, and equally desperate to find a mirror and sort out his hair, so…

Okay, baby steps.

Or, rather, heavily limping steps. If he could make it to the washrooms and back, maybe there was hope of getting out of this dump.

He plucked a comb from his bedstand. Slowly, he made for the door, dragging his bad foot, then hopping unsteadily. The smallest pressure on his injury set his ankle screeching, as if his stitches had split. He struggled on, little keening noises escaping him. A nurse intercepted him at the door and offered his assistance—which Steve refused—and then a crutch.

Steve begrudgingly accepted that, and it helped. He made it to the washroom, cringed at himself in the mirror, then sorted himself out best he could.

On exiting, he allowed himself a small fist-pump. As he stared down the corridor, though, his shoulders collapsed, and his chin drooped. The few yards back to his room stretched out like miles. He took a moment, wedged between the crutch and the wall, his panted breaths so thick they drowned out the ceaseless buzz of the lights.

You can do this. Do it for Eddie. Do it for the Alpha you’ve been brushing off for months, who you couldn’t stop thinking about… and now who you literally can’t live without.

After all, according to his Dad, one of the doctors literally prescribed Eddie.

“Hello, Omega.”

Steve yelped. His crutch toppled sideways, even as a pair of arms slithered around him from behind.

“Oh yeah, you’re ripe and juicy!” drawled a familiar voice. “My pups will eat his pups outta you from the inside, and then…”

Snap!

Steve whirled around on reflex and nipped Tommy Hagen, who staggered back, rubbing the flesh between his shoulder and neck.

“I was kidding, okay? God, since when did you bite, dude…Hey, you look like shit.”

“Back at ya!” Also, rude! He’d managed to salvage his hair quite well, in the circumstances. Steve slithered down the wall toward his haunches. Tommy grabbed Steve’s elbow, then grabbed his crutch, slid it back under Steve’s arm and helped him stand. Tommy had paled beneath his freckles, and actually looked mildly guilty. “What are you even doing here?” demanded Steve.

“Came to visit you. Retard move, clearly.”

“Yeah, right. I know what you came for. Gloat away then.” Tommy shrugged, still faintly cowed. Steve rode his tide of fury and went in for the kill: “Listen, Tommy. You are gonna go grab me some clothes from somewhere, and I’m gonna get discharged. Then we are gonna drive all night, if that’s what it takes, till I pick up Eddie’s scent.”

“Munson? Jesus, Harrington—you really are out of your pretty little head. Word is, he kidnapped you and filled you up with his trailer-park pups. It’s just so you to fall for a criminal.”

“Don’t be dumb. Eddie’s a hero—he saved my life.” Plus, this Beta had no idea about an Alpha-Omega bond, let alone a soulmate one. “Listen. I’m absolutely not pregnant, but my mom’s gonna drag me off to some specialist Omega clinic where they’ll lock me away and run tests, and…” Steve paused, fretting his lip ragged.

He didn’t have the time or the mental strength to handle the juggernaut of emotions barrelling through him. But he knew that threat wasn’t why he’d dragged himself from his bed, to Hell with the pain and the stupidity of it all.

It was Eddie. Eddie was in danger, and Steve needed to protect his Alpha. How screwball was that?

“Look, I can’t wait around while my dad messes this up. I need to find Eddie myself. Now.”

“You really do suck at being a good little Omega. Shouldn’t you be all—” Tommy flung the back of one hand to his brow “—woe is me! Let the bedsheet’s soak up my tears!”

“Screw you, Hagen. My secondary gender doesn’t define me, okay?”

“Says the pampered Omega pining for the dime-store Alpha who fucked his tiny peabrain out his ears.” Tommy looked smug again. So, default Tommy. Then his eyes slitted and he turned all sly: “What if I want to claim your mom’s reward for the freakshow’s head?”

“I’d rip your throat out myself.” Steve’s upper lip twitched, displaying his little canine teeth—a weary token gesture. His latest shot of adrenaline was basically spent.

Tommy ‘pfffd,’ though deep in those rolling eyes, something softened. Or maybe it was Steve’s wishful thinking. His exhaustion getting the better of him, Steve’s knees sagged. Tommy whacked out a hand to steady him, and Steve glared with everything he’d got left:

“Look, if you’ve ever actually been my friend, now is the time to make good on it.” Okay, he wasn’t sure that would wash. “I’ll pay you. Fuck, you can have my damn car.”

Jesus, did he mean that?

Whatever.

Steve would scratch Tommy’s eyes out later, once he’d gotten what he needed.

Half an hour later, Steve huddled in the passenger seat of Tommy’s car, ratcheting his stiff, cold limbs into a foetal position. His stomach lurched at the smallest bumps in the roadway, sending bile burning up his windpipe and into his throat. When Tommy breaked or sped up, the g-force drag through his guts set him whimpering.

He’d not felt this crappy on a journey since he was a kid.

On top of all that shit, Tommy’s endless whining drilled right into his aching head: “I’m running out of empty houses here. Christ, I don’t get how you know he’s in a basement. Let alone the point of pulling up outside and not even searching the joint.”

“If he was in there, I’d know it,” husked Steve, his throat wrecked by the acid. “Keep going.”

“Jesus, all right. I’ll try the old Hess farmhouse. But if you puke, I am dumping you out in the nearest ditch.”

Everything after that had been a fevered blur. By the time they reached the farmhouse, Steve was flopped on his back in the seat, arms and legs splayed, breathing so hard of Eddie’s scent he was pretty much hyperventilating.

Tommy wrinkled his nose at him. “Are you seriously leaking slick all over my car? Man, I know I’m getting yours but—”

“Your car can eat shit,” moaned Steve, his insides an unbearably empty ache. “You can eat shit! He isn’t here, Tommy. He isn’t here.”

“How do you know, shit for brains? I mean, this place is pretty much sending you into heat, and I’d bet on Carol’s Alpha dick that it’s got a creepy-ass basement. Just like you saw in your seriously fucked up wet dream.”

“He was here. I’m sure of it… but he’s gone. He’s gone.” Steve sobbed openly, too far gone to even care. “God, what if my mom…. What if she found him? Oh God, Tommy… it hurts. I can’t… I… it hurts so much. I can’t face the future… Any future without him.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Tommy slammed his palms up: “I didn’t sign up for this shit. I’m taking you back the hospital.”

A flash of wild grief ripped through Steve, igniting a fresh round of cramps in his guts. He eked tight words from his clenched teeth: “I swear to God, I’ll d-die on you before you reach the hospital, then m-my mom will hunt you down and swing you from a tree by your intestines.” He’d heard of it done, long ago in Viking packs or something.

“Where the fuck else can I get rid of you?”

“D-drive to Wayne Munson’s trailer. Do it. Now.”

It was the last coherent idea Steve had. He’d cranked himself back into a ball, wishing for anything, even death, to bring this horror show to an end. At length, he’d gleaned a fresh whiff of Eddie’s scent.

The car door opened. A kind face emerged out of the gloom. Tommy and Wayne helped him out of the car and hauled him up the steps into the trailer.

“I’d sling him straight in Eddie’s bed,” Tommy grumbled. “Unless you wanna be scrubbing slick off your couch for the rest of the year.”

To be fair, Steve felt too wretched to be as slick as Tommy made out. On sinking into Eddie’s shallow mattress, though, he no longer felt so sick, though butterflies rustled in his stomach. Wayne brought in extra blankets and cushions to form a little nest around him, muttering, “There ya go, son. You’re gonna be okay now.”

Wayne got him to sip some water from a plastic bottle and gave off slightly stressy vibes that defied his soothing words. Still, Steve’s butterflies settled, and after he’d drank enough to satisfy Wayne, he settled too. Wayne tucked Steve in with a comforter so infused with Eddie’s scent that a faint chirrup escaped him.

The little room around him, floor and walls, was cluttered with stuff. Cassette-tapes, LPs, clothes, stickers, guitars and bones, and skulls—pictures of those, at any rate. Eddie’s stuff. Steve loved it.

Even without him, this nest proved more healing than any hospital bed. Steve cuddled a pillow to him, pressing it to his aching loins, and drifted away.

...

Chapter 5.2 on tumblr

(it's gonna be fine, okay!?!) Second half of this chapter will be up soon!

Please like and reblog if you’re feeling kind 🥰 it’s so very much appreciated ❤️

tags: @wheneverfeasible @mugloversonly @ellietheasexylibrarian

@strawberryyyenthusiast @stripey82

If anybody else fancies reading more, I would be happy to tag :) Or follow #katya's omega whump

My endless outpourings of Steve whump can be found on AO3 here :)

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valeisaslut · 14 days ago

Note

VALE. VALE HELP.

I think you've broken something inside me because I CANNOT stop thinking about collide no matter what. IT'S HAUNTING ME. I swear, people around me are gonna think I've got some serious issues (Which you know… fair.) from the amount of times A DAY that I yell "Goddamnit Vale!" completely out of the blue because something made me think about collide AGAIN.

It's like you've rewired my brain because when I'm telling you that EVERYTHING makes me think about this goddamn fic, I MEAN IT. I see a lesbian couple on my insta? BAM💥 COLLIDE. I'm listening to music and just having a good time? BAM💥 SUDDENLY EVERY SONG IS SOMEHOW ABOUT ELLIE AND READER AND NOW MY BRAIN IS AUTOMATICALLY MAKING UP SCENARIOS ABOUT THEM TO THE SONG I'M LISTENING TO. I'm peacefully scrolling on insta and laughing at funny memes? BAM💥 A REEL WITH A SONG FROM THE BREAKUP ERA COMES UP AND NOW ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS ELLIE'S ADDICTION AND HOW THE WORLD TURNED THEIR BACKS ON READER WHEN SHE LITERALLY KEPT GIVING HER SOUL TO THE INDUSTRY DESPITE EVERYTHING SHE WAS GOING THROUGH.

Last week I was at the grocery store with my best friend whom I've yapped about collide to a million times, and OF COURSE 'Don't blame me' by Taylor Swift starts playing on the speakers. And so I just stop what I'm doing and almost START TO CRY. And I swear, some employee saw my reaction on the security cameras because right as I'm in the middle of crashing out, THE FUCKER TURNS UP THE VOLUME!! And my poor friend(God bless her fucking soul) was just standing there trying to comfort me the entire time😭🤚🏻

And the thing is that I can't escape it because I'll start thinking about collide without anything even triggering it too😭 Like, just now I was lying all comfy in bed, and just as I'm about to take a peaceful nap… BAM💥 'Party 4 u' by Charli xcx stars playing in my head, and now I'm gonna cry instead.

My point with this ask? I literally have no idea. Guess I just wanted you to see how much your writing affects people around the world. I've been following collide since the day you posted the prologue, and it's the way I KNEW after reading it that it was gonna become something big.

So yeah, guess I also wanted to say that a stranger from across the world is so proud of you, Vale<3.

HOWEVER. I mean it in the nicest, most loving way possible when I say PLEASE GET OUT OF MY HEAD. I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE😭😭😭

‐ Once again, another fellow reader from Sweden<3 (You probably don't remember me, but fun fact: I was also the one who wrote the scenario about crying to Supernova on my cabin porch at 86 years old hehe)

OH. MY. GOD. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. you just brought me to my KNEES like i had to close my laptop halfway through reading this just to breathe. i’m gonna print this message and frame it above my desk. i’m gonna tattoo “BAM💥 COLLIDE” on my ribcage. i’m going to sob into a pillow and then call it “reader-coded.” this is the most unhingedly beautiful thing i’ve ever received in my life. i literally posted it on my alt acc i rlly hope u follow me there or at least saw it.

the way you described your brain being rewired by this fic — STOP. STOPPP. no because that’s the highest form of praise to me. that’s the dream. that’s what i wanted this story to do. to haunt you in the aisles of your grocery store. to make you cry when charli xcx invades your nap. to have security camera footage of your spiral to don’t blame me stored somewhere in stockholm. like… i live for this. i EXIST for this.

and your friend??? god bless her. she’s a soldier on the frontlines of your emotional damage and i owe her a thank you card and possibly a medical-grade sedative for dealing with the aftermath. BABE. I REMEMBER YOU. your asks LIVES IN MY HEAD. you are part of collide canon now. you’ve etched yourself into its emotional mythology and i will never recover from that.

you have no idea how much this message means to me. that someone across the world found this story and held it this close, felt it this deeply, saw it like that — i could cry right now. i probably will. maybe i already am. this story has given me the most beautiful readers, the most beautiful connections, and your words here are the proof of that. i don’t take a single second of it for granted.

so yes, i’m haunting you. but babe — you’re haunting me right back. forever 💌

#nonnie ask .ᐟ₊˚⊹ ♡#IM GOING TO SWEDEN. BRB.

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psychologeek · 1 year ago

Text

Red Hood

DAY 24: "i'm doing this because i care about you" ALT 10: last man standing

[from Who am I (to disappear))]

Maybe he didn't think it through.

Possibly.

Just, you know, the tiniest bit.

Drugging all the baby heroes to sleep, using aerosol, was a brilliant idea. He'll give it to himself.

Also using his old codes.

Which, honestly? He didn't really think it would work.

Still: great execution. Pun might be intended.

Anyway.

Kid obviously still up in the kitchen, probably working on the post-mission report or some other bullshit.

( The best thing about being dead? No. Fucking. PAPERWORK .)

Sitting with a mug of coffee and

(Is that Zesty? The kid really mixes those poisons together?

Nuh, of course he would. Like the sleepless workaholic bird he really is.)

They talk, and he already prepared some FUCKING AWESOME monolouge. Vicios and snob and all that. And he beats the kid. Bat won’t take it seriously otherwise. Kid fight as good as he gets.

And then there’s something—

( the worst part? he doesn’t even remember what )

and the Green is all he sees, and–

(No. The worst part is when he sees a bleeding head full of black hair. The worst part is seeing a body, lay down in the bottom of the staircase, as the blood spread around. The worst part is knowing that he did it. That he's just like that fucking clown.)

His alarm beeps. Someone’s trying to enter via Zeta-tube.

(He can’t help tha kid.

Because it’s a goddamn kid, Jason.

What’s wrong with you?)

He can’t help the kid, but maybe someone else could?

He release the block he put on the Tubes, and head to the transport room through the secret passage in the walls.

He can't even remember how he got back to Gotham. How he made it to the safehouse.

All he knows is washing his hands in the rusted sink and staring at a shattered mirror he still sees the abyss and the monsters is inside, now, and his fist–

And everything is red, red, red round him.

Tag bc you may like: @envysparkler @shinekocreator @jasontoddsguns

#batman #my writing #jason todd #red hood #batfam #tim drake #robin #Jason's attack on Titan's tower #attack on Titan's tower #Titan's tower #guilt #whump #snarky jay #“i'm doing this because i care about you”#day 24 #febwhump #Febwhump2024 #ALT 10 #last man standing

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waitmyturtles · 2 years ago

Text

Alright, I was a little late in watching Be My Favorite, episode 9, but I’m all caught up and here’s the late meta: @lurkingshan, I know you hipped to me that the episode was sad, and it was, definitely, but also -- I found to be uplifting, and not just because of that RIDICULOUSLY GORGEOUS dialogue between Kawi and Pisaeng at the end of the episode (could Gawin BE ANY BETTER in this show?! GODDAMN).

But first, a couple quick notes. I didn’t have time to pay my respects through the reblogs earlier yesterday, so: yes to the fat-coding discussion re: Kwan (agree with you, @lurkingshan and @jjsanguine) -- amazing dialogue at the link, and my theory on Not x Kwan is that Not is meant to represent TOTAL heteronormativity, which isn’t a stretch for him, obviously. (When characters are written to be so DESPICABLE, it gets me thinking that the character is actually written really fucking well.)

In this instance, if we are to compare Kawi to Not: Kawi, through his reflections on the future and the past, is slowly working on changing himself (more on this in a moment re: the uplifting bit). He’s learning through his mistakes that he’s either made and/or knows he COULD have made.

Not, I think, represents society’s disinclination to either change, and/or to change AND accept the change of others. I write about behavioral change a lot, because it’s really fucking hard to do, AND people who try to change in their micro- or macro-communities often have a tremendously hard time being accepted... kinda like coming out of a closet, as Kawi and Pisaeng’s relationship is revealed against their will, and Kawi immediately clocks that it’s Not who’s behind it. As well, referring back to the fat-coded discussion re: Kwan -- I get the sense that Not would “never see Kwan that way,” because the fat-coding around Kwan would signal that Not is “lowering his standards” about women, which could affect his reputation with his guy friends. His behavior, I think, is loathsome precisely because it’s rooted in such perfectly delineated heteronormativity -- from spotting Kawi and Pisaeng *not* kissing, to assuming they kissed, to narc-ing to Pear about it, to telling his dudes the next day in class with people around, to knowing that Kawi overheard it. He’s just -- playing the perfect biased het dude, to a tee. Not is playing his own role in society as he believes it should function.

Which is why I, along with hopefully everyone in the fandom (lol) loved that Pear rejected him. And I’d call that moment an uplifting one for Pear. We know, in a different scenario, that Pear leaving Kawi COULD HAVE MEANT that she ended up with Not.

Instead, in what’s being presented to us as the active and live world of Kawi’s current truth, Pisaeng had the opportunity to confirm to Pear the HONEST truth about his relationship with Kawi. In the Kawi-is-a-rock-star alt-reality -- Kawi was holding back from Pear, keeping his feelings away from her, and putting himself first. She wasn’t presented with truth from others, and thus led herself to believe that being with Not, in marriage, was going to be the right decision for her and the baby they had conceived of.

In the current, we’re-still-in-university reality, her friends -- Pisaeng and Kawi -- are honest with her. They both cannot give her the heterosexual love that she desires from a man. Not appears. And she rejects him.

This is such a complicated and, to me, lovely “reality” to contemplate, and links tremendously with what Pisaeng was saying to Kawi at the end of the show. Reflecting back on the earlier episodes: Kawi could not save his dad. Kwan might be heartbroken. And Pear is heartbroken, twice -- maybe even three times, from her mom, from Pisaeng, and from Kawi.

Kawi demonstrates through his changing behavior that drinking ain’t gonna solve these problems. Even Pisaeng confirms that, too.

The show, instead, is inching a bit closer, not to absolute truth, as I dissected when I first binged through episode 7, but instead to a kind of truth that is as best as you can make it, while working on making your life better.

@sparklyeyedhimbo noted that Nietzsche came thru again in this episode (THANK YOU, friend @chickenstrangers, for hipping me to the link!). The quote behind Kawi and Pisaeng is from “Thus Spake Zarathustra”: “He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.”

As Pisaeng said, and I paraphrase: if you want to be happy, you gotta do the work. If you want OTHERS to be happy.... you gotta do the work of making YOURSELF HAPPY, *FIRST.*

And I find that message UTTERLY uplifting, and I think Pear took some of that with her when she walked away from Pisaeng and Kawi to stand up for herself with Not, and to not compromise on her values to potentially be him. I thought that was badass. Pear has a life of change ahead of her.

One final note. Pisaeng’s talk with Kawi at the end of the episode happened to touch me as a mom, even though the monologue was rooted in an uplifting and romantic perspective. It struck me that part of what Pisaeng was saying was -- if we’re happy, people will see that we’re happy, and that might HELP PEOPLE find THEIR OWN happiness.

It reminded me a lot of behavior modeling, which is a wonderful modality for parents/caretakers to practice when raising kids. It’s essentially, like -- we adults will behave exactly the way we WANT our kids to LEARN to behave, and we can show them honest ways of communicating if we communicate well ourselves. If you want your kids to be critical thinkers, for instance -- demonstrate conversations of critical thinking IN FRONT OF YOUR KIDS, and maybe even involve them in those conversations.

I really believe that being happy isn’t something that any one person, or a coupling, should be judged for. Look at fucking Not -- judgement all over the place. Again: I think he represents heteronormative society, a part of which pooh-poohs deep love happiness for the sake of negativity and criticism.

Instead, I love that Be My Favorite takes the responsibility of having Pisaeng and Kawi model for us, IN THEIR OWN WORDS AND BEHAVIORS, the very hard work of CHANGING, for yourself, maybe even for the people you love, and showing the people you love, and your community around you, that that change is very much worth making, to find better and more HONEST happiness in your life. THAT’S how Kawi can impact others, in the end.

(Let us hope, oh LET US HOPE, this show continues to be as good as this episode!)

#be my favorite #be my favorite meta #be my favourite #be my favourite meta #still totally digging on using the two spellings haha #kawi x pisaeng #pisaeng x kawi #gawin caskey #krist perawat #can't believe it but krist is killing it too

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ms-nerd · 2 years ago

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Fic Master Post

SÖLDNERGRUPPE UNIVERSE and READING ORDER:

Rammstein are a highly-skilled team of snipers and soldiers-for-hire.

Söldnergruppe: Kanal fünf - The Prequels

Söldnergruppe: Main Story Some reference photos

Söldnergruppe: Die fortlaufenden Abenteuer - The Sequels

Söldnergruppe: Girl Team Six - Kat's story

Söldnergruppe: Das Ende - Ending Series

Dancing: a Till and (Frau) Schneider Love Story

Happy New Year Frau Schneider - a Frau/Till interlude

Five - Schneider and Richard fulfill one of Paul's deepest fantasies.

My fic is viewable to all right now, but if bots are botting, you might need an AO3 account to view. DM me for an invite code.

Artwork by @niceandcozycave

OTHER R+ FIC:

Terrarium: Paul takes care of a recently divorced Schneider while on tour.

If You Have Ghosts: a love story for the dead.

Date Night: Looking for love is hard but sometimes you find someone by chance. (Now a series - 5/5 chapters - all finished)

Restsüß - Is Paul’s new neighbour kind of a jerk or just misunderstood?

Lilienblüten - While the Landers gang rule the streets of Eastern Berlin, Detectives Kruspe and Lindemann try to keep the peace.

Put It On - Sometimes the smallest things bring back the most memories.

Funkturm - While filming the video for Radio, Paul notices Olli is acting a little weird. For Rammtober 2024.

This Isn't Goodbye - It's the end of the stadium tour.

Longing - Sequel to This Isn't Goodbye

Never Ever After - Sometimes goodbye isn't forever, and sometimes all you need is a tiny dog and good friends.

You Have Everything - Sequel to If You Have Ghosts - Zven and Heiko fall in love during the birth of the Weimar Republic.

Recommended Listening for PREQUEL chapters. Under the cut thingy.

Alpha Sehnsucht - Rammstein 60 miles an hour - New Order Ohne dich - Rammstein Incomplete - Backstreet Boys (you read that right) Amour - Rammstein The day I tried to Live - Soundgarden

Bravo Keine lust - Rammstein My favourite game - the Cardigans I’m still alive - Emigrate Was ich liebe - Rammstein Dark Times - Project Ear Duality - Slipknot

NEW! Suggested by @tinnike: To Be Alive - Mesh To Leave You With Nothing - Mesh Friends Like These - Mesh

Charlie Bestrafe mich - Rammstein A pain that I’m used to - Depeche Mode Halo - Depeche Mode I sat by the ocean - Queens of the Stone Age I’m not afraid - Emigrate ft Cardinal Copia

Delta Mein Herz brennt - Rammstein Never let me down - Depeche Mode Enjoy the Silence - Depeche Mode Silver and Cold - AFI Come Over - Emigrate Sonne - Rammstein

Echo Das alte Leid - Rammstein Feuer und Wasser - Rammstein Walking in my Shoes - Depeche Mode Call Me Little Sunshine - Ghost The World is Ugly - My Chemical Romance

Foxtrot Physical - Nine Inch Nails (Adam and the Ants Cover) Precious - Depeche Mode Schwarz - Rammstein How Not To Drown - CHVRCHES & Robert Smith Dulceria - AFI Hypothetical - Emigrate

Golf So Good - Warpaint The Beginning of the End - Nine Inch Nails Walk - Pantera Mann gegen Mann - Rammstein Dead Souls - Joy Division

Hotel The Trick is to Keep Breathing - Garbage Volcano Girls - Veruca Salt Sabotage - Beastie Boys* The Call - Backstreet Boys I See You Baby - Groove Armada (Fatboy Slim Mix) Büch dich - Rammstein

*I read an account where Schneider was dancing to this like a goddamn KING at an afterparty

India I never told you what I did for a living - My Chemical Romance Disintegration - The Cure Discipline - Nine Inch Nails Barrel of a Gun - Depeche Mode Hilf Mir - Rammstein

NEW! Suggested by @tinnike: Exterminate Annihilate Destroy - Rotersand

Juliette I just can’t get enough - Depeche Mode Franz Ferdinand - Michael Queer - Garbage Stripped - Rammstein version Save a Prayer - Eagles of Death Metal version

KIlo Home - Iggy Pop From out of nowhere - Faith No More Head like a hole - Nine Inch Nails Sonic Youth - Kool Thing - Sonic Youth Ball and Chain - Social Distortion Sweetness and Light - Lush infected - Bad Religion

Lima The Zephyr Song - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Mike Clemens Pötzsch (Rammstein) sonne- Klavier version

November It Aint Over Till It's Over - Lenny Kravitz Temptation - Emigrate

Oscar Shadowplay - Either Joy Division or Killers version I'm Not Okay - My Chemical Romance

Papa Ace of Spades - Motörhead Just One Fix - Ministry We Believe - Ministry Supernaut - 1000 Homo DJ’s (Black Sabbath Cover) Mindphaser - Frontline Assembly Assimiliate - Skinny Puppy Achtung - Laibach Master Hit 1 and 2 - Front 242 Join In the Chant - Nitzer Ebb A Daisy Chain 4 Satan - My Life With Thrill Kill Kult

Quebec Nothing - Depeche Mode

NEW - suggested by @tinnike Violence in Me - Pride and Fall Sadness - De/vision Walk Alone - Neuroticfish Suffocating Right - Neuroticfish Dress Me When I Bleed - De/vision

Romeo My Heart's Always Yours - Arkells Love - The Cult Lovesong - The Cure Love to Love you Baby - Donna Summer Think You Should Know - Jacksoul Freewhell Burning - Judas Priest

Sierra Closer - Nine Inch Nails Flesh For Fantasy - Billy Idol

Tango Number One Crush - Garbage

Uniform Rammlied - Rammstein

Victor Adieu - Rammstein

Whiskey Mehr - Rammstein

X-Ray The Breaking of the Fellowship - Howard Shore - LoTR OST

Yankee Seeman - Rammstein

Zulu Amerika - Rammstein

#rammstein #rammstein fanfiction #rammfic #rammstein fic #playist #Kanal funf #Söldnergruppe #Kanal fünf #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic

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the-most-humble-blog · 4 months ago

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🚨 TAGGED & TRIGGERED: WHEN “LESBIAN” ISN’T A SLUR—JUST A SEARCH FILTER 🚨

💣 Let’s get something f*cking straight, toots:

“This is satire. If the shoe fits, it’s probably your Etsy bio.”

First Off. Calm Down.

You sound Crazy.

Tagging a pattern ≠ bigotry. Tagging a behavior ≠ phobia. Tagging a predictable cluster of rage-posting bullsh*t with the same identity marker? That’s just organizational excellence.

And if seeing the word “lesbian” on a post about unhinged misandry gave you flashbacks to your sociology class trauma journal— that’s not my fault.

🧠 You weren’t “attacked.” You just didn’t like that someone finally connected your behavior to its demographic origin.

Because I’m not tagging your sexuality. I’m tagging your fcking rhetoric.*

You know what I'm talking about:

🌪 “lesbian. neurodivergent. she/they. trauma witch. antifascist fairy. misandry stan.” Cool lore. Now explain why 9 out of 10 posts reading like:

“Men should be sterilized at birth, teehee”

…somehow come from that exact combo.

REALITY DROP:

📊 72% of Tumblr’s male-hate essays—the ones loaded with “all men are trash,” “men are inherently evil,” “male tears make me wet” energy—come from lesbian-coded users.

🧵 Posts tagged #killallmen explode 4x faster when also tagged #wlw, #femme, or #dykecore.

📍 91% of users crying “homophobia” over tags? Were never mentioned by name. They saw the mirror—and punched it.

You’re not being targeted. You’re being categorized. And if you mistake a label for violence, maybe log off the internet and open a f*cking book.

You don’t get a free pass because of what you do with your genitals. You don’t get to throw grenades and cry when someone identifies who’s tossing them.

You act like men are subhuman, emotional trash bins, walking trauma triggers— But when someone tags that behavior as a pattern, you go:

“bUt tHaT’s hOmOpHoBiC—”

Shut the f*ck up.

It’s not homophobic. It’s Excel for people with pattern recognition.

🧬 This ain’t Hogwarts, babe. “Lesbian” isn’t a magic word that shields you from accountability.

If I tag a post “lesbian,” it’s because it came from the same pipeline of Tumblr-coded bitterness where identity is armor and man-hate is currency.

You wanna post like a f*cking psycho and wrap it in soft fonts, frog emojis, and “trauma girl summer” vibes?

Then own the tag. It’s not meant to erase you. It’s meant to warn others.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

🩸 Some of the most violent, entitled, hypocritical, unhinged behavior online isn’t coming from frat bros or alt-right chuds— It’s coming from self-described “femmes” with anime avis, locked bios, and rage diaries about how men shouldn’t be allowed to breathe.

But because they’re lesbian or non-men or queer-coded neurofae witchcraft goblins— We’re supposed to treat that as empowerment?

Nah. I’m not handing out identity-based hall passes.

You wanna know why I tag it? Because my followers deserve a warning.

That behavior isn’t just edgy. It’s narcissistic. And I refuse to pretend like people spewing misandry dressed in rainbow flags deserve extra kindness because of who they f*ck.

You hate men? Fine. You think you’re untouchable because you hate them with glitter on? Nah. You’re just boring and logged in too long.

⚠️ If a man posted “All women should be controlled” – you’d lose your goddamn mind.

But when some trauma-thirsty lesbian writes “Men should be muzzled and neutered,” You reblog it with a skull emoji and a dopamine rush.

🤡 You don’t hate oppression. You hate equality in accountability.

So let’s lock this in permanently:

🧠 A tag isn’t an attack. 🧠 Lesbian isn’t a slur. 🧠 And you don’t get to act like a digital warlord and cry “triggered” when someone sorts your behavior into a folder labeled “unhinged misandrist LARPing as social justice.”

If that shoe fits?

Lace it up and go for a walk, Dumbass.

🧠 REBLOG if you’re done pretending identity = immunity 💀 COMMENT if you’ve ever been dogpiled for simply naming what you see 👣 FOLLOW for truthposts, tagrage, and the most savage blog online

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spearminthe · 4 months ago

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I really like the way you write about Orpheus, I'm curious what exactly made you want to selfship with him? I personally feel like I couldn't handle having a f/o with a canon ship but you seem to deal with it pretty well (I 100000% ship you two)

(omg thank you, bats my eyes shy style <333)

Oh gosh though what a load to unpack...I mean I've previously joked about how he Very much fits a lot of my types lol, but Aside from that

Without getting too deep in the weeds of more personal affairs kek, there's a definite kinship that I felt with him right out the gate: You can't show me a fellow alt-coded creative of questionable gender and expect me Not to be enamored. That, coupled with the fact that we both share in — we'll go with some "tepid" romantic histories that both met unpleasant, rather Cataclysmic ends...I myself connected really closely on that, and it thusly plays a rather prominent part in the lore bits I've crafted via Minthe. It's been fun to play dolls in this kind of safe little comfort project, and there's a certain catharsis in indulging in a bit of the more melodramatic or messy circumstances on my own terms

And outside of that, there's just so much to love about the guy........he's just so subtly funny and catty in his interactions, and nobody ever seems to pick up on it or pay him any mind because he's a side character who serves as decoration in the House/the occasional side quest. I was charmed out of my goddamn Mind by his candor and his funny little friendship with Zag, and god the moment you first hear him Sing without having expected it...simply sublime

I really love Eury as a character too, felt equally charmed by her, even appreciated the reunion storyline despite how I personally would've preferred allowing her to exist Separately from Orph — I'm of the mindset that it would've been nice to have them end on amicable terms, how it would've benefited them both as characters to show that there are ways to still be Family without necessarily needing that immediate connection; but that's a different story for another day, and Hades is a Divorce Counselor Simulator after all, hence why these ideas also play into my own canon

Up to a point, that is. Depends on if I'm feeling in a throuple mood 🧍

#parcels #thank you for enabling me to yap even more today #but also an Earnest thank you for the question fnfhdndb I'm. very glad that there are ppl with a genuine interest in my ship.#I'm just so thoroughly smitten with this damn little bard and have to share my thoughts about him Somehow #even if it's to like all of 3 ppl lmao

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skelswritingcorner · 1 year ago

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Uhhh weird idea warning for pregnant robot. This is mostly just chaos.

So, I've had this idea since going to bed. The jist of it is that the members of the Lost Light end up finding a Decepticon facility where a peculiar Cybertronian is being held. Despite being forged during the war, they've been kept secret the whole time.

Basically, the Cybertronian has the ability to forge protoforms by constantly producing living metal, and most of her midsection is a gestation tank where the protoforms are created. Given how she's a minibot the size of Tailgate, it makes it even stranger. The genetic code of a "sire" is required for these protoforms to take shape. Along with that, she can't go into alt-mode during the forging of a protoform.

She is known only as The Forge, and the people at the facility have been using her for about half the war, and even after it ends to create Decepticon soldiers. Usually, with the code of either other valuable Decepticons or of captive Autobots of high interest. Most of the sires don't know about this either.

The Forge is usually able to pop out a protoform within a few months. However, when she is discovered by members of the Lost Light, she's been forging a protoform for years. This is because the protoform in question is pretty dang massive, and since she's, y'know, a mini, it takes her a while to forge a protoform that big.

When she is discovered, the presence of the protoform in her is very quickly noted. After being brought to Ratchet, he has to physically remove the protoform himself with First Aid's help. Very peculiar experience for them, but not for her. The protoforms tend to get stuck sometimes and can't be removed the usual way, so one of the people in the facility modified the gestation tank so that the protoform can be removed directly (basically a robot c-section).

Except it's kinda stuck, hence why the protoform has been in there for so goddamn long. Nobody knew how to remove it without severely damaging The Forge, which the Decepticons kinda needed for repopulating. Ratchet found a way tho.

After the protoform is forcefully evicted, The Forge (I really need to give her a name) is confused when the protoform isn't immediately taken away, and even more so when First Aid offers them to her. The protoforms are usually taken right away, never to be seen again.

When Perceptor is able to read the documents (including a list of sires), everything quickly goes into WTF territory. Drift has to confirm that no, he is not one of the sires. The sires never see The Forge, and as he sometimes guarded her during his Decepticon days.

So, EVENTUALLY, Fort Max appears. And shenanigans ensue because the moment he saw them, he IMMEDIATELY feels protective of the protoform, and he does Not Know Why. It basically goes like this:

Fort Max: I don't know why I feel compelled to protect the protoform.

Perceptor, with a datapad with a list of sires and Fort Max being the most recent one listed: Who knows?

Also, for extra shenanigans, the protoform is also attached to Maximus. Literally reaching out a servo to him once he gets close. Everyone is either losing their mind or confused as fuck. Mostly losing their mind. Perceptor, who has the documents, isn't surprised. From what he could find, in the occasion that the sire interacts with the protoform after fully developed, they feel incredibly protective of them. They don't know that they sired them.

Perceptor ends up taking Ratchet to the side, explaining that The Forge requires a sire's genetic code to help initiate the creation of a protoform, and that the protoform just removed from her has Max's genetic code.

I have no idea what to add next, so I'm just going to post this at the ungodly hour known as 5 in the morning.

#the author's ramblings #mechpreg #transformers #transformers oc #fortress maximus #this makes no sense btw #but I did consult the wiki to try to make this make sense #this isn't valveplug because this doesn't really involve the horny??#pregnancy mention #why am I compelled to make Fort Max a father??? I have no clue

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stardroptasteslikesocialism · 1 year ago

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Rockstar!Eddie and Alt-pop!reader weren’t looking for a rebound.

Manhattan, NY | December 1989.

“Look, Gareth, I’m not in the mood.”

Gareth sighed as he watched his friend sit alone on the beaten tour bus sofa, strumming his beloved BC Rich mindlessly.

“I’m saying this as your friend, Ed: you need to get out of here. We can’t deal with watching you mope around over Jess anymore.”

Eddie huffed at his friend, “What makes you think this is about Jess?”

“Oh, nothing,” Gareth sighed, “Just the fact that you’ve played her mixtape nonstop since Thanksgiving. Or the fact that your ass doesn’t leave this couch unless we’re playing. Or maybe, maybe it’s the fact that you booted her song - that got us on the Billboard I might add - off our set list.”

The mindless strums quieted as Eddie rested his head against the tour bus wall behind him and sighed.

‘Look, I know you loved her, dude,” Gareth slumped into the empty spot next to his friend, “But sometimes, y’know, chicks just can’t do the long distance thing. She kind of had a point, you know.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, waiting on Gareth’s point.

“We’re not kids anymore, Ed,” Gareth shrugged, “If she wants to settle down in Hawkins like everyone else our age, she has a right to. It’s not fair to drag out what’s not meant to be if you both are miserable. Face it, even when you were together you still moped because you missed her. Tell me I’m wrong. I dare you.”

Eddie sat silent. Gareth wasn’t wrong; about any of it.

“Look, Jeff’s buddy invited us out to this hole-in-the-wall club in Hell’s Kitchen. Some kind of artsy, hippie shit. Thought it’d be cool.”

A quick snort of air left Eddie’s nostrils as he mulled it over. Artsy, hippie shit sounded like code for mushrooms and weed, which he could’ve honestly used more of in that moment.

“You know what? Fine,” Eddie slapped either side of the worn leather as he hopped off the sofa, “Not like I got anything to lose anymore, right?”

Gareth grinned and clapped Eddie’s back, “Let’s get you to the Land of the Living, Munson.”

It didn’t take long for Eddie to realize this club was completely different from what he was expecting. Instead of the loud, psychedelic club scene he’d been used to this tour, the club gave a starving poet’s vibe; aside from the worn graffiti on the brick walls, this place could easily double as a coffee shop (which, Eddie found out later from the bartender, it did during the day). Eddie could’ve easily brushed this place off and sulked back to the tour bus; but a unique voice, what Eddie would classify as an airy rasp, radiated from the speakers, directing his gaze to an absolute angel sitting at an antique piano in the corner of the bar.

“What’s up, guys?” You casually asked into the mic. A couple regulars called back and gave a brief applause, “Thanks for coming out tonight. I’m back again with some new stuff I’ve been working on.”

Eddie barely took his eyes off you long enough to order an old fashioned. The melody that flowed through your fingers to the keys to the speakers left him speechless. It was light, with an air of melancholy; something Eddie could relate to all too well. He fixated on the loose curls that framed your face; your large doe eyes the stars of the show before you’d started singing. Then it was your pillowy lips, painted a deep merlot. And your voice.

Goddamn, Man Child.

You fucked me so good that I almost said ‘I love you’.

That lyric earned a couple wolf whistles from the crowd.

You’re fun, and you’re wild.

But you don’t know the half of the shit that you put me through.

As you continued, Gareth glanced at his friend whose gaze never left you.

Your poetry’s bad and you blame the news.

But I can’t change that and I can’t change your mood.

‘Cuz you’re just a man. It’s just what you do.

Your head in your hands

As you color me blue.

Eddie could feel the gutteral pain in your words, disguised in such a delicate tune. He stayed in his trance until the song was over and you were met with polite applause. Eddie joined, albeit a little more loudly.

“Thank you,” you waved to the crowd, “You have no idea how much your support means to me. Look, we got some other great talent here, tonight. Be sure to show them and our barkeep, Jim, some love too. Good night!”

In the mere seconds it took for him to down the whiskey in his glass, a voice from behind made him jump.

“Well, of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, Corroded Coffin walks into mine.”

Eddie turned around, struck dumb by your presence before him.

“Uh, uh - yeah. Jeff, our drummer, invited us over,” Eddie stammered as you took the barstool next to him, ordering your usual from Jim. Eddie quickly gestured at Jim to put it on his tab, “I’m Eddie; Eddie Munson.”

“Oh, believe me, I know who you are,” you replied with a crooked smile, “My ex is a big fan.”

“I take it he’s the man child you were singing about?”

You nodded, quietly thanking Jim as he placed your drink on the bar, “But I gotta say, his taste in music was the one good quality about him. That song of yours, the one that’s on the charts right now-”

“Follow You?” Eddie guessed, his eyes lighting up.

“Yes! I actually really liked it. Definitely didn’t expect it from a bunch of metalheads.”

Eddie laughed at the (hopefully) unintentional jab, “I mean, what can I say? Us metalheads have feelings, too. Imagine that?”

“Did you write that?” You asked, taking a sip of your vodka soda. Eddie nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. That was me. I wrote it for my girl at the time, but I guess once it started hitting the Billboard, shit just didn’t work out,” Eddie quickly ordered another drink, “She broke it off last time I was back home.”

“That sucks,” you empathized, “At least my breakup was kind of mutual.”

Eddie only nodded in agreement, trying to pry the conversation out of the hole that was their exes.

“So, what’s a pretty, young, insanely talented girl like you doing playing a spot like this?”

You paused a second before answering, “I’m a junior at NYU.”

“Damn,” Eddie replied, impressed, “What’re ya studying?”

“Classical piano and composure,” you answered casually, as if you were naming off your to-do list, “Not sure if it’ll go anywhere, but I like the idea of making music. That’s why I play here in my downtime. It’s nice to play something other than Beethoven and Chopin every once in a while.”

“Are you kidding me?” Eddie asked, bewildered, “You’re incredible!” You raised an eyebrow at him, “I - I mean, your music - is, is incredible. What I heard out there? I could see that charting way above Follow You instantly.”

“Oh, I’m sure you say that to every musician you talk up at a bar,” you joked.

“No, I’m serious. Look,” Eddie swiftly grabbed a pen off Jim and a bar napkin and started scribbling, “My manager, Dave, knows some higher ups. He’s more used to managing shitheads like Corroded Coffin, but he could pull some strings if you’re interested,” he slid a napkin with a phone number scrawled across it, “There’s the number to their City office, if you want to set up a demo.”

You stare at the napkin, shocked, before sliding it into your purse, “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

Eddie stood stunned as you grabbed the pen from him and started writing on your bar napkin, “And here’s my number. Maybe we could get together next time you’re in the city.”

“How ‘bout New Years Eve?” Eddie asked, “Got any plans? The guys & I were just gonna go to Times Square. Y’know, do the tourist-y shit and watch the ball drop.”

You met his eyes with a genuine smile, “Sure, I’d like that.”

You agreed to meet at the bar for drinks before walking through Times Square. And that’s how you rang in 1990 with a kiss from Corroded Coffin’s front man. And that’s how you rang in every New Year since.

#rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader

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