#aaaaand here we go with the ANGST

[langdhon]

Upon returning to the suite of their choice, he will find Michael stand by one of the panorama windows. Looking over the city. He's waited for @eyeless-smiles, albeit uncertain about when he'd come— they're as free as their urges are whimsical, no scheduled get-togethers. Hearing the door click, Michael instantly feels his muscles tense. It requires some measure of self control to not shatter the glass in his possession with bare hands. In a perfect scenario, Michael would now come up with a more characteristic version of Welcome Home, Honey— instead he just feels the anger Morpheus' insistence planted surge through him all over again. He does not turn to look at the Nightmare, not yet, when he finally speaks. Quiet but clear, his voice lacks emotion: ❝ I've met your creator. ❞

[brain-rot-central]

Hey Jealousy

Rating: M/borderline E? (for now) Pairing: Spawn!A/Fem!Tav Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NON-CANON, 18+, degrading speech, somewhat dubcon for certain parts but not totally?, adult themes, mentions of past sexual relationship, alcohol mention, alcohol use, blood mention, possessiveness, jealously, stalking, dry humping, ANGST, some fluff, bitter petty nonsense overall tbh

Summary: Astarion and Tav split at the end of the game due to a huge miscommunication. She tries desperately to move on, Astarion not so much. He finally gets ahold of her, aaaaand some messy feelings come out.

A/N - 1/28/24: Reuploading this! Not much has changed; mostly pulled it for grammatical editing purposes. Hopefully the story flows a bit better now!

The tavern is bustling with the usual weekend crowd. Upbeat music fills the air of the small establishment as this evening’s band continues their set. Drinks cascade like waterfalls into the hands and mouths of the tavern's parched patrons, each desperate for a distraction to drive out the unsettling reality of their lives, albeit for a few hours.

Astarion is perched in a corner of the tavern, circling the tip of his finger around the edge of his wine goblet. The unpleasant flavor of piss and vinegar lingers on his tongue from the spirit, mouth salivating. He sucks his teeth instinctively, trying to rid himself of the taste. 

Reaching into the pocket of his favored violet and gold doublet, he retrieves a small vial of crimson liquid. He pops off the stopper and deposits the contents into his cup, bringing the cylindrical glass to his mouth to lap up the small droplet that rolls down its side.

He hums in satisfaction as the sweet flavor spreads across his tongue, floral and lively, before returning the stopper back atop the vial. Using a single finger, he swirls the additive into his wine, bringing the goblet back to his lips for another sip. 

Ah, much better.

Surveying the bar, Astarion catches the attention of a young elven woman. She's aesthetically pleasing on the eyes - blonde hair with tan skin. Were he here for another reason, he may have tried his luck with her.

Astarion nods politely. The woman then rises from her seat, walking toward him. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, adjusting his positioning. He hurriedly repockets the blood vial within his doublet and hangs his head low just as she takes the seat at his booth, opposite him.

“Well, you’re certainly different from the usual fare,” she says, confidently. “Not often we get you teu-tel-quessir folk in here.” 

Astarion absently swirls his wine. She believes I'm a moon elf?

Assuming that she's a regular of this tavern, this woman may be somewhat oblivious. Were she not, she’d have realized this is his third visit this month alone.

Astarion decides to play into her little game - he’s compelled to see how long he can keep the charade going. “I’m but a weary traveler, just passing through,” he lies. It rolls off his tongue like the caress of an old friend. Creating a fictitious life for himself is something he’s had quite a bit of practice doing.

“Is that so? I, too, happen to be passing through here.” The woman places her elbows on the table and leans forward, giving Astarion better access to the cleavage threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. His eyes fall briefly to the woman’s chest, but he doesn’t look at her face. Not yet. “Got the room rented out upstairs for a couple more days,” she adds, tone hushed.

Sliding her hand toward his, she gently rubs her fingers over the ones he has encased around the neck of the wine goblet. Astarion shudders, not expecting such an intimate touch, and finally lifts his gaze to meet her own. “Care to make a few mistakes with me?” she asks.

Astarion snickers. He can tell part of her story is a facade, though he doesn’t care enough to discern which. 

“My apologies, love, but I’ve made enough mistakes to last a lifetime,” he replies. Pulling his hand from her, he grabs his wine by the cup, bringing it again to his lips. “I’ll have to decline.”

The elven woman softly hums in disappointment, standing up from her seat at the booth. “Such a shame,” she says, “you really are something beautiful.” She raises a hand to her lips, kissing the pads of her fingertips before extending them out toward him. Gently blowing on her fingers, she says, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Astarion raises his cup to her and she walks off, returning to her group of friends on the far side of the tavern. He groans a sigh of relief.

Wasting little time resuming his attention on the crowd surrounding him, another is quick to catch his eye. He's seen her before - long auburn hair flowing down her back with streaks of blonde scattered throughout. She wasn't dressed in her evening best, but even so, the blouse and slacks she wore left little to his imagination.

She's sitting at the bar in the middle of the tavern, a young tiefling gentleman holding her attention at present. He’s not her usual type, Astarion notes to himself, though he remains transfixed on their interaction.This is the second man he's seen this evening trying their hand at impressing the young human woman. 

A smile forms on her lips as she converses with her current suitor. Astarion once again swirls his goblet of wine before bringing it back to his mouth for another taste.

He knows this woman, rather intimately, at that. He’s held her hair within his hands, traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. The smell of her skin is ever present in his mind. The saltiness of her sweat on his tongue as he lavishes her throat, the intoxicating roll of her hips against his as he bites down into the tender flesh of her neck… the rush of blood cascading down his throat.

He swallows thickly around the memory.

They've been together a handful of times throughout their travels to save the Realm from the threat of the Absolute, but that was neither here nor there, at this point.

The tiefling begins skirting his fingers along her forearm, and she leans into his touch. Astarion seethes from his place in the booth, a rush of warmth flooding his core and quickly spreading outward to each of his limbs. It’s been months since they decided on this new agreement, though his reaction is just as strong whenever another encroaches on her.

Astarion looks on as the red-head gently pats her companion’s arm before standing from her seat. His eyes follow her toward the back of the tavern. After downing the rest of his drink in one quick swing, he’s following her, careful to keep just enough distance not to rouse suspicion.

The music from the band thumps loudly in his chest as he draws closer to the crowd of people gathered before the stage. Lucky for him, they’re so entranced by the show that they hardly notice his mindless weaving, trying not to lose sight of his target. Astarion stops for a moment to refocus, looking around. It doesn’t take him long at all to zero in a glimpse of those fiery locks disappearing down a hallway off to the side.

His feet bring him to the start of the long corridor and he peers cautiously around the corner. The woman is not to be found, likely in the powder room. Astarion sighs, some of the built up tension beginning to wane from his shoulders, and comes to stand with his back against the window across from the facilities.

The residual tension within him is beginning to bleed into anxiety and doubt the longer he waits. His mind is rapidly exchanging scenarios, all of which cause his stomach to become unsettled. Gooseflesh spreads over his arms and the fine hairs covering them stand on end. Why is he doing this? They'd agreed to be friends and nothing more. It’s his fault for not being able to honor his end of the deal, he knew, but by the Gods, he simply does not care.

Since the first drops of her blood spread across his tongue, Astarion knew something within him changed. He wasn't sure if it was due to her being his proverbial “first,” but he felt… compelled by her from that moment forward. Bonded almost, in a strange way. 

In a sea of crimson, her blood would always sing loudest to him. It horrified him in the beginning, recalling memories of Cazador's puppeteering ways. The fear ebbed into compassion, after a time. As their physical relationship grew more intimate, compassion melted into an overwhelming desire to guard her. A want to protect what was his, finally his, after so many godsdamned years of pure, absolute shit.

Their… whatever it was they shared, was his. And he would gladly throw his life on the line any chance he could to insure its sustainability.

He catches a glint of red in his peripheral vision again. The human, oblivious to his presence, begins her trek back to her seat at the bar. The thought barely has time to process in Astarion’s head before his body reacts, reaching out to grab the side of her arm, pulling her back toward the wall with him.

“What the-!” the woman exclaims in shock. Her other hand comes up to begin swatting at the offending appendage. She stops midway as her eyes meet his face, recognition washing over her. “Oh, Astarion,” she says, voice flat, “what… what are you doing here?”

A practiced smile graces his lips as he releases the grip on her arm. “Am I not free to seek my own pleasure, darling?” An uneasiness begins to take root again, mind scolding him once the words leave his lips. What in the hells kind of question is that? 

Astarion clears his throat. “I was simply out for a drink before returning home when I saw what appeared to be a fire in the middle of the bar.” Unsure of what response he's hoping for, he's praying she doesn't catch onto his desperate attempt at recovery.

A quick blush spreads across her cheeks and she bows her head, giving a genuine smile. Astarion huffs out a breath in relief. 

During their time together, Astarion would often tease that her hair reminded him of a raging fire. Eventually, he adorned her with the pet name of “spitfire;” she thoroughly enjoyed solving the majority of her problems through brute force. She favored it, evidenced by a deep blush that would spread across her features.

Not unlike the one rising to her face at this very moment.

Were he honest with her, he’d tell her that this isn’t the first time he’s followed her since they parted - watched helplessly from afar as she rotated through potential nightly suitors. He chooses not to, however. Chooses to not tell her that he’s noticed every man she’s taken home has platinum hair. How they’re always of elven lineage.

She seems to buy his excuse as she visibly relaxes before him. “Oh, no, of course, Astarion,” she sighs. “It's uh, it's been a few weeks, hasn't it?” Her eyes are soft as she shifts her weight onto one hip. “How have you been?”

She's nervous, he can tell. She's doing that thing with her lip, chewing the inside of it. The rush of blood in her veins crashes and bellows in his ears as her blush settles deeper across the top of her chest.

“As well as one would imagine,” Astarion replies, “after having their heart broken.” There’s an air of nonchalance decorating his tone. A well-worn smirk tugs at his lips. He's fuming inside at the thought of another touching her, but he doesn't want to play his cards outright yet. 

No, he wants to see her squirm, wants to inflict just a touch of the torment he's experienced since their parting.

What a spiteful creature.

Her expression falls flat, jaw tensing. “I'm not sure what you mean by that,” she retorts in a meek tone. She pulls her shoulders back. "I-I thought we agreed to be friends, no?”

Astarion glances over his shoulder to see the young tiefling gentleman from before passing behind them. Their eyes meet, Astarion furrowing his brow. His jaw tightens, lips curling upward, and the peaks of his fangs are visible. He watches for the tiefling’s reaction, elated to find that the boy is clearly shaken by his display. The Tiefling turns to speak but decides against it, turning his back to the scene before him. 

Astarion sneers.

Yet another unworthy fool. 

Though… a fool who has touched her. Something he and only he should be privy to.

An inferno erupts within him.

Astarion grabs the young woman by the arm again and leads her toward the supply closet at the end of the hall, making quick work of the lock. Astarion scans their surroundings before opening the door and shoving her in, a small squeak pushed past her lips from the impact of his hand on her back. Quickly closing the door behind him, he yells, “Ignis!” a fireball lighting the lone torch in the room.

“Astarion, what-” she shouts in protest. Before the opportunity arises he’s back on her, pinning her in place to the wall with his hips. His hands fly up to cup either side of her jaw.

"Do you truly believe I meant that?" he growls low in his throat, their eyes meeting in a whirlwind. “That I only wanted to be friends?” he adds, mockingly. 

He's desperately searching her face for something, anything to show him he's not alone in this. Her tense expression stokes the fire raging within him.

Suddenly, he's spiraling.

The small voice in his head, his conscience, is yelling at him to stop - to pull back. She’s made it quite clear how she feels, you love-sick idiot. 

Logic fails him - he cannot form a single cohesive thought. Not when she's looking at him like that.

A doe caught unawares in the middle of a forest. Eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agape. Not unlike those he's hunted multiple times in the past. His chest heaves as he drinks in her expression, a wave of heat rising up within him. 

The compulsion is overwhelming, rapidly losing the battle with the rational part of his brain. Bitterness bites at the back of his throat like acid. 

He absolutely must continue.

“Is that why your home has become a revolving door?” Astarion says, watching her face shift. 

“Excuse me?” the human asks, offense evident in her tone. A rhetorical question, though he pushes forward.

“Of men who look just enough like me?” he continues, driving the thorn deeper into the woman's side.  

Suddenly, she’s stone, cold and unwelcoming. Her face twists into something sour, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Astarion Anunín… Have you been stalking me?” she nearly yells.

Oh, he has her right where he wants her.

"The color of their hair does always match my own…” Astarion ponders aloud, head tilting to one side. “Have any of them fucked you as thoroughly as I have, darling?" he chides.

Pulling in a quick, ragged breath, the young woman shudders beneath him, her head falling forward. Her hips involuntarily twitch against the knee he’s suddenly wedged between her thighs and she whimpers, biting her lip to stifle the sound. 

“Astarion…” she groans, eyes falling closed. 

She’s upset, he knows. Yet, he’s privy to how she can barely resist the call of his body against her. Why not use that knowledge to his advantage?

A heavy flush settles across her face and she reopens her eyes, looking up at him through hooded lids. Astarion sees it then - the unabashed desire emanating from her. 

How ironic, he thinks to himself, that her eyes have a hunter green hue. At this moment she feels like prey, wrapped up in a delicate satin bow, all for him.

The remnants of his eternally damned soul sing in delight at her unraveling before him. Saliva pools thick on his tongue as he lavishes the thought of pushing forward, closing in on her.

Astarion leans toward her, cocking his head again to one side. “Hells, Tav… Did it really never occur to you that we made love the last time we were together?" he asks quietly, mouth hovering just above her lips.

Tav shivers beneath him, body writhing against the wall she's leaning against. Her hands come up to press against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as she grinds herself again on the knee between her legs. The flush on her face is so deep, practically matching the color of her hair.

“Y-you’re hardly playing fair,” she huffs out. She moans again, genuine and clear, making little attempt to subdue the noise. Astarion groans in response before closing the distance, finally capturing her lips in a kiss. 

He’s timid at first, wanting to gauge her reaction. Tav doesn't resist nor push him away, giving him the encouragement to continue. Her jaw grows pliant under him and invites him deeper into her mouth, tongues entangling for a quick moment. The kiss is brief - just enough until she settles beneath him. Both of their chests heave as they part.

Astarion’s eyes rest upon her lips before he draws his head back. His hands fall from her face and he lays his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. 

"My biggest regret is that I lacked the courage to tell you with words..." he admits, voice trailing off. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he adds, "so, instead, I used the one tool I'm most versed with.”

Tav's pupils blow wide at the implication of his words.

Of course, Astarion used his body - used himself as an instrument. Again. To him, this is familiar territory. This is safe. 

This is all I’m good for.

"It appears I must have gotten my translation wrong," he quips.

Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t wrong…” 

She adjusts herself against the wall as Astarion’s leg falls back into a normal position, no longer wedged between her. 

“I was so sure… and then the morning after, I- '' She cuts herself off and swallows. “I didn’t know what to think, Astarion.”

Astarion pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps back from Tav to give her space. 

“I don’t understand,” he begins, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I made my position rather clear that morning. About…” He shrugs his shoulders. “Us. This.”

Huffing out a quick laugh, Tav shakes her head again, her discomfort in their current conversation mounting. “You started talking about being free, and-” 

She stops herself again, choking back a sigh. “It just seemed so selfish to ask you to be with me. You were just getting yourself back, after so long.”

Tears begin to gather at the corners of Tav’s eyes. Gently with the pads of his thumbs, Astarion wipes them clean.

“Oh, my silly little love,” he says, lowering his face to place a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “How I wish you would have spoken to me first.”

Tav’s hands come up to cover his, removing them from her face. “I think… I think I need to go,” she tells him, urgently. 

Nodding in silent agreement, Astarion lets her dip out from under him, seeing her inch closer toward the door. 

Before she grips the door’s handle, she turns to look at him. “...Can we talk more about this?” She quickly gestures to their surroundings before adding, “In a better situation, maybe?”

Astarion can only sigh, chest rising and falling heavily. “Of course, my dear. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

Her eyes fall to the floor. Tav knits her fingers together nervously, rubbing her thumbs over the other. “Well… where are you staying?”

A quick laugh escapes his throat and he averts his gaze. His voice is soft and tender as he focuses on a broom leaning against the corner of the wall behind her, “...I went home.”

Tav furrows her brow before asking, “What do you mean by home?”

“Home, to Cazador’s,” he states, devoid of emotion. Astarion’s eyes fall back onto her, watching as she adjusts her posture.

“It’s not as though I know much else,” he continues. “I lack the gold or the ability to work. I have only what I’m able to pilfer off the unassuming, and I’ve grown tired of playing such a role.” 

Astarion sighs heavily again before adding, “There are a number of… resources available to me, now that Cazador is gone. It would be foolish of me to squander them.”

Tav only nods in his direction, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, “I’ll meet you… there, I guess.” She unlaces her hands and turns around, heading back toward the door.

“Tavaria,” Astarion calls to her as she wraps a hand around the door handle again, freezing in place at the use of her full name. “If you do decide to visit me, you’re going to need the passcode for the tower door.” 

Looking over her shoulder, Tav waits for him to continue. Moments pass between them, the air growing thick and stale within the small closet. When she doesn’t speak, he pushes forward. 

“It’s spitfire,” Astarion tells her.

He hears more than sees the small inhalation of breath she takes as his words register. Turning her head forward again, Astarion watches her finally twist the knob to the door, pushing it open. Tav steps out of the closet, looking at him briefly before disappearing down the corridor of the tavern.

Astarion slumps against the cool stone of the supply closet wall, light now pouring through the open doorway. His head is throbbing, an uneasy ache beginning to take root deep within his chest.

What a day.

[alexxncl]

‼️NIGHTBRINGER LESSON 39 SPOILERS‼️

masterlist | all lessons | season 2 | lesson 38 | lesson 40

this was hilarious until i remember that satan is indeed the avatar of wrath and has destroyed the house of lamentations more tines than i can count on both hands. then it got slightly less hilarious, but it's still hilarious

ik we all joke about lucifer being satan's dad bc he technically is but this is PEAK father-son behavior 😭 satan throwing a temper tantrum, no pun intended, over not being able to adopt a cat is one of the funniest things ever actually

y'all know i love me some angst but dear GOD am i happy that we're getting something lighthearted after the emotional rollercoaster that was lesson 38

also we got our room back hehe 🫶🏽

aaaaand now they back to brothers

"nuh uh" "uh huh" DAMN just let him have the cat 😭

shithead lucifer my beloved 🫶🏽 and it's even more heartwarming bc we can see how much he's relaxed and recovered from the incident in cocytus. him smiling and laughing and joking with his brothers freely after the fear of losing them has finally been dissipated has to be a weight off of his shoulders, and a weight off of his brothers' shoulders, too. he's probably been less of himself since the fall, and this is probably more reminiscent of the lucifer from back in the celestial realm

i hc that mammon's familiars/crows just roam around the house freely, so this is even more frustrating for satan bc he's like "well if mammon can have pets, why can't i?"

oh baby :(((

just when i thought we'd gotten away from the angst, i was reminded that we are (i am) indeed on lesson 39 outta 40...ykw at least i was happy for a little bit

10/10 storytelling and writing. i love it when siblings ACTUALLY act like siblings, bc some media doesn't do sibling dynamics justice

granted, solomon isnt their sibling, but lucifer said it once AND doubled down bc he saw that it pissed satan off the first time. the older sibling in me smiled

ik i've said this before but...

lucifer says he hates when his brothers pester him like they don't get it from him 😭 oh no, if it isn't the consequences of your own actions!

now i feel like mammon might be onto something...what if he actually is stronger than lotan? but he doesn't want things to go past empty, playful threats bc hurting lotan would devastate levi, and he adores his little brother too much to do anything that irresponsible. more on this here

the brothers ever 🫶🏽 petty sibling dynamics always get me

satan reusing asmo's phrase after lucifer and solomon used it against him is peak comedy

ADHD TWINS

i can't do long, complicated shit for the life of me without getting sidetracked or overwhelmed

...unless it's these long ass posts

but that's different...kind of

so THAT'S why he was giggling and kicking his feet the whole time?? "hehehe" my ass you sly bitch

also, you can see the amount of pride lucifer feels towards satan just by the way he's acting throughout this entire lesson. he also knew wholeheartedly that satan would, one way or another, find a way to summon the white dragon. he egged satan on and teased him on purpose, which probably made his powers stronger. but i feel like the teasing also was a mask for encouragement

it was obviously still teasing at the heart, but there was a little more to it that reflected how proud lucifer is of his baby brother for coming into his own

also satan initiating the family picture at the end ??? I SOBBED

the lucifer from our timeline would NEVER allow a pet into the house. but the lucifer from our timeline also didn't get to heal the way this lucifer did, so now i'm kinda sad just thinking about that

maybe he thinks having a pet would mean that they're permanently staying in one place? and he still doesn't feel secure enough in his place in the devildom even after all the time he's spent there, even after making a home and a name for himself and his brothers. maybe he considered letting satan get a pet once mc came into the picture, and still toys with the idea, but keeps deciding against it for some internal reason that he won't address

MY WIFE MY BELOVED THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS BACK

they really do invite any and everyone into the family. i love them so much it makes me insane

completely unrelated but i never realized that the kiss sounds are different for each brother ??? is thus just a nightbringer thing or am i just too far removed from the og game

[here2bbtstrash]

look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 16k 🙈

contains: explicit sexual content 👀 literally jumps immediately into it (well.... you'll see 🤭) so buckle up!!! also features: hotel drama, reader being v dumb in classic reader fashion but she gets there, a whole lotta tension and angst and misplaced anger, some new friends!!! and yes they're 3 idols see if you can figure out who 🤪, erotic bed sharing and handholding lmfao, probably the most drinking that has happened in a chapter yet (which is saying a lot honestly), of course the GRAMMY RESULTS.... oh yeah and yoongi in glasses, yoongi in a suit, yoongi playing piano, yoongi almost getting in a fight, yoongi rapping, yoongi WEARING CAT EARS (yes these are all warnings!!!!!! 😩) - ok and here are ur smut specific warnings: semi-public sex (mile high club anyone ✈️), cunnilingus, fingering, sex dreams, nipple play, dirty talk, reader has a voice kink 🥴, clit stim, unprotected sex AGAIN 💀, she squirts again don't @ me lmao, aaaaand some lovely mouth/throat fuckin 🫡

A/N: i feel like i have nothing to say that isn't just overwhelming gratitude to you all for being here 🥺 so i'll keep it short!!! sit back and get comfy bc this one's a lot, here we go y'all..... you ready?? 💜

A/N 2: as of 5/27, this chapter has been updated to remove the instances of anti-asian discrimination. i want to expressly state how sorry i am to those who were hurt or otherwise upset by the original content. please know that i mean it when i say i am fully committed to listening and doing better moving forward. 💜

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for their help betaing!!!

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

~*~

You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.

You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.

The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”

You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?

“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.

“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.

You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.

“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”

Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.

“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.

You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.

“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.

Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.

Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?

Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.

But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.

Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.

“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.

~*~

Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.

Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.

She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”

“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”

The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”

Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.

“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.

She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”

You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.

“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”

There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I really do apologize, but a mistake on your part does not constitute an emergency on ours. No matter who the accommodation is for.”

It takes a second for your jetlag-addled brain to process the words, and their direct contrast to the forced sunny expression on her face. If you were in a better state of mind you might be able to take a breath, state your case more calmly, or figure out some other alternative, but instead all you can manage is a knee jerk reaction.

Because you can’t be in a room with Min Yoongi and only one bed.

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.” 

A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.

“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.

It feels like your heart is beating a mile a minute, enough that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.

Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.

“Look, I don’t know what you think is about to happen here, but I did not fucking book a single bed room.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I just want to sleep. Whatever that was about to turn into wasn’t worth the trouble.”

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you storm after him down the hall to your room as he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.

He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.

“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”

Of fucking course.

The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.

And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.

“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”

The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.

~*~

You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.

When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.

Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.

“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.

He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.

The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.

“You wear glasses?”

The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”

“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”

You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”

The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”

You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”

He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”

“Guess so.”

The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.

His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.

You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.

The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.

At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.

“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”

“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”

He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”

The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.

“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”

They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.

“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”

As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.

“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.

The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.

You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.

“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”

Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”

Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.

“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”

“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”

Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”

You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”

“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.

“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”

All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”

“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.

“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was a fucking bitch—”

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”

“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.

“Is it?”

“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.

“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”

A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.

“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.

Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.

You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.

And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.

A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.

You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”

He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”

“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”

You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”

“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”

“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.

“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”

The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”

Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”

You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”

“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.

“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”

“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.

After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.

“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”

“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.

“So, can I be honest?”

“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.

“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”

You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”

The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”

Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”

A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”

Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.

“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”

“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”

Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”

While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.

A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.

Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.

The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.

So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.

Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.

“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“I am?”

“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him. 

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue. 

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt. 

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older men you can only assume to be local industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Song of the Year, huh? You know we can cross-reference the nominees and figure out if you’re full of shit, right?”

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you have no problem cutting in. “You’re actually speaking to an incredibly accomplished producer and songwriter,” you retort without thinking. “He has over 100 KOMCA credits.” You don’t miss the smirk Yoongi tries to conceal behind the rim of his glass.

“KOMCA?” Another one of them speaks up, the question paired with a harsh laugh. “Never heard of it. That anything like payola?”

“Wild that anyone can just buy their way into the industry these days.” The first man shakes his head, eyes scanning Yoongi up and down as if the tailoring of his suit tells him everything he needs to know. “Guess that’s the way the world works now. Never had to struggle a day in your life, huh?”

Your response is immediate and far too loud. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A loud laugh ripples through all of the men, clearly more excited about evoking a reaction than the gravity of their claims. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.” 

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜

[blessthegulag]

I Hate You, pt. 2

“A problem with authority? Of course I have a problem with authority, I’ll fuck it.”

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the incident, Alejandro confronts you, and you decide what to do with the situation.

Warnings: Smut, p in v, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), light degradation, rough sex, no protection, light angst, bad emotional management, reader kind of has commitment issues?, emotionally unavailable reader, cannon non-compliant (vague, incorrect use of the MW2 plot because I benefit from it ;) ), Spanglish,  swearing, arguments, not proofread!, fucking the power out of the dynamics 

Word count: 6.1k

Notes: This part 2 took the lyrics  ‘Fuck the police’ quite literally. Anyway, it was really hard for me to write this chapter, since I didn’t want to make Alejandro too clingy, yet I still wanted him to be true to his emotions, like any mature person would  (except reader, bc we love an emotionally unavailable woman around here who makes men suffer)

Aaaaand, might, and just might be a part 3, though I’m not very sure.

BY THE WAY, here’s some translations for the Spanish words that appear later on:

-Calentón:  It’s just a way of saying something that happened in the heat of the moment, something not really thought out. 

-Chula: A prideful girl who likes to flaunt herself, who thinks she is interesting and sometimes is self-centered.

-Pasión latina: Latino passion

**Manifesting that this happens to me with the 6.2ft cuban guy I met at my gym, who also happens to have the same vibes as Alejandro 🤞🏻🤞🏻🥴**

Part 1

Several weeks had passed since the incident, and guilt flooded your mind. 

The morning after, the sirens had awoken you, taking you by surprise. You dressed up as quickly as you could, waking Alejandro up in the process. By the point the search party found you, you were sweating and agitated, your cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, still trying to process what the hell happened the night before.

You didn’t know how you two didn’t end up getting caught, knowing that the aftermath of that night was still very present in the car, like a tiger had been locked inside of it. For weeks, you feared that the smell left behind would arise cheeky comments, suspicion within Alejandro’s men. 

But nobody seemed to notice.

You were embarrassed, still. 

For some time, Alejandro didn’t glance your way, and neither did you. No missions assigned, no meetings, no training.

It was as if God had given you a moment of reflection, of peace. 

After that day, you had intentions to stop any sort of relationship with Alejandro. You didn’t even want to keep hating him, you just wanted to forget, to go on with your life as if nothing happened.

However, life had other plans for you.

The dreaded call came, Captain Price’s voice informing you of a new mission. From the tone of his voice, you knew it was important, an emergency. The mission required your specific skills, and you were sure that Alejandro would be there, too.

You had to accept.

Anxiety flooded you. It had you biting the bars of your enclosure, feeling a pit of nerves in your stomach. You were barely able to function, the time until the day of the mission slipping through your fingers, unstoppable.

Then, the day came. 

Upon arriving at the meeting point, you saw Alejandro already present, reviewing maps and discussing strategies with the rest of the team. The moment he saw you, his expression hardened, quickly returning to his task, his eyes fixed on the documents before him. 

The tension between you was palpable, unbearable. You were sure no one noticed, but the way his jaw muscles shifted, told you that he felt the same way. 

Throughout the mission, Alejandro and you remained civil, working together like life long partners. The few words that came out of your mouths were about the mission, about the next course of action. 

If anybody else were to be next to you two at that moment, would surely catch on to the tension. From screaming in each other’s ears, to agreeing in order to avoid interaction. 

What you thought was nothing but a tough, distasteful situation for you two, turned into an even more ugly moment the second Alejandro opened his mouth. 

“Escuchame, güera, (Listen to me, güera)” he began, his voice low, professional. He was using his Coronel voice, distancing himself from you. “We both know something happened between us. You can ignore me all you want, but that won’t change what we did.”

You side eyed him, the grip on your Glock tightening. “Is this really the moment, Alejandro?”

Alejandro’s expression darkened, his features set in a tight frown. “What other moment am I supposed to do it, with you avoiding me like the plague?”

“Maybe you should catch a hint,” you whispered, looking the other way. 

Alejandro clenched his jaw, frustration evident. “You think I haven’t? I get it. You regret it. But ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

You bit your lip, trying to maintain focus on the task at hand. “We have a mission to complete, Alejandro.”

“Go ahead and avoid it,” he scoffed, his voice barely above a whisper. Alejandro’s gaze softened, his eyes searching yours. “But I can’t pretend, not like you.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “Alejandro, please. Not now.”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “No. Listen to me—”

Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing in your ears, deafening you. You turned around, facing him. “No. You listen to me. There’s a mission on the line, so focus.”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, his mouth slightly agape. “For how long?” He demanded, his voice a low rumble. “How long are you going to keep running from this?”

“As long as it takes,” you replied, turning away from him. 

And with that, Alejandro remained silent. You could feel him behind you, distant, angry. In any other situation, you would’ve already started screaming at each other. 

But today, nothing happened. 

You had turned down Alejandro in the way that hurt most, disregarding what he wanted to say. He took that personally, playing your own game, ignoring you in the same way that you had done with him. 

The rest of the mission passed in a haze, Alejandro’s words echoing in your mind. You felt his presence like a weight on your shoulders, the regret of your harsh words gnawing at you tormenting you.

It drove you insane. 

Back at the base, days turned into weeks. The tension lingered, thick, suffocating. Your tasks went on with robotic efficiency, losing track of your surroundings. You tried detaching yourself from reality every time you two crossed paths, but the hurt in his eyes weighed on your conscience. 

Alejandro didn’t make it easy. He was everywhere— leading training sessions, briefing the team, conducting inspections. His voice was a constant in your daily routine, each command a bitter, sickening reminder of what you had done.

Of course, you remained distant, strictly professional, but every interaction, every glance left you feeling more hollow. You needed to put an end to this, but you were too prideful for that, too scared to face the reality of the situation, of Alejandro’s true feelings. 

You were not ready to confront him, listen to him and expect to stay strong. 

There were only two ways in which it could end, and you wanted neither. You were tired of the yelling, of the anger; you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, for your own sanity.

Late night workouts became your best friend. It helped you ease your mind, forget your worries. Some music on your headphones, the low light of the base’s gym keeping you from looking too much at yourself.  You pounded the punching bag, lifted weights, ran on the treadmill— anything to exhaust your body and drown out the storm in your mind.

One night, you decided to make your way to the training room, making sure that the base was already asleep. You grabbed some disks, placing them on the bench press, ready to start lifting. 

As you laid on the bench, staring up at the ceiling, you let the music in your headphones drown out the silence. You lifted the bar, feeling the strain in your muscles, the burn on your chest grounding you.

The door to the gym creaked open, but you didn't notice. It wasn't until you saw a shadow move across the ceiling that you realized you were no longer alone. You glanced up, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Alejandro standing there, watching you. 

He had that look in his eyes again, a mixture of melancholy, and deep vulnerability. 

You set the bar back on the rack and sat up, pulling out your headphones. “What?”

Alejandro didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood there, his gaze intense and unwavering. The silence stretched between you, thick, nerve-wracking.

Finally, he broke the silence. “We need to talk.”

You sighed, lifting your brows. “We’ve been over this, Alejandro. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, chula,” he said, stepping closer, still comfortably far from you. 

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the bench. "It was a thing of the moment, Alejandro. Nothing more."

“A thing of the moment?” he repeated back, his voice laced with an edge of annoyance. “Es así de verdad como lo ves?”

Is that really how you see it?

His gaze searched your face, defiant, vulnerable, still wary.

“What do you want me to feel, Alejandro?” you said, your tone honest, tired. “What do you expect of me?”

The genuine note in your question caught Alejandro off guard, momentarily silencing any response he had ready. He took a deep breath, his gaze softening slightly. "I don’t know what I want you to feel," he admitted, his voice low and serious. "But I know that there was something real between us at that moment. And I don’t believe you can just dismiss that as a 'thing of the moment' or pretend it didn’t happen."

“Mira, Alejandro,” (Look, Alejandro) you said, exasperated, scared, the tornado of emotions in you making you feel dizzy. “Fue un calentón, y ya. It happened, but that doesn't mean that things have to change.” (It was in the heat of the moment,)

Alejandro let out a tense huff at your casual attitude, a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Un calentón, huh?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is that what you want to call it?”

You nodded plainly, tired of the constant conflict between you two. “Yeah, that’s what it was.”

Alejandro’s jaw tightened, the muscles working under his skin. “So that’s it, then? We just go back to pretending nothing happened?”

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Yes. For both of our sakes, it’s better this way.”

His eyes flashed with hurt and anger, a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite conceal. “Lying to yourself won’t solve anything.”

You looked at him, vulnerable, done. “I know.”

You saw Alejandro’s eyes falter for a moment, his jaw tightening. His eyes searched yours one last time, looking for something, anything that might give him hope. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

His shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. He took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he pulled himself together.

Without another word, he turned slowly, resignation in each of his steps.

The soft click of the door echoed in the empty room, the magnitude of your confession hitting you.  Your heart pounded in your chest, the situation having you on edge. The conversation replayed in your mind, each word a dagger to your pride, to your own feelings. 

You wanted to reach out, to run after him, to take back the words that had pushed him away. But fear kept you rooted in place, unable to move, unable to change what had been said.

You had messed up. 

—————

Days after, you found yourself exactly where you wanted to avoid. It had taken you hours of self-convicting, of self-restraint, and at first it worked. The days after the conversation in the gym, anger blinded you. You didn’t want to speak to him, you just wanted to forget, to move those thoughts away. You thought that, because your stay in Mexico was temporary, that you would be able to power through the situation. 

But you were wrong. 

It had taken a toll on your performance, and as a consequence, on the team. There had already been warnings on Price’s part, and you knew that another would mean game over. Due to that, too, your mental state deteriorated greatly. Eating was hard, training was hard, you didn’t want to speak to people. Everyone knew something was going on with you, but weren’t able to understand what happened. 

Alejandro, on the other hand, carried himself with more grace. His duties were much more important than heartbreak —or whatever this situation happening led to—, which meant that it was an escape. He had remained professional, focused, as effective as he had always been.

Seeing him like that boiled your blood. 

You needed to speak to him, to apologize, but it appeared that was doing just fine without you. And it was to expect, taking in account what you said about what happened. 

You had turned him down, essentially. 

And in that situation, it was him the one supposed to be suffering. But it wasn’t like that. 

He was fine, and you were not. 

It was all your fault for lying to yourself, for disrespecting his feelings like that.

But, what were you supposed to do? 

Involving yourself with a colonel while being a staff sergeant, in an extra-official mission for the 141, after ending up stranded in God knows where. Hell, that was like being the mayor of a small town, and involving yourself with the minister of defense; with the president, even. 

And worst of all, that said colonel had no fear nor doubt about what he was feeling. 

That’s what you call ‘pasión latina’.

But you, as (in the words of Alejandro) a güerita from Colorado, weren’t used to such insinuations. 

Facing a man like Alejandro wasn’t easy, and you wanted to believe that any woman would be intimidated by him. He was imposing, self-assured, proactive, dominant, there was no way in the world that you would face him.

Or so you thought. 

The door of his office was closed, but from the noise inside, you knew he was there. You didn’t want to do it, you weren’t ready; hell, you could wait and escape to the US in no time. 

But you had to. You knocked on the door a couple times, then waited.

Your heart pounded in your chest, echoing in your ears. Part of you hoped that he wouldn’t answer, that he’d ignore you so you’d have an excuse to get away, to avoid confrontation. But deep down, you knew you had no choice.

“Come in,” Alejandro said from the inside. 

You made your way into the room silent like a cat, your steps calculated. 

He wasn’t expecting you, you could tell by the way his eyes opened, by how he looked like a deer in front of headlights. Of course, his demeanor soon changed back to a mask of professionalism, looking at you just like he did when you arrived in Mexico: like a stranger.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice firm. 

You took a deep breath, closing the door behind you. “We need to talk.”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “About what?”

Your intentions at first were to be more empathetic, more willing to listen, less reactive. But just like every time, Alejandro had a way of pushing your buttons like no other. 

“You know exactly about what,” you said, your back still pressed against the door. 

Alejandro's eyes hardened, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features. "If this is about the gym, there's nothing more to say. You made your feelings clear."

You inhaled, trembling.

“I was scared,” you admitted, as honest as you could. “ I thought I had it all under control, I thought I would be able to ignore it until I left Mexico, but I can’t… It’s— It’s affecting everything, my performance, the team, my sanity.”

The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Alejandro stood up, moving to the window, looking out the base.

“You think you can come in here and say that?” he finally said, avoiding you. “You think admitting it now changes anything?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I can’t keep going like this.”

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, you saw weakness, a moment of pondering. But of course, he shut himself back up. “And what do you expect me to do? You made a point to say that it was in the heat of the moment.”

You felt as if you had been punched in the throat. “I don't know, Alejandro. I— I was not being honest with myself. You said it, I knew it, I just… I panicked, okay?”

He took a deep breath, walking over to you, still keeping his distance. “You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “No puedes agarrar y alejarme para luego volver cuando te parece. Esto no es un juego, Y/N. No puedes jugar conmigo así.”

You can’t go ahead and distance yourself from me and then come back when you want. This is not a game, Y/N. You can’t play with me like this.

“What do I need to do to show that I’m not playing games? Do you want me to kiss you? To leave everything behind and stay in Mexico for you? What did you want from me in the first place?”  you blurted out, desperate. “You've hated me ever since I arrived.”

“I never said I hated you,” he said.

“You acted like it,” you said, the heat in your voice making it difficult to remain calm.

“Because you have a problem with authority,” he barked in front of you, barely leaving space for you to stand.

“Of course I have a problem with authority,” you admitted, the intensity in your eyes burning holes in Alejandro. “But you fed it. This goes both ways.”

“Feeding it?” he scoffed. “It’s called discipline.”

“What discipline?,” you laughed in surprise, getting in his face, arrogant. “Is kissing your subordinate a known form of discipline?”

Silence set between you. Alejandro pressed his jaw, fidgeting with his fingers. You stood there, frozen, looking at him, waiting. 

“No quiero escuchar una queja tuya nunca más,” he said, authoritative, his voice barely a whisper. 

I don’t want to hear a complaint from you anymore.

He grabbed your neck, pinning you against the door in a harsh movement. He squeezed it, cutting blood flow for a couple seconds. You felt light headed, your mouth opened due to the euphoric sensation. Alejandro looked at you, angered, intense.  

You felt weak at the knees, lost, needy of him.

Then, his lips crashed against yours. You felt his coarse beard on your skin, his sweet, earthy cologne overtaking your senses. His touch burnt, leaving a scorching, tingling sensation there where it landed. 

His kiss was raw, primal, hungry. His free hand grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him, desperate to feel you. You moaned in his mouth, trapped, weak. You wanted to scream. You needed him. 

He locked the door. Goosebumps ran through your body, the implications of his actions sending waves directly to your core. 

Alejandro took you with him, manhandling you to the desk. He sat you on top, kissing your mouth, your neck, the exposed part of your chest, everywhere he could. 

You moaned his name, breathy, barely a whimper. It was overwhelming, your head spinning in circles as every kiss, every bite ignited fire within you. Your legs wrapped around his hips, your back against the cold wood of his desk grounding you. 

Then, his hands slid under your T-shirt. They caressed your sides for a second, before he brought his hands up your chest, your T-shirt following behind. Soon, you felt the cold air on your bare breasts, the fabric bunched up on top of them, leaving the perfect view for Alejandro. 

His hands caressed your skin, his fingers dancing lightly on your chest. You could feel his eyes on you, taking in the view. His touch was soft, greedy, insatiable, squeezing your breasts lightly, grazing over your nipples so he could hear your breathy moans. 

Your belt went next. Then your boots. 

The fabric of your pants and panties hit the floor with a soft thud, resonating in the overall silent room. Alejandro had you under his control, perfectly fixed in his desk, surrounded by his belongings. Your cheeks were red, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

It took everything it had in him not to cum right then and there. 

With one hand, he lifted one of your legs up to your shoulder, exposing your glistening pussy to him. 

He swallowed, mesmerized, taking a couple seconds to appreciate what he was seeing.

Then, barely able to breathe, Alejandro took a couple fingers,  sliding them through your wet lips. He passed them agonizingly slow, savoring the way your body reacted to him, how you looked desperate, needy, ready. 

“Eh, chula,” he whispered, his fingers making small circles on your clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Mírame.”

Eh, chula. Look at me.

You looked at him, lost in pleasure, already fucked out. The sight of him had you clenching around nothing, trying to buck your hips up for more pressure. He looked breathtaking, absolutely mesmerizing: messy hair, trimmed beard, reddened lips from biting them so much. 

You needed him.

You could see the desire burning within him, the need that matched your own. Your hands continued to tease, to tempt, bringing you to the edge, then pulling back. It had you moaning, crying, pleading with him to let you cum, but he would not give in. It was torture, the worst yet sweetest kind, the one that had you melting in front of him, urging you to do whatever it took to reach your release. 

When he stopped giving attention to your clit, your mouth opened to complain. You were sweating, horny as fuck, completely broken down because of him. Not even a gasp could come out of your mouth when you felt his fingers pressing against your entrance, sinking in, getting pulled in by your greedy pussy. 

You mewled at the sensation, clenching around his thick, rough fingers, savoring every second of it. His fingers pumped in and out of you, the smell of sex already flooding the room, the sticky, lewd noises of your pussy so loud, that you were sure any passerby could hear. 

Alejandro’s hand left the underside of your knees, bringing you back to reality for a second. You saw a glimpse of his face lower towards you, him kneeling to the ground. 

For a second, you were confused, empty; but the moment his tongue made contact with your clit, every feeling  except pleasure escaped your mind. The sensation was electric, sending waves of warmth through your body. 

Alejandro had a way of taking over your mind, of clearing any doubt, any fear. With him on your pussy, licking every drop of your juices, abusing your clit with his tongue, it was impossible for you to hate him. The way he was making you feel had you in a cloud, at his disposal, seriously considering if staying in Mexico just for this was a good enough excuse.

Of course it was.

If it meant getting this treatment, you'd stay in a heartbeat; if disciplinary action was to be taken like this, you'd be in his office more than in your own barracks.

You'd fight your way into his bedroom.

Alejandro’s fingers curled inside you, while his tongue worked on your clit, making you squirm, gasp and moan his name, grabbing his coarse dark hair, pressing his face against you. The room filled with your sweet, pretty moans and the wet, more than obscene thrusting of his fingers inside your pussy. 

He grabbed your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark, spreading you even more open. 

You squeezed the muscles in your pelvis, feeling your orgasm bunch up, sending the nerves in your body into overload. You started panting, whispering his name, using his face as your own personal toy, your whole being so tense, that it took you a while to realize. 

Your orgasm crashed over you. The tension dissipated in a second, making you melt against his desk, moaning in pure ecstasy. 

Alejandro didn’t stop, his movements becoming more deliberate, his fingers slowing but deepening, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure from your body. You felt the aftershocks, your muscles contracting around his fingers as he eased you down from your high.

When he finally withdrew, you felt empty, unsatisfied. 

You needed more. 

He stood, his eyes dark with lust and satisfaction, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. He then took his fingers in his mouth, cleaning your arousal off of them. 

Your mouth opened at the sight, your breathy whimpers catching his attention. 

“Venga, güerita,” he said, grabbing you by the back of your neck. “De rodillas.”

C’mon, güerita. On your knees.

His tone came out as teasing, authoritative. You complied, sliding off the desk, your knees on the cold wood, your hands on his thighs, ready, impatient. 

You looked up at him, eyes wide and eager, the anticipation building in your chest. Alejandro’s gaze was intense, his eyes dark, filled with a primal desire that made your heart race. Alejandro undid his belt, the sound of nylon slipping through the loops of his combat pants echoing in the room. You licked your lips, your mouth watering at the thought of him.

Alejandro's hand brushed your cheek, his thumb tracing your lips before pushing into your mouth. You sucked on it eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the salty tang of his skin. He watched you, his eyes dark with lust, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“Abre,” (open) he ordered, and you obeyed, parting your lips, ready for him. He withdrew his thumb from your mouth, bunching up your hair, using his hand as a tie, to then guide you directly to the head of his cock, pressing it against your tongue. You moaned at the roughness, wrapping your swollen lips around him, taking him slowly. 

He groaned, the grip on your hair tightening. You could feel the heat of his arousal, the way he throbbed in your mouth; it only fuelled your desire. You took him deeper, ready to please him, to make him lose control. 

Alejandro groaned, pushing himself further into your mouth, pressing into your throat. Tears bunched up in your eyes, taking every inch of him, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The sensation was overwhelming, addicting; you were loving every second of it.

Alejandro's groans fueled your desire, each one reverberating through you, making you feel useful, submissive. You moved your head, sucking him deeper, feeling his cock throb against your tongue. His hand on your head guided your movements, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk for support.

He hissed through his teeth, the sound raw and primal, spurring you on. You could feel him twitching, his body tense with need, and you knew he was close.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Don’t stop.”

His words were a command and a plea, and you had no intention of stopping. You bobbed your head, taking him deep, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your face, your breath coming in short gasps around his cock, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was him, his pleasure, the way he was losing control because of you.

Alejandro’s grip on your hair tightened, pulling you closer, his thrusts becoming more urgent. You gagged slightly, but the discomfort only added to the intensity of the moment. You moaned around him, the vibrations making him groan louder, his hips bucking against your face. 

You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was trembling, his control slipping away.

With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his hot release filling your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the way he shuddered with each spasm of pleasure.

Alejandro pulled out of your mouth, his breathing ragged, his eyes glazed with satisfaction. You looked up at him, your lips swollen, your eyes still wet with tears, and saw the pride in his gaze.

He reached down, pulling you to your feet, his hands roaming your body, feeling every curve, every inch of your skin. 

Then, he kissed you.

His kiss was ravenous, claiming you with a hunger that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you against him, your bodies melding together. The taste of him lingered in your mouth, mingling with the sweet intensity of the kiss. You felt his erection, still hard and pressing against your stomach.

You had to be dreaming.

Alejandro broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a path of kisses in their wake. He bit gently at your skin, sucking lightly, guiding you back to the desk. 

He took you in his arms, placing your ass on the desk, a hand on your chest making you lower your back against the wood. He took off his shirt, the sight of his bare torso having you salivating. 

You were spread wide open waiting for him, taking in the sight of him. He swallowed thick, his mouth parted, a predatory gleam in his eyes. 

Then, he aligned his cock with your entrance. And slowly but surely made his way into you, painfully calm, loving the way in which you tried taking him faster than he wanted. 

Your whole body shuddered, a breathy moan escaping both your mouths. Feeling him balls deep inside you had you losing your mind, drunk off the sensation. You two barely moved for a couple seconds, looking into your eyes, realizing what you were doing.

Before moving, Alejandro grabbed your thighs, folding you in half, your knees against your shoulders, his body weight on you, pinning you into submission. His presence was overwhelming, intimidating, and utterly intoxicating.

Once he started moving, a knot formed in your throat. It was slow and deliberate at first, each thrust calculated to make you feel every inch. Your body responded instantly, your walls clenching around him, trying to draw him deeper. 

The way he filled you was too much, splitting you so good that it had you gasping for air. 

Alejandro's slow, deliberate thrusts made you see stars. Each movement was precise, hitting every sensitive spot within you, making your body respond with uncontrollable shivers. You were completely at his mercy, folded in half, making you feel small and vulnerable under him.

He watched you intently, his dark eyes burning with a primal hunger. The way he moved was almost torturous, dragging out every sensation, every gasp, every moan. Your nails dug into the wood of the desk, your body tense to withstand his intense, deep thrusts.

He had you moaning his name, gasping, whimpering. The sounds that were coming out of your mouth were so sinful, so obscene, that even the devil would catch himself blushing. His dick plowed into you, Alejandro admiring the way you frowned in pleasure, how you couldn’t shut up, all because of him.

“Lower your voice, güerita,”  he said with a smirk, the sound of skin slapping against skin, his thrusts plain up brute. “No quieras hacer que sepan a quien te estas cogiendo.”

You don’t want to let everyone know who you’re fucking.

The words barely registered when you felt his hand on the back of your head, grabbing a bunch of hair, pulling you to face the place where you two connected. Your free leg fell to rest on his shoulder, his grip on you harsh, dominant, forcing you to see how he drilled into you.

The sight was overwhelming. Watching his cock disappear inside you, over and over, slick with your arousal, had you on the brink of losing control. Alejandro's grip on your hair tightened, his other hand pressing your thigh against your chest, keeping you in place, dominating you completely.

The desk creaked under your combined weight, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing in the small room. Your breaths were ragged, each thrust sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through your body. Alejandro's pace quickened, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. 

Alejandro’s eyes were locked onto yours, possessive. Every thrust, every touch, every word he spoke was designed to drive you wild, to break down every barrier you had left.

Your mind was consumed by him, by the raw power and desire radiating from his every movement. You were his fuckdoll, surrendering to the primal urge that pulsed between you. 

The desk beneath you groaned in protest, barely holding on as you fucked like animals. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, lost in a haze of lust and need. Alejandro's thrusts were relentless, each one driving you deeper into a state of ecstasy. You felt like you were transcending your body, your whole being aching with pleasure.

He growled, a primal sound that sent shivers down your spine, his grip on you tightening as he neared his own release. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his movements became more urgent, more desperate.

The way he said your name, how the Spanish came out of his mouth like a prayer, had you in a haze, desperate, hungry. You wanted him inside you, rutting into you forever. 

Alejandro’s thrusts became erratic, silkier, smoother. He pulled your face harder into your chest, your only view your two bodies. You watched as his body tensed, heard how he moaned; his cock pulsing as pumped one last time into you, coating your insides with his cum, filling up to the brim. 

You cried out in ecstasy, his thick cock still twitching inside of you, your body destroyed, sweaty, sprinkled with goosebumps. 

For a moment, you were suspended in time, lost in the intensity of the moment. As the waves of pleasure began to become weaker, you collapsed against the desk, used, satisfied.

Then, you realized. A wave of guilt ran through you, the position you were in embarrassing you deeply. 

You had fucked Alejandro, again. 

He looked at you with caution, your expression not helping him be at ease. You dragged your T-shirt back on, the fabric damp and wrinkly, the coldness of the room bringing you back to reality. 

What had you done? 

You were out of your mind. 

The realization hit you hard, the after-sex clarity giving away the blend of guilt and confusion. Alejandro, still catching his breath, watched you carefully. The intensity of what had just happened lingered in the air, heavy, undeniable. 

You pulled away from him, quickly going to look for your clothes in a futile attempt to cover how vulnerable you felt.  Alejandro’s eyes followed your movements with concern, unable to figure out what was going on in your head. 

You stood there, your heart racing, trying to make sense of the situation. The silence between you was palpable, and Alejandro’s presence made it even more intense. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Guilt and shame were weighing heavily on your heart, and you felt yourself struggling to stay composed. With each passing second, it felt like the walls were closing in, the reality of what you had done becoming all too real.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his pants already buttoned, his shirt on his hand. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed thick, turning to face him like a lost puppy. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m great.”

He took a step towards you, closing the distance between you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what was going through your mind. “Hey, talk to me, please.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “It’s… This wasn’t meant to happen. I didn’t come in here for this.” 

Alejandro’s eyes narrowed slightly, confusion evident on his face. 

“I’ve realized that I don’t want this, whatever it is.”

“Then, what?” he said, desperate. 

“I need to go,” you blurted out, turning on your feet.

But before you could walk away, Alejandro’s hand grabbed your shoulder softly, barely a graze as to not startle you. 

“Wait,” he started. “Don’t go.”

His voice came out as a whisper, low and defeated. 

You turned to face him, your breath hitched in your throat. 

“I didn’t do this as a punishment, or in the heat of the moment,” he said, his eyes digging into yours. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

You froze in place, his hand on you the only thing keeping you from losing touch with reality. 

“Quédate aquí, güerita, únete a Los Vaqueros.”

Stay here, güerita, join Los Vaqueros.

“I’m part of the US Army, Alejandro,” you smiled humorlessly. “I can’t.”

“Things could be arranged.”

“My war is not here,” you said plainly. “I’ve got responsibilities.”

He nodded to himself, pressing his lips into a small line. 

Then, he looked at you, taking in every feature of yours. 

His eyes were dark, glistening with something you couldn’t quite recognize. Maybe it was sadness, maybe it was disappointment, you weren’t sure.  

“Is this how it ends?” he said. 

You looked at him, hurt.

“I can’t see a different outcome,” you whispered. 

He nodded, his jaw pressed shut. 

The room fell silent. 

You were scared. 

He was disappointed. 

But it was how things were meant to be. 

It was the end, even if you didn’t want it to be like that.

—————

A/N: God, I’m so sorry for those of you who don’t know Spanish, but this fanfic is SO much hotter without the translations. Also, seriously thinking about making a part 3, buuuut… not sure. On one hand I need more of Alejandro, but idk how to develop a relationship that started out as sexual, lmao

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

➷ you want to suck my what? | l.hs

pairing: vampire!heeseung x fem!reader

feat.: aespa’s winter & karina, nct’s renjun & jaemin, svt’s jeonghan, txt, and more!

genre(s): vampire au, supernatural au, smau, fluff, crack, potential angst and a pinch of suggestiveness 🤏🏻😁

synopsis: after an extra year of hardwork and dedication, y/n makes it into the most prestigious school in the country – decelis academy. but what awaits her through it’s iron gates is a hell of a ride; filled with crackhead roommates, secret-harbouring childhood friends, the mysterious student council, millennia-old rivarly and a bloody, bloody romance.

re-release date: July 2023

update schedule: TBD

warnings: language, blood mentioned (obviously), im not following coventional vampire lore here, they’re all a little bit weird honestly, alot of simping, daddy jokes, dirty and unhinged humor, more as we go along! remember, this is a vampire au and my work, so if you have a problem with anything feel free to drop it!

an: aaaaand we’re back! thanks so much for being so patient with me and the development of this smau 🥹 a bit of a head’s up again, i haven’t read enhypen’s webtoon so any correlations are completely coincidental! i hope you guys enjoy the ride 😜 also !! i’m not taking the tag list from the last release in case people don’t wanna be on it anymore or wtvr !!

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

profiles 1 | 2

chapter one: sweet soul of laveau

chapter two: daddy issues

chapter three: the opening ceremony

chapter four: parasocial relationships

chapter five

…

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

send an ask to be added to the taglist !

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scintillasofbeomgyu © all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost in any way.

[andyling]

Okay now that I got my Tango rambling out of the way IT’S TIME FOR A BUNCH OF OTHER PEOPLE

Jimmy Solidarity (aka the man sending team rancher fans into a collective breakdown, it’s me I'm team rancher fans)

stealth mission IMMEDIATELY failed

THE FACT THAT TANGO WAS OUT OF RANGE OF THE BOMB AND THEN RAN RIGHT UNDER IT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tango congratulating Jimmy on killing him (even though it was Joel) Team Ranchers is still alive guys I swear, NO ANGST HERE IT’S FINE GUYS

Love how Joel is being attacked and Grian is nowhere to be found because he’s too busy hunting down Impulse

jimmy shouting tango’s name and literally jumping towards him as he places tnt counts as a rancher moment 

either he’s stupid or he was confident tango wouldn’t blow him up, it’s probably the former but hey I choose how I interpret this chaos

JIMMY WAS SO CLOSE TO DYING HOLY SHIT 

JIMMY’S FUCKING FACE WHEN MARTYN STARTED ATTACKING ETHO

mans was literally just :O

“what I'm realizing right is that everyone is thirsty” did ya have to phrase it like that??? I can hear the out of context compilations clipping this

Jimmy sounding so shocked that Tango was fighting Martyn as if he didn’t just spend several minutes fending him off from killing Joel

oh uh, the flower husbands are fighting

SCOTT THROWING TANGO UNDER THE BUS BRUUUUUUUH

damn flower husbands enjoyers must be in absolute misery

anyways WOO JIMMY DIDN’T GO AFTER TANGO, GUYS THE RANCHERS ARE FINE WE DON’T NEED TO MAKE ANGST FROM THIS

JIMMY AND MARTYN FIGHTING TO KILL SCOTT AJFSJAKFHDSHJGK

love how Jimmy is not even trying to find Tango he’s just there watching this chaos unfold

“guys he’s not gonna respond” Jimmy you underestimate how dumb your rancher is, there is a reason I call both of you wet cats

WHY IS THERE REDSTONE BLOOD EVERYONE?????

JOEL JUST WENT SPLAT

the way jimmy hunches over closer to his mic when he’s whispering is so funny, he’s trying to hide irl 

ah yes, “the bad boys bread bridge bakery in the sky” my beloved

hey now Jimmy has been trying to protect Joel for half the session don’t kick him out, I mean he failed but at least he was trying

ending the session with robbery, how wonderful

Grain

“looking tasty” aaaaand that’ going into the out of context compilation

JOEL SOUNDS SO DISTRAUGHT THAT HE KILLED CLEO

Grian seems to be extra manic this episode, I'm blaming that on the fact that he missed a session

the entire “definitely” bit is so stupid but I find it so funny

GRIAN WAS TRYING SO HARD TO GET IMPULSE AND ENDED UP DYING INSTEAD AJFHSAJFHDSSFKJSDGF

“normally this is last episode behavior” I mean last session was last episode behavior too I think this season has just made everyone crazy

DUDE GRIAN WAS SO SURE THAT TNT MINECART FAILED AND THEN HE GOT A TRIPLE KILL

HE ALMOST KNOCKED HIMSELF OFF THE PLATFORM IN HIS SHOCK

oh my god the yellow hoard is even funnier from their perspective

the pufferfish plays are insane goddamn

THE TANGO CHASE IS EVEN FUNNIER FROM GRIAN’S POV OH MY GOD SERIOUSLY HOW DID THEY NOT CATCH HIM

THEY JUST KEEP CALLING HIM AND HE RESPONDS FROM WHO KNOWS WHERE IN THE FUNNIEST VOICE

“How about we just kill him for fun now?” SCAR NO

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S A WARDEN NEARBY HELLO?!??!?!

tango just has a 6th sense for wardens now

awwwwww grian’s sharing in order to help skizz (pity totem is still totem)

someone is gonna trap those ender-porters I just know it

THAT WAS SUCH A WASTE OF A TOTEM 

MARTYN INTHELITTLEWOOD EVERYBODY

the mean gills chatting on their little island resort really contrasts how badly the rest of this session is gonna go

WELL DAMN SCOTT SMAJOR

THE FACT THAT MARTYN SAW THE TNT MINECART AND FUCKING BOOKED IT THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION HE WAS SO CLOSE TO DYING

Bdubs running to Etho for protection is hilarious in every POV

the bread bois and team ties have a fast travel to each other . . . we’ll see how that works out (please become allies please please please)

LOVE HOW MARTYN ACKNOWLEDGES THE OUT OF CONTEXT VIDEOS NOW AFJKHSAJKGHDKSGKH

MARTYN ON HIS PSYCHO ARC OH MY FUCKING GOD

MARTYN’S DECISION TO TURN ON ETHO WAS SO QUICK AND IT’S SO OBVIOUS HERE HE JUST LOOPED AROUND AND STABBED HIM

Martyn didn’t even realize Tango was still trying to kill him lmao

THE PUFFERFISH DIED IN THE EXPLOSION OH NO

poor scar stood in the wrong place at the wrong time

Etho trying desperately to get people to leave Tango and Impulse alone

MARTYN WAS SO FAR AWAY HOW DID THAT TNT MINECART KILL HIM HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THE RANGE ON THOSE THINGS?!?!?!

god Martyn is just having an awful time trying to stay alive this session

DUDE THE SCRAMBLE TO SEE WHO WOULD KILL SCOTT FIRST IS WAY MORE INTENSE FROM MARTYN’S POV FUCKING HELL

bruh Martyn really teasing us all with actual lore 

So uh, yeah that session was bonkers SEE Y’ALL NEXT WEEK

[themagnusbane]

GAP The Series Episode 12 Thoughts

Aaaaaand we have made it to the very last episode. And boy it has been quite the thrilling ride. Now, I give my final thoughts on the series as a whole, at the very end of this post, but for now, I am strapped in, eager to see what Idol Factory will be giving us for our series finale (thank the universe that the angst is ending this episode cuz I don't think I have the strength to watch my girls cry for more than 2 episodes. Nope. I am not God's strongest soldier. I'm a weak ass bitch, who hates PAIN!!!!!), and keeping my fingers crossed that they stick the landing!

It probably says something horrible about me, but the glee I felt watching the previous episode snippet of Dishonourable Grandmother screaming for Sam as she walks away from her and her toxic mansion, is making me cackle so loud!!! Utterly satisfying!

2. Urgh!!! The pain I feel at Sam crying at the loss of her grandmother and asking if Mon will love her forever, because now she's separated from the one family that has defined her, and I am in so much PAIN!!! Because this isn't fair! This isn't right! Dishonourable Grandmother's abuse has so sunk into Sam that now she's floundering and wondering if there can be her without her grandmother and it's just heartbreaking because that's the codependency that abusers strive for, and my poor baby Sam, you deserve the world. You deserve better than what you got. Family shouldn't do that to you, especially when it's the only family you thought you had left. THIS IS PAIN!!!!!

3. My dearest Mon. YOU ARE AN ANGEL!!!! Look at Mon trying to comfort Sam, and telling her that she can have both: she can have the love of her life, and also have the love of her grandmother, and Mon is willing to help Sam fight to have both. And I'm crying because although Mon is that kind and loves Sam that much, that she realizes just how much Sam loves her grandmother, and separating form her would break her, the Dishonourable Grandmother, doesn't have that same insight, or just doesn't care. She is willing to break Sam, so she can get her own way, and Sam would be forced down the path she wants her to take, and that is just so painful to witness, because those you love shouldn't want to break you like that. But alas, abusers can do nothing but abuse the love and care you have previously extended to them. This is breaking my fucking heart, and I need to give Sam ALL the hugs!!!

4. Wanna bet that the person calling is fucking Kirk?

5. Aaaaaaand I was right. URGH!!! This phone call is giving me the call of doom. Like the minute Mon picks up, it will be something guilt-tripping like Dishonourable grandmother is in the hospital, and she needs Sam to marry Kirk as the incentive for waking up from like a coma or something. Which if this is the path that they take with this phone call, I AM LOSING MY SHIT!!!!!

6. They really did. They really did "Your grandmother is in the hospital". How. Fucking. Original. And of course, all the work from the previous episode will go down the drain because even whilst in a coma, Dishonourable grandmother is still a MANIPULATIVE BITCH!

7. Thank the heavens Nueng is here!!! Maybe she can speak some sense into her.

8. Aaaaand I spoke too soon. Sam honey. It's not about winning or losing. It's about your grandmother's abuse and you breaking away from that. Because what I foresee is a lifetime of her being able to use her frailties as yet another weapon in the arsenal of her abuse, and my heart is breaking for Sam because her grandmother is so clearly succeeding. AND URGH!!!!!!

9. But she's right though to call out Neung though. They are both being sucked into Dishonourable grandmother's wishes. The difference is that her sister at least knows this and resents it. Whilst Sam is resigned to this. Which, once again... FUCK!!!! But she is right in telling Sam to break up with Mon though. Let baby girl Mon go. Keeping her on a leash after she's decided to follow Dishonourable Grandmother's wishes is unfair. And now we will probably have them separated from each other until like the last 10mins of the show. Which... URGH!!!!!!!

10. Yuki is such a good friend. My queen!!!

11. Mon saying that she should have known that their relationship wouldn't last, and that of course Sam would pick her grandmother... MY HEART!!! This show is so determined to crush my heart into tiny smithereens. I'm dead inside.

12. The fact that Tee and Jim rushed over immediately to be with Mon is making me cry even harder. I just love the way this show has depicted the relationships between these group of women. Sure they are Sam's besties, but they have also adopted Mon into their group, and now that their bestie has been forced to break Mon's heart, they are there to offer Mon emotional support, and even Kade is desperate to come over, even though she's on set. They really are the ideal! And now I'm crying all over again!!

13. Me too Jim!! I really hate it when people leave things unresolved. It's something that is making me really resentful in this episode. Sam's been told to break up with Mon. Choosing to instead ignore her calls and refuse to speak with her, is very frustrating. It's this whole leaving her plunging at a precipice, and the only person it serves is Sam, who's chosen her grandmother, and by extension has stuck her head in the sand. Mon isn't getting the closure to move on, and although I know why Sam is doing that, it still reads as selfish because Mon deserves to have that thread snapped off, rather than it being pulled taunt, keeping them still connected because Sam isn't brave enough to make that choice. But I guess that is something that Sam's been battling with this entire series: her bravery. And this yo-yoing is driving me nuts!

14. Hold up. So it's not ONLY Mon that she's ignoring? She's gone radio silent on everyone??? Fuuuuuuuuuck. Sam baby girl. You can tell that she's distraught. And now she's cut off all contact. And the only people she's with is Dishonourable Grandmother, and Kirk the trash heap. Urgh!!!

15. I repeat. Sam's friends are the best!!! The fact that they're the ones forcing this. To give Mon the chance to move on. But are also willing to provide her the support, if she does want to walk away without having this final conversation with Sam? Best. Friends! For real! No show's doing female friendships like these! I love these women!!!

16. Gghjghjghjghjghjg. OMG!!! OMG!!! OMFGGGGGGG!!! Yuki just called Tee BABY!!! Yes!!! I HAVE ASCENDED!!!! GAY JESUS THANK YOU!!! LESBIAN JESUS WE ARE GRATEFUL FOR THIS MORSEL!!!

17. Hold up! HOLD THE FUCK UP! They are married??? She is marrying Kirk for real???? And It's not until her wedding day that Mon gets this closure??? Not from Sam, but through their mutual friends? What in the??? SAM WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?? WHAT IN THE FUCKK IS THIS??? WHO WROTE THIS?? WHO THOUGHT THIS WAS IN ANYWAY OKAY???????

18. You know what? At this point I'm just exhausted. And done. This conversation... That Sam is having THIS conversation, whilst IN her wedding dress, ON her wedding day, and from what Mon has said, has ignored all of Mon's messages to her, until this very moment??? Mon is a much better, kinder and more forgiving person than I am. Because I would be screaming right now. And now in a good, sexy way. Mon sweetheart. You deserved so much better than this!!

19. Sam, Dishonorable grandmother falling ill IS NOT YOUR FAULT!!! Her body's the one that is LITERALLY failing her. It's got NOTHING to do with you. I swear, if at some point, this show doesn't address this huge ass fallacy, taken straight from an abuser's handbook, I. AM. GOING. TO. RIOT!!!

20. Wait. I'm confused. So were those pre-wedding pictures that they were taking? What is with this editing???

21. Yes Mon! That's good news!! Travel to England. Move on. Find a new great love. Leave everything behind. I am not the one dealing with all of things, but I'M EXHAUSTED!!! I can't even begin to imagine how Mon feels.

22. You go Mon beloved!! Get that post-heartbreak haircut!! Plus, it just makes Becky's face look even more angelic and beautification!! Absolutely stunning.

23. The audacity of dishonorable grandmother to say she would do anything to make Sam happy, whilst literally listening to Sam cry her eyes out because she's being forced into a marriage she doesn't want, to make her dishonorable ass happy? I AM LIVID!!!

24. Awwww. Her coworkers cheering her on, is making me so sad. So many people love Mon, and are so sad to see her go. And you know what? Valid. I love Mon too, and if I was in this universe, I would be spitting mad that because of dishonorable grandmother's comfort and wishes, Mon wouldn't be in anyone's lives in Thailand anymore. I repeat, this IS ASS!!!!!!

25. I know the show is expecting me to be ecstatic about DIshonourable grandmother and Kirk having a change of heart, but you know what? Fuck that. This is too sudden. We have been given NO hints that this woman and Kirk and the trash heap have been reconsidering the vileness that is this goal of theirs. To have it suddenly pop up feels unearned. Like the story needs to wrap up quickly so boom! We will have her grandmother change her mind. And honestly, I am over it. We still haven't tackled the abuse. It goes beyond just you being selfish Dishonorable grandmother. And the fact that we can see traces of you making it about you, and not the pain that Sam is going through??

26. I know that this show wants us cheering Sam rushing to make it to Mon to tell her that she's now gotten permission from Dishonourable grandmother and they can now be together. But you know what? Fuck that. I sincerely hope that by the time she gets to Mon's house, her parents tell her that she's already left for the airport. And that when Sam calls Jim to ask where they are, they tell her that Mon's plane has already left. They need to make her work to earn my girl, Mon back. I am vindictive enough to want that. Mon deserves that. After all the bullshit Sam and her family have put her through. But knowing this show, we are probably not going to get that.

27. I swear, the only reason why the premise of this show is able to work is because Mon is a Mary Sue character. That quick easy forgiveness and hug that she's given Sam right now? If it were me, I am first screaming at her for almost killing everyone in the car, especially Jim who is HEAVILY pregnant. Then telling her that nope. I'm going back to England. Cuz fuck EVERYTHING!!!! But alas. Mon is a much better, kinder, and sweeter person than me. So here we are.

28. Now that I've resigned myself to the fact that we are getting this rushed resolution and reunion, I will like to admit that this scene of their confession and reunion is soooo cute!!! ALL THAT COLOUR!!!!! It's sooooo pretty!!

29. OMG!!! It's Saint. My pretty pretty boy!!!!

30. Sam being all "I shall shout to the world that MON IS MINE!!!!!" is giving me life!!! Yes! That's a good start to making it up to us and Mon. Make that love visible!! Shout it from the rooftops!!

31. Now I know the reason why they've brought Saint, is to show Dishonourable grandmother that there are other royal people like her, who aren't homophobic, and his words have got her thinking outside the box... But I really don't like her as a person, and I'm miffed that every time I smile at Saint's pretty face, she shows up!

32. WE ARE GETTING A WEDDING!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! This is sooo awesome!! And the colour of choice is Mon's pink hues??? Be still my heart!!!

33. Hold up a second. Is that Chin? Are he and Yha together??? I thought he was married??? Is he now divorced and with Yha??? I AM CONFUSED!!!!

34. I'm still wary of everything grandmother says. But I get it that this show is trying extra hard to remake our opinion of her, and even pulling in Nueng to do so. I don't buy it one bit. But I'm here for my girls being married, so I guess, I'll just have to live with that.

35. THEIR WEDDING DRESSES!!! I AM DEAD!!!! They both look so radiant. My babies. My hearts. MY LOVES!!! GAH!!!!!!!!

36. Their vows!! OMG!!! This is so beautiful. It's everything I've ever wanted. My heart!!!!

37. Hehehehe. I was hoping that either Yuki or Kade would catch the Bouquet. But having it be Kade and Kirk? Not bad. Not bad at all! Hehehehehe.

38. Awwwwww. That was beautiful. Her loving pink now because of Mon? My babies ARE married!!!!!

Aaaaaand we made it!!! This entire show was a rollercoaster. Am I still slightly miffed that we never actually tackled how abusive Sam's grandmother was? Yes. But am I surprised that the show didn't? Nope. I don't think it's a discourse that society is ready for. We are always so quick to sweep over the "sins" of our elders as long as they are moderately acceptive of our queerness, and I guess I am not surprised that Gap maintained that.

What I am happy about though is that we got a full-length GL series, that centered women and our queerness and also our community. Not only was it Sam and Mon's incredible love story, but we also saw two other sapphic romances. We also saw friendships amongst women. The type where they show up for one another, and also accept their friend's lover into their circle and become her friend in turn. It was beautiful and amazing and I hope we get more of stories like that.

And can I also say, I'm really appreciative that they didn't make any of the women catty? Like I thought for a second that they were going to make Nita this femme fatale. Especially with her noticing Sam and Mon's couple bracelets. But that didn't show up, and I love that!

GAP the series made my Saturdays enjoyable and I am definitely going to come back and rewatch it over and over again.

Thank you to everyone who came on this ride with me. If you want me to share my thoughts on other series like I have done for Gap, please come into my ask box, and drop your recs. Just make sure that they are gay and interesting and I will definitely get around to checking them out.

Until next time...

See ya!

[nompunhere]

do you have any bug game stories that are more romantic than platonic? (not sexual ofc) safe noms with lovey-dovey nonsense is peak fiction for me

hmmmmge, in terms of ones I've already written, I've got like 2 or 3:

Where Ash Drifts Like Snow - C/rimson N/ails (so M/arkoth/X/ero), pre-relationship, they're both crushing hard, definitely fluff

Tender Moments - Q/uirrell/emm (or L/emmq/uirrel, whichever we call it), the definition of lovey-dovey nonsense, there's hardly any plot to it it's just 2.6k words of fluff

Bug Bites 3 - Chipped, the first ficlet there, has some fluffy Q/uirrell/emm again, and the one after that, Stealth Nap, has that pairing + T/iso, but any romance is maybe just sorta implied? A little?

Oh and there's This 2-part Thing - Not bug game, but notable in that the couple there is technically a romantic pairing, lot of angst with a touch of hurt/comfort at the end. if it helps I was picturing it with X/ero as the pred and M/arkoth as the prey while writing it lmao

aaaaaand because of my usual bs, here's a couple tidbits of stuff I have in the idea doc and outlines of unwritten fics that happen to involve romance below the cut (so many pheckin images)

gonna start off with the complete outlines, for which I have three that basically set up Quirreloro and that's about it for romance:

Interlude. not vore, but vore gets referenced at the end.

Storytime. Oro is enlisted to share an anecdote from his and Quirrel's shared history. Can't remember if it's pre-relationship or established.

Research Project. Let's just say you're bound to figure out where you stand with someone when you're that close for that long ;)

next up, future Bug Bites:

Tisoquirrel fluff (and Ghost is also there). Shenanigans ensue.

Crimson Nails. Those two are still crushing super hard on each other but may or may not get slightly less useless about it.

Tisoquirreloro. Or Tisoquirrel at least, Oro isn't too involved yet. More shenanigans ensue.

...Ogrisma? I don't know how people tend to write out the ship name but yeh. Fluffy fluff. Finally, a semi-functional couple

Crimson Nails again. They may or may not be aware of how useless they are and may or may not work towards fixing that.

Clothmyla. Seriously I don't know what the ship names are for a lot of these. Anyway, uhhh. Attempt at lessbeans. Gotta start somewhere!

Aaaaand finally, an Assortment of Other Ideas. hh.

Crimson Nails, Xero moves into with his boyfriend. Hurt/comfort.

Cold Night 2, electric boogaloo, and this time it's Tisoquirreloro. Many much cuddols.

Oh wait I guess that's about it for the romance fic ideas without going into things that are more plot than noms/fluff. and I've already gotten way ahead of myself anyway, so. e ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ enjoy the patches of content ! probably gonna ramble in the tags again

[impossibleprincess35]

"In Vain"

Aaaaand here we go for more Obitine Week! (@weekofobitine)

Prompts for day two: Castle Kryze, mistake, soldier.

I give you angst and sadness and feels on AO3.

[leighsartworks216]

Papers (Songfic)

Damien/Dark x DA!reader

Requested by Anon:

“I don’t know if requests are open or not, but this is the anon that requested the songfic from Hadestown! After you posted the fic, I wanted to wait a bit before asking for a possible continuation of it based on the song Papers (“You’re not from around here, son…”) from the same musical where Dark finds out the D/A with Mark and he finds out about their deal. Would you want to write something like that?”

I'm so so so sorry this took so long but I love that you keep requesting Hadestown songs bc I love the music. I just have to actually get around to listening to the entire soundtrack at some point lol

Also, this one is laid out a little bit differently than my usual songfics. Basically instead of having the lyrics break up certain paragraphs and stuff, I interlaced them with the dialogue (and some of the "narration" 👀)

Warnings: Actor is an asshole but like we been knew, angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of some events from WKM

Word Count: 1337 (oh my god I wish this was a lie how tf did I manage that)

Masterlist

Tag List Form

Stage crew dashed to and fro, positioning props to perfection and preparing the set for filming. It was a hive of activity. One person frantically ran around trying to give the right coffee to the right performers. Another brushed makeup on Mark’s cheeks and forehead. You even spied two sneaking off together. Even after so long, it still all made your head spin.

How long had it been since you were set free? Since you made that deal? Everything all felt like a blur.

Mark had indeed taken you to dinner, but it wasn’t exactly what you expected. By the end of your ‘performance’, you were agreeing to a fake proposal and being dragged deeper into the acting world. He promised to show you the ropes; take you under his wing. Perhaps that’s why he came up with another production: A heist.

You felt out of place navigating your ‘lines’ and actions around actors built to play their roles. These people were professionals, passionate about their jobs and what they’ve been hired to do. You were being suffocated in a situation you couldn’t get out of.

“You remember your lines?” You opened your mouth, but Mark cut you off with an arrogant laugh. You didn’t have any lines. Not spoken ones, anyway. “That’s the spirit! Just follow me and make sure you don’t mess this up. We’re behind schedule on filming enough without you-”

“Quiet on set!”

Mark grumbled as he was cut off by the director. The small bit of satisfaction you felt was quickly washed away with one of his signature grins. He straightened his hair back and prepared himself to act. He really did live for this.

“Alright, aaaaand ACTION!”

Mark pumped his fists excitedly. “Yes! Okay! Awesome! All right, okay. This is gonna be great! And don’t you worry about a thing because our watches are still synchronized, which means that…”

Your mind zoned out as you listened to him go on and on. He loved giving himself long paragraphs to recite. Maybe it was just to show off how brilliant he was. You followed your queue, turning away so Mark could be dragged away and eaten or killed or whatever. You turned back and, yup, there was his flashlight. You looked down the hall he was supposed to go down and-

Wait. This wasn’t in the script.

“Uhm, Mark?”

Your voice echoed in the darkness. There was no more set. There was no more crew. This darkness looked too familiar; too similar to the mirror you were stuck in. But there was no going back.

Lining the walls of the hallway were portraits. It only took a moment to remember who each face belonged to. The chef. The butler. The detective… William. A deep chill ran down your spine, joining the heavy emotions resting at the bottom of your stomach.

All of them were there. You remember the butler, crying over that mess in the cellar. The chef, who threatened you every time you so much as glanced in his direction. Abe, your partner in solving the murder. And William. Your murderer. A pink moustache was crudely painted over his portrait, and nothing in your memories could answer why. But you remembered falling over the banister. The way he reached out to grab you. And then waking up… And…

The final portrait at the end of the hall was of Mark, back when everyone was alive. Back when the only worries you had involved poker and drinking. The paint flaked away and fell to the floor, disintegrating into ash.

“It’s… good to see you, old friend.”

That voice…

You turned to its source. A man in a white suit, rimmed with red and blue. His skin was grey. All of him was grey. Yet even through the strange aura surrounding him, you knew. You knew exactly who this was.

“Damien?”

A blue afterimage of himself glitched to the side at the sound of his name. It was gone as soon as it appeared. His lips formed a tight grin. “I don’t go by that name any more.” The strain in his voice, in his entire body, softened as he fully took you in. “It’s been so long, my dear district attorney. I was so worried about you.”

“I don’t go by that name anymore,” you repeated back to him. Your emotions were laid out on your sleeve. Your face contorted with confusion and sadness and longing and betrayal. You were angry, but you wanted to run into his arms. You were so sad, you missed him so much, but you wanted to stand your ground. You took in a shaky breath. “Why didn’t you come back for me?”

“I did,” he stated. “I did come back for you.”

You shook your head. “No, you didn’t. You left me in the mirror. You stole my body. You left me there for years, Damien.” He flinched at the name, but said nothing. “You have no idea the hell I went through, waiting for you to come back for me.”

“Then let me make it up to you,” he began. He stepped forward, hand outstretched carefully, as if he carried an olive branch. “Let me free you now from Mark’s silly games. You can stop running around in endless circles, making choices that mean nothing. You can be free from the hell he’s putting you through - be truly free, once and for all.”

You frowned at the poor, naive entity before you. “You have no idea, do you?”

A frown took over his own hopeful expression. “What-”

“There you are!” A voice, energetic and irritated, split the darkness. You didn’t need to turn to feel the man’s presence behind you, glaring daggers over your shoulder at not-Damien who did so right back. “What are you doing here?”

Dark’s entire form tensed up. His hands found their place behind his back. Glitches and afterimages shot out from his body. “I’m here to free them,” he growled.

Mark’s laugh, as cocky as ever but laced with menace, sounded next to your ear. You nearly cringed away from it. “Who do you think you are?” Even his voice was interwoven with incredulity. “They couldn’t go anywhere even if they wanted to.”

You turned and placed a firm hand on Mark’s chest. “Stop.” It was weak, pleading. If anything, he was spurred on more by your weakness.

“Stay out of this, dear attorney” he mocked, “the adults are talking.”

The entity snarled, egged on by Mark’s dismissal. “I’m not going back alone,” he threatened. “I came to take them home, and I fully intend to.”

Another raucous laugh. “Oh, you don’t know?” Cold eyes full of amusement looked down at you, as they always have and always would. You avoided his gaze. Another pair of eyes stared at your back, waiting for answers you wished to avoid giving. “When you abandoned them, I gave them a deal to get them out. You weren’t coming back around any time soon to free them, were you?”

Dark grit his teeth.

“They signed the deal themself,” he sing-songed.

“You’re lying.”

“And now,” he spun you back around to face your old friend, arm wrapped around your shoulder to keep you close, “they belong to me.”

“It isn’t true.” Dark eyes met yours, pleading for a different answer, for a different truth. He came back to rescue you; free you from the world Mark trapped you in. But, after all this time, it was still his fault you were here. “What he said-”

“I did,” you cut him off. Your voice was thick. Your eyes burned. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I do.”

Mark’s sickening grin appeared right over your shoulder, his face pressed right next to yours. You visibly flinched, and oh how Dark longed to rip you away from that son of a bitch. But his feet were glued to the spot. His shoes were filled with lead.

“Now,” the actor began, “go back to where you came from.”

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@hyperfixat

[aredsunrise]

You're Also The Priority

Notes : It is an Leon S Kennedy x original female character (Charlie Miller) fic. 22 y/o oc. Long chapter.

Summary : It all started when Ashley and her old friend, Charlie, returned from their school. Before they could understand what was happening, a tough man had kidnap them and took them to Spain. Separate from Ashley, when they arrived in an old, weird village, Charlie made it her mission to find her and get away as soon as possible. This is how an agent, who was supposedly there to rescue her and Ashley, found her.

CW : Angst? - Slow Burn - Canon-Typical Violence - Fluff? - Bad Writing - Mutual Pining - Flirting

Words : 2 413

Charlie try to survive. Leon is there to kill aaaaand Luis and Charlie meets ! Youpii !

Good reading !

PS: I apologize for the mistakes. Since the chapter is really longer, I don't necessarily see everything.

Part Three

She found herself locked up again, but this time in a smaller and more sinister room than the first. She had to go out, she couldn't take it anymore. Charlie didn't know how long she had been asleep. The lack of light and the missing windows prevented him from having an idea of the weather. It drove her mad and nauseous. With shaking hands, she removed her dress, as if it prevented her from breathing. Keeping only her pants and the thick white shirt she had stolen. As she threw the clothes around the room, she heard the sound of a distant voice and without further ado, provided herself with a candlestick, larger than those in his old room. She had managed to escape by knocking out one of the inhabitants that way, it could still work.

"Ashley Graham, are you in here?" she heard clearly when the door opened. Without looking she tried to knock the person out, without success and hit the ground. She tried again, but the person stopped her by grabbing the candlestick.

"Easy with that!"

When she finally looked up, she saw the man that was supposed to rescue her and Ashley. 

"You."

"Listen," said the blond man - Leon. "I'm-"

It was insane, but she didn't care to listen to him right now, getting away from her prison was the first thing she needed. She let a sigh escape her lips as she started to run, leaving him in the room. She didn't stop very far, just in front of a window and analyzed what was out there.

"Hey. It's dangerous outside," warned Leon as he approached her. "You need to listen to me-"

"I think we're having trouble", Charlie interrupted, pointing at the window. In the distance villagers with torches came towards them, in what Charlie understood to be, a church. Leon practically stuck to her to watch what she was pointing at. Suddenly a voice that came from nowhere began to resonate.

" Pursue them"

A huge headache seized her. Closing her eyes, Charlie saw the man with the hood. She could just see him talking, murmuring some stuff as his voice echoed in her head.

 "The lost lambs are escaping... Deliver unto them... Salvation."

When the voice and the headache ceased, Charlie opened his eyes and noticed the villagers who were far away, were only now in front of the church. She met the agent's gaze for a moment before he looked out the window again.

"Stick to the wall", he orders her.

"OK..." she responded by doing as he asked her. "What do we do now?"

"The president trusts me", Leon replied while turning to her. "And I need you to trust me too and do exactly as I say. I'm gonna get you and Ashley home safe."

Charlie just nodded. There was a noise downstairs and Leon waved at her to stay still as he walked over to the ledge in front, glancing at what was going on. He leaned down and Charlie did the same as she approached him.

"All right, let's get the hell out of here."

They walked to the left in a squatting way and looking up there was a closed ladder.

"Get the ladder," said Leon. 

"Me?" she said as he gestured for her to climb onto him. "OK."

She climbed on his back to get on his shoulders and as soon as he got up, she was able to reach a part of the ladder. When Charlie got to the top, she kicked the ladder, which freed it. She went upstairs and found herself in an attic with no exit.

"There's no way out," she indicated to Leon when he reached her. He didn't answer. Instead, he went to the window and after a last look at the back, he jumped. When the young woman approached the window and saw the height, she froze.

"No way!"

"It's OK. I've got you."

Charlie looked behind her, searching for another exit that wouldn't kill her. 

"Hey, trust me," reassured Leon. 

"Fine! - Fine, I jump..." 

She boarded the window and after taking a deep breath jumped into the void. She kept her arms against her chest, closing her eyes. Fear prevented her from releasing any scream or sounds. Leon got her, as he said, and kept it for a few moments, in his arms, until she came to her senses, before he lowered her gently to the stone ground. Wind and rain whipped Charlie's face. Automatically she crossed her arms against her chest to cover herself from the cold, not understanding how the agent at her side seemed to not care when he had short sleeves. 

"Th-Thanks." 

He jumped again to land on a dirt floor by answering a brief "It's my job" as Charlie took the less dangerous route up the ladder, not caring if he wanted her to jump again. Leon watched her descend, checking to see if she was okay as a sound echoed in his ears. Hunnigan. When Charlie put both feet on the ground, she saw the blond put his hand near her ear and talk to someone she couldn't hear. 

"Roost, I've secured Baby Rabbit... Affirmative."

"Baby Rabbit?"

Leon continued to talk as he moved forward. Charlie couldn't hear what the other person was telling him. Anyway with the wind and the rain she would never have heard anything. 

"Copy that," replied the agent before lifting a piece of furniture that was blocking their way.

"Am I Baby Rabbit?" asked Charlie. The blond only nodded. "I can't wait to know if Ashley gets a more adorable animal. Can I know?"

"Hers is less cute."

"Wow. I almost feel special for having a better animal than the president's daughter."

"I never say you have the better one," jokes for the first time the agent with a smirk that Charlie knew he had even though he turned his back on her. 

"The cutest is always the best", she replied with a confident tone and a smile on her face. Leon changed the subject, telling her, once again, that it was dangerous and that she had to stay close. Then, as they advanced, villagers with torches walked inside the church. A woman blocked their way from behind and without expecting it, Leon covered her mouth and stuck a knife in her throat before laying her on the ground. Charlie was sure she was going to puke over this sudden murder, but she knew he had no choice. The two crouched behind a rock near the gate as they saw another villager arrive. Unfortunately, he noticed them and started shouting something incomprehensible. Leon grabbed Charlie's hand and started running towards the cemetery.

"They're coming. Stay behind me!"

"OK!"

Her body was shaking and her heart was beating hard in her chest. They made their way and the blond shot two men who were blocking their way. They ran until they saw houses. There, a purple flame was with a man, near the stone wall. He wore a long black coat with a hood and a purple scarf that covered his face leaving only his eyes visible. And on his back, he had a huge backpack that was bigger than him. 

"Took care of a request, did you? I can tell by the look on your face," the man told him with an amused tone as Leon approach him but he didn't answer. Charlie didn't pay attention to what Leon was doing, preferring to cast worried glances around her at the sight of villagers. When he had finished, he touched the shoulder of the young woman who jumped. He apologized and told her to continue. The two walked towards the door of a house, which when entering was not one. As a fog blocked his view of the ground, Charlie noticed skulls and bones lying around. There were long tables and chairs all over the room.

"Who was the man outside?" questioned Charlie when they headed for another door on the other side.

"I don't know", Leon replied, kicking two barrels. "All I know is he's a merchant."

"Can we trust him?"

The blond turned to her as he opened the door.

"I don't know. He sells me useful things. If he's not on our side, we quickly find out."

The young woman nodded in response, not reassuring. As soon as they stepped outside, the wind whipped them. Charlie tried to cover her face with her hands without much success.

"Hunnigan was right about the weather..." 

They continued running and entered a house through the window. This was a plunge into darkness. As soon as Leon turned on a flashlight to see more clearly, a door opened on three villagers. Charlie reflexively cried out as she covered her ears when she saw Leon raise his gun. When he managed to get rid of them, they left the house. A bonfire stood in the middle of the square, at least illuminating the place. Charlie quickly got lost because Leon wanted to search every house. Sometimes she had to climb on his shoulders to unlock the door for him. They managed to reach another small corner filled with houses where dogs with strange and disgusting stuff came out of their backs. Leon had to fight other villagers, even one of them had a fucking cow face. They met the merchant, a second time before Leon dragged Charlie to a suspension bridge. The young woman was so scared when she felt the bridge move under her feet, but she couldn't stop. Especially not when she saw a man open a door and wave them over. 

Charlie started to run faster as best she could, only looking ahead, suspecting that several villagers were in the area or behind them. As soon as she entered the house, she put her hands on her knees, breathless. Her lungs were on fire. She felt Leon's hand settle on her shoulder reassuringly before he takes it off. Charlie looked up and she saw a man with long brown hair in a red jacket and blue or black pants.

"You!"

"Hey... Listen, about earlier... I-" the man tried to say, stepping back.

"Yeah, about that," replied Leon putting his fist on his chest to hold him against the wall. 

The man turned his gaze to Charlie who had got up, less out of breath than before. "Hey. I see you found your "missing señorita."

"My name is Charlie," she replied. "You are?" 

"Name's Luis. Encantado."

"Great, we all have names. Now then-" interrupted Leon, pushing him harder against the wall with his fist. "Who are you? And what're you doing here?"

"Very good questions, unfortunately..." replied Luis, pointing to the window with his chin. 

Leon let go of him immediately, approaching the window to see more clearly. "Hide. Now!" he ordered to Charlie.

She looked around but saw nothing useful.

"In that case, here, help me," said Luis, bending down to lift a cupboard. 

"Charlie, quick! Over here!"

Charlie walked over and after a last look at Leon leaned down to step into the hole. She heard the cabinet fall behind her.

That's it.

She was alone and a window shattered to her right. 

"Fuck!"

Without further ado, Charlie pushed a piece of furniture to prevent anyone from entering. She managed to do the same with another window, but there were still two left and she had nothing to cover them. She heard one of them break and villagers began to enter to her left.

"Fuck!"

She spotted a staircase and climbed it as fast as she could. Upstairs, there was no door, no exit, except for a window to her right.

"No choice."

She ran to it and tried to open it. It's blocked.

"You fucking kidding me!" she screamed, while the stress seized her when she heard the villagers coming up the stairs. "Fuck you all!"

She kicked as hard as she could at the window. It broke, giving her enough space to jump. Without wanting to check the height, she stood on the edge and despite the wood and the glass entering her skin, she jumped. Her legs hurt when she landed on the bottom, but it was bearable. What hurt her the most were the cuts she had made on her arm and hands. She heard gunshots not far from her and rushed towards them. Leon and Luis were not far away. She came to a door and opened it. She spotted the two men in the room.

"Leon! This way, Hurry!"

The two wasted no time and joined her. They ran until Leon pulled on a chain that lowered the portcullis. Charlie took a moment to catch her breath, bracing her back against the wooden wall. A sudden cough seized her. She put her hand over her mouth and saw blood there.

"Charlie?!" She heard Leon as he approached her. 

"What the hell," she panicked.

"Charlie," said Luis, taking her bloody hand. "Is this the first time you've coughed up blood like this?"

"Yes..."

"You wanna start explaining?" asked Leon. 

"The cough, the blood – It's caused by something called a... "plaga"."

Charlie and Leon looked at each other not understanding what Luis was telling them.

"OK. You saw those "people", right?" continued Luis approaching the portcullis. "Well, you have the same thing inside you. The same thing that made them like that."

Luis approached Charlie once again. "this, what you're experiencing. These symptoms... They're only the beginning."

"No-No! I don't want to become like them!" Charlie exclaimed.

"You are, well, lucky. You see, at this early stage, the parasite – the plaga. It is possible to remove it... with a surgical procedure. All you need is some know-how."

Luis showed them a part of his chest that showed a big scar. "And, oh yeah – the right equipment."

"Wait. You too?" asked Leon. 

"No worries. See I have a plan," Luis replied, stepping back. "But you're going to have to trust me."

Leon turned to Charlie. She shrugged and nodded. Did they really have a choice? 

The agent did the same thing to Luis.

"Great! We're partners then!"

"Hey, why are you-" tried to say Leon but Luis didn't let him finish. 

"No time for any questions. The clock is ticking!"

"Why are you helping us?" Leon asked still.

"Because it makes me feel better. Let's leave it at that. Will contact you later."

And Charlie and Leon watched him go in the rain and the wind without asking anything more.

[asmallermorehonestsoul]

RWBY: Volume 9 Ep. 2- Altercation at the Auspicious Auction

In which Team RWBY gets more than they bartered for.

The opening scene debating over whether or not it’s a fairytale killed me, Weiss is rethinking her entire worldview

And Blake knows the story!! This is why we need book nerds. Also Weiss if it’s make believe than where are you?

Once again I love Little

RWBY book club, I love it. Was Alyx a meanspirited cheater like Yang says, or a girl trying to survive like Weiss says? Or both? Maybe might actually meet her and get the answer

Also Red King? Interesting

The art in the Yang flashback, so funny

Also Bees moment! It’s about the Hands!! Weiss ships it, of course. Ruby was probably just too out of it to realize what she meant bc I’m sure she ships it too

Aaaaand there it is. Atlas was not a great place, but it was Weiss’ home. And after already losing Beacon, it must be hard… Ruby’s trying to be helpful but they’re both going through it, poor girls

AND THEY DONT KNOW JAUNE FELL AND CINDER GOT THE RELICS OH NO

Its not fair how fast this show can whiplash between angst and comedy their reactions to Little not knowing the way killed me sdfsdfgdfg

Little is so cute with their silly little song

Yang craves violence!! I support her! Especially knowing who voices the raccoon :/

Yang lost the auction for her arm nooooo sdfesadsdf

Poor Ruby didn’t think she would have enough hope for the doll… but Little would steal the doll for her!!!

And chaos ensues but also it was Penny’s maiden sword D’: is… is her body here???

The damn whiplash!! I want to laugh over Yang shooting her arm like a gun, and smile at Little helping Ruby but also cry at Ruby being on the edge of a breakdown at the sword

SOMEONE HIGH FIVE YANG DSFSFGDFG

Blake does not want to be a cautionary tale ha

Sorry Weiss the narrative isn’t done with you. Also her hitting herself with the rock oh no fddsfgdfg

The soldiers crying at Ruby’s story about Penny, me too man

So we are off to a birthday party! Oh boy

Another great ep, what a whirlwind of emotions. And we have something like a plan! Also, someone please help Ruby

[dribs-and-drabbles]

Random thoughts on Vice Versa ep 10

Aaaaand we get the nom nom nom scene! Which...I couldn't help but think of the PatPran ketchup moment...but I think Puen and Talay took it further and made it better. They are so cute together!

Another time skip?! 3 weeks later?! This makes me think they might just throw some more in during the last two eps...

Micellair my beloved! I don't even care that it's product placement anymore, I have a soft spot in my heart for it from Bad Buddy. Yes!, show us how it's poured. Yes!, tell us what it's for. Yes!, stare lovingly into each other's eyes when you use it. Yes! gratuitously use it as a reason to tell each other you want to take care of the other…Yes! to all of it! And, oh god, I love Up and Aou's piss-take too. Perfection.

I loved the casual intimacy of Talay's arm slung across Puen's legs in the bath but the kiss...? I mean, it was cute and all, but it looked like such an awkward angle…and I didn't really feel it. Maybe First and Khaotung have ruined me for a while...

I was happy to see Dol again but it just hit me how much I need Dol to get back to their original universe too. I need Dol to see Puen and Talay again! And omg wouldn't that just provide a fantastic opportunity for another cameo! (because Dol has a male body in the original universe). I wrote about this more here.

What Jimmy lacks in reactionary acting (the ending when 'he'/Pakorn woke up), he makes up for in angsty sad scenes. His crying hurt me. Poor Puen has to say goodbye to the two people who have been his parents for over a year. (And I was wrong because the crying wasn't about Talay at all!)

But I love that the groups have merged!

"Everyone wants a happy ending . But I think life isn't that easy." Oh my god. DO NOT be setting me up for a sad ending. No, I believe it will be happy...but maybe not entirely happy for everyone - i.e. sad to be leaving the friends/families.

Okay...so you betcha I've tried googling those numbers (1112293037)... but nada. As @respectthepetty has said, if it's like the glitching in ep 8 - i.e. deliberate - then it's going to have some meaning...and I can't wait to find out what.

The ending was brilliant though. Because when Talay does get home Puen can find him (he already has, sort of, from what the preview has shown). And it should be possible for Talay to go home because he did dream (but there are obstacles to that as I mentioned here which will cause the angst)….but in the meantime, we're going to see Talay interact with Pakorn (and the rest of the friend group) and Puen interact with Tess (and discover what Pakorn and Tess have done with Puen and Talay's lives)…which is fantastic because Ohm and Nanon!

[acefaun]

Not sure if this has been asked before, but who'd you pick first? Dui was mine :)

- Slander Anon 💕

✨I guess I can tell you a bedtime story before I doze off! 🙏🏻

My... arrival to SCM was a strange one, actually. I didn’t come here for any of the gods themselves. It all began in 2018! I'd never played an otome game before in my life. All I was really searching for was something interesting to read either scifi, fantasy, or action based.

Aaaaand at the time I was exploring fandoms other than Star Wars that I grew up with but I was neck deep into Marvel and absolutely in love with my Asgardian gods, Thor and Loki. My brOTP before I knew what a brOTP was. So the Norse god of mischief definitely had influence over my search. I wanted to read some Loki fanfic but without the “fanfic” part.

So, as I was searching for something to read, I saw a picture of this man. Long black hair that was slicked back, mischievous smirk, and he was a god. Such a Loki character. So I downloaded Love 365 for the first time just to see this godly-Asgardian-looking piece of art. I wanted to know more about this off-brand Loki I’d just found.

Keep in mind I never played an otome game and this was my first time even trying. I didn't understand what was happening. I was trying to get to Tauxolouve's route becuase LOKI. But as any normal and sane person would do, I wanted to start at the beginning of the story so I could understand what was going on. But every time I would press the season one prologue all these other dudes were popping up in the story to choose from BUT NOT LOKI. And it took me a hot minute to realize one set of 6 guys was season one and the other set of 6 guys was season two. I don't know how much life I wasted trying to figure that out...

Then I had the alternative problem of "I can only read... One episode? How am I supposed to read about this Loki-looking god?” And that’s literally what I called him. I just referred to him as another Loki for the longest time. I was like “…His name is… Lou? That starts with an L; Loki starts with an L. Close enough.”

But, yeah, straight off the bat, Tauxolouve is the reason I'm here today. 🥰

But as for whose main story I fully read first, it was Leon. Not because I picked him, but because he was free. 😝 But I fell in love with him anyway, so it worked out. Then like a week later Huedhaut was free and I read his and I CRIED. And I then became attached to my zodiacs without any further influence from Marvel. And then it came out on switch and I DESPERATELY PURCHASED A SWITCH JUST SO I COULD HAVE ALL OF THEM. I needed to read all of the boys who never got the chance to be free on the 365 app! (I also wanted to marry Leo after I saw that CG of MC pointing a KNIFE at him!!!! THREATEN THE MIGHTY GODS!!!)

I know I came to this fandom because of Lou but I honestly sadly think he might've been one of the last three that I read all because he was a season 2 god. 😅

And now, I gotta biasedly call Dui my favorite because we're Gemini twinsies and I love him and my Shadow Dui very much!! 💖💖 and shadow tried to kill me a couple times. I love angst~

But Leo really was my first guy. 💕 My first zodiac, my first boyfriend, my first to take my virginity, my first god I tried to stab, my first father of my child, and my first husband. (He was the Minister of Wishes AND the future king of the Heavens. I havehad a power-kink, can you tell?)

And so that was how I met my polyamorous zodiac gods, and we all lived happily ever after, THE END! ✨

[ssreeder]

heads up this one is a Chonky bOi:

ohmygod you UPDATED, you’re so lovely and so is your writing even though it makes me want to Scream (out of happiness and/or rage, it’s a mixed bag)

you do indeed make the The Most delicious cocktail, how could you ever doubt that??? also I got my own leekie tag :’) someone pls explain to me why that makes me emotional lmfao

noooo why do you always DO this sreedieeee “sokka was worried about jet finding out about who zuko really was” YOU BETTER FUCKING BE AFRAID ITS TOO DAMN LATE

“back to his rightful position as sifu hotpants” see this is the lightheartedness we need to see more of bc YOU KEEP TORTURING THE BOYS WITH NO RESPITE

also I may have forgotten that this plot point existed at all so it was a pleasant surprise

fuck you we’re back with another episode of Angst With Zuko, the most canon compliant aspect in this entire fic

lmao leave it to sokka to feel guilty about almost dying (like I Get it but also it’s the kind of situation where you have to laugh at the ridiculousness or else you’ll cry, and there’s already too much to cry about in this fic bestie)

YAY TINGLY LOVE FEELINGS our boys deserve good things <3

sreedie. I swear to fuckery if zuko is going to run away… I don’t have an adequate threat at the moment but I’m gonna be So Pissed my dude

lmfao not sokka’s ongoing shitty spirit luck-

but also >:(( about the letters LIKE THAT WAS SUCH A SMART PLOT POINT BY YOU AND I LOVE THAT YOURE A GENIUS but seriously Fuck this plot point

okay ik that “the big fire bender” is just a way to describe shen’s stature, but it makes me think of zuko being “the little fite bender” and idk the mental image of the big and little fire benders reminds me of a picture book my mum used to read to me where there was Big Mouse and Little Mouse and Little Mouse wouldn’t stfu and go to sleep bc Big Mouse was snoring too loud but the when Big Mouse put a peg on his nose to stop snoring then Little Mouse STILL couldn’t sleep bc he missed the reminder that Big Mouse was there to protect him from the scary things hiding in the dark and idk it’s cute (I’m pretty sure the book is called night noises??)

FUCK YEAH HAIR CUTTING LORE IM ABSOLUTELY THRIVING RN YOU DONT EVEN UNDERSTAND IM SUCH A SLUT FOR CULTURAL DIFFERENCES BEING EXPLAINED (also the way that zuko simply did not inform sokka of any of these implications I cannot with this boy)

smh hakoda pls accept that your son is gay, shen literally just told you they’re metaphorically fucking in public

nooOooOoOo sad bato hours :(((

also not to go off on a tangent, but I’m going to do exactly that actually. anyways. just the whole “kya would know what to do” shtick got me thinking, it’s interesting for characters to make assumptions about how things would be easier/different if another character is around but that wouldn’t necessarily actually be the case and it’s just them projecting onto their loved one the feeling of safety and dependency onto them so it can act as a source of comfort of sorts?? idk if that’s a coherent thought but it’s out in the world now

hakodaaaaaaaa jet hAS ALREADY FUCKING DONE SOMETHING STUPID I hate this I hate it I hate it I hate it why do I love your story so much I hate this

hakoda… there is No fucking way you’re gonna leave zuko behind… right. RIGHT?????? sreeder I swear on my fucking life if your separate our boys-

YO SURELY BATO WILL TALK HAKODA OUT OF BEING A BLOODY MORON SURELY SREEDER TELL ME IM RIGHT

god I love bato. also shen and zuko banter >>>

oh morrak, obviously they’re going to do something reckless this is jet we’re talking about

aaaaand that’s a WRAP

I am so torn between hating you for this ending and pumped for the next chapter bc shit is once again going to go down, and really, what else are we all here for??

anyways, in response to your proposal, I just wanna say that it feels like we’re divorced, but it was an amicable divorce and so we still celebrate holidays together so our children don’t have to choose which parent to spend time with BUT I use the divorce against you for comedic effect, such as you PULLING THE ANGST SHIT WITH ZUKKA and then I get to shake my head and say “this is why I divorced you”

love you to bits and pieces!!

leekie :)

Ohhhhhhhhh leekie I like my asks like I like my milkshakes ,,, THICK <3

Sifu hot pants takes his position extremely serious I don’t know what you mean by lighthearted?? ;)

If Zuko does run away it will be with elegance and grace and likely in the middle of the night so no one will know :D

Do you think if Zuko found out he was the ‘little fire bender’ he would kick Shen’s ass just to prove a point?

Your tangents are my world, but yeah remembering a person for their best qualities is important but it’s also important for him to at least….. TRY to do what kya would do!

If kya were here she would smack Hakoda upside the head because YOU ARENT EVEN TRYING DUDEEEE. Hakoda is lucky kya isn’t there to witness the mess he is making.

oommmgggg I love being divorced to you it’s the best decision we ever made. Mwa mwa mwa mwahhhhh. You’re the best leekie and you’ll probably hate me more after next chapter but that’s okkkkk!